My Feelings — and, Incidentally, the iFi Audio iPhono2

I bought an iFi iPhono2 second-hand in December. It was in near-perfect condition. I had read a lot of very nice reviews of this unit. I felt excited.

It stopped working a few weeks later — like one morning, just ... nothing. I felt deflated.

I checked iFi’s published warranty. My unit still met all of the terms. I felt optimistic.

The original purchaser sent me a copy of his sales slip to verify that it was within the stated warranty period. I felt grateful.

I could not find a customer service phone number for iFi. I wondered what kind of company doesn’t have a phone number. Sometimes it’s the kind that doesn’t want to hear from customers. I felt apprehensive.

I filled out the iFi service form online. A tech responded with a few suggestions that did not, alas, resuscitate the unit. I asked how to go about securing service for a product under warranty. The tech told me that the warranty does not apply to a second purchaser. I felt confused.

I pointed out that the warranty states no such condition, establishes no such limitation, contains no such words. It just says that it applies one year from the date of purchase, and my unit met that condition. I felt empowered. 

I knew they would check for themselves and agree. How could they not? It was in plain English. I felt reassured.

I was told that the policy of AMR, iFi’s parent company, is that warranties do not apply to second purchasers. I felt puzzled.

Twice I asked if I had missed something. Twice I asked if the company was applying additional warranty conditions beyond those stated in the warranty. Twice I received no reply to those questions. I felt ignored. Twice.

The tech offered that a new board would cost $126. I protested politely, and was told that the cost could be reduced to $99 for a “warranty transfer” and “handling charge.” That seemed like an awful lot of “handling” for a board that weighs about six ounces, but I am not in the warranty transfer business, or the handling business, so I can’t claim to know for sure. I felt frustrated.

I told the tech I though this was unfair. If they insisted on the charge, I said, I would describe the situation online. He told me the company takes that kind of thing very seriously. I felt like I cared deeply.

Then I realized that AMR is a multi-million-dollar company that’s apparently willing to gamble bad publicity against $99 — or was it $126? — and not just any $99 or $126, but $99 or $126 that would pay for a repair that the warranty stated it would cover.

Sorry, my error: I just wrote that I felt like I cared deeply, but I was not in touch with my feelings when I wrote that. In fact, I felt like I did not care.

All of this was taking a lot of time. I told the tech that I thought it was not right, but I decided to cut my losses and pay the $99. (I am principled but I am not an idiot.) I asked for an invoice, which I did not receive. I felt ignored. Again.

Instead, the tech explained the policy to me once more, very carefully, so I could understand why they would not want to extend a warranty to a product that met all stated warranty conditions. The tech did not address the question of whether the warranty actually contains language that correlates with what the company wants. I felt mumbo-jumboed.

I am no Pulitzer winner, but I understand the language and ways it can be used to make a plain fact appear to be less plain. I felt patronized.

Again I asked for an invoice. I received it. I paid it. I felt angry. I also felt a little poorer.

At that point I was told that the US facility is in Virginia, which — o lucky day! — borders my own state. I’d be back in business in a jiffy! I felt relieved.

I was told that the staff in Virginia were preparing for an audio show, and I would have to accept a delay. I said that was not acceptable to me. I felt impatient.

The tale above is a condensed version of an online conversation that took 17 days. It was not for lack of timely responses on my part. I felt exasperated.

Finally, the tech said they would dispatch the board from the UK, where iFi is located. It arrived nine days later. O happy day! I felt anticipation as I waited for the mail carrier.

I installed the new board myself. It involved turning 11 hex screws. It takes about four minutes, including locating the hex wrenches. I felt proud of my DIY skills.

The replacement board did not work. I know because in the meantime I bought a different phono stage. It arrived two days after the replacement. For reasons of my own sanity, I waited to notify iFi until the replacement phono stage arrived to be sure I wasn’t being more of an idiot than I am capable of being. I assumed the replacement would solve the problem. I felt like a great vacuum had descended over my turntable. (Not the kind of vacuum made by VPI or Audiodesk.) I felt dumb.

I notified iFi. I was asked to ship everything to Virginia. I felt like I had freedom, which is just another word for nothing left to lose.

They turned it around in a couple of days and returned it to me. They confirmed that the old board was probably the result of “the chip” going bad, and that the replacement board had “low output.” I felt vindicated, sort of. Mostly I just felt like I had lost this game.

I received the unit promptly. It worked properly. Total cost: $99, plus $8 shipping charges. Total time from initiating the ticket to receiving the functioning replacement: 40 days. What I felt mostly was a bad taste in my mouth. I don’t think it was the PB&J I had for lunch.

I sold the iPhono2. I realize this story is not the worst thing that ever happened to anybody, but it was enormously frustrating nonetheless.

I felt like I wouldn’t do business with iFi again. Now there’s something I felt like I could control.