Lifestyle

AirTamer personal purifier – for anyone who finds raw air too wild


I often walk past a branch of the sandwich shop Upper Crust, with its sign that reads “Famously fresh baguettes”, and think: are they famous, though? I do hear about them a lot; but that is only because there are loads of Upper Crusts and they are all saying it. Do words mean anything any more? I had a similar qualm when I read about the “trusted, superior cleaning power” on the box of this week’s device, a personal air purifier. Trusted by whom and superior to what? I had never heard of it.

This is AirTamer (£69.95; relax-uk.com), specifically the A302 travel version, designed for anyone who finds raw air too wild. AirTamer is a big name in the world of personal air purification. This device “emits a constant stream of healthy negative ions that force airborne pollutants away from your personal space” and claims to be effective against pollutants such as viruses, pollen, smoke, mould and dust mites, in case you needed to be reminded how disgusting life is.

Air ionisers work by transferring electrostatic charge to micrometre-size (0.001mm) particles in the air, which are then attracted to any grounded conductors nearby. This can be either the small plate in the device, or your walls and floor, which is less ideal. (The technology also goes by the more evocative name “Chizhevsky’s chandelier”.) The science behind them is sound, but sceptics doubt their respiratory benefits in real-world conditions.

Game on! I charge up the AirTamer, by USB, and turn it on. There is no fan or motor, so the unit is almost silent. Is it working? I notice some flashing green LEDs. Up very close, I can hear a tiny intermittent hiss that occasionally becomes a squeak, as though a mouse is spritzing itself. I even feel little gusts emitting from a tiny brushhead poking out of the device. Maybe the mouse is getting into watercolours?

The air next to the “ion emission brush” smells clean and fresh. The device is designed to clean the air within a radius of 3ft; as a test, I scent the air above my desk with perfume and cigarette smoke, a combination reminiscent of early 00s house parties. (It is an odd experiment, particularly as I am alone – a feeling extremely reminiscent of those house parties.) I sit in the stink, imagining 2m negative ions a second per sq cm washing my sins away. After 20 minutes, it has worked … fairly well. I think. The smell is no longer as strong. But you know what worked equally well? Opening a window. Hope they find a way to monetise that soon.

The device is meant to be worn around the neck, to protect you from shared air on public transport, and the germs in the streets, and the scum, and the skunk – no, hang on, that is the film Taxi Driver. I try it on the bus. I am not sure it does me any favours, primarily because it looks pathetic: a Dictaphone for self-elected precious cargo; a signifier I believe myself to be more important than everyone else. We have made the environment a problem, but this isn’t the way forward. We are all going to be under water in 20 years: we need to think bigger than perfecting the air in a 3ft bubble around our own heads.

I am not sure ionisers work the way their fans think; to be honest, my objection to them is less than rational, too. There is just something so precious about a doodah that purifies your personal space, leaving your neighbour in the mire. AirTamer manages an impressive 30 hours of run time on a single charge, the downside being that this means more time looking like a dilbert on the bus. I know city life is like taking a virulent bath in circulating particles of filth, but I don’t want to ride into battle wielding this mouse’s brush. I will stick with opening a window now and then, breathing the same foul, beautiful atmosphere as everyone else. Also, it cleansed the air of my scented candle, and I paid through the nose for that.

Most self-damning boast AirTamer is equipped with a “state-of-the-art, static-resistant lanyard”. I didn’t even know lanyards were an art there could be a state of.

Wellness or hellness? One day a real rain’s gonna come. Then we’re in trouble. 2/5



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