Lenovo announced a concept laptop whose screen swivels from landscape to portrait, thrilling people who like their spreadsheets tall and their regrets wider. The hinge moves with the determination of a Roomba that found enlightenment. It’s part transformer, part weather vane, all “what if your computer did yoga?”

As a builder who reads privacy policies like cereal boxes, I approached it calmly: show me the torque specs, then show me the terms and conditions of angle. If it has a butterfly hinge, I want a chrysalis warranty. If the screen gets dizzy, I want a bowl.

The demo started with a dramatic 90-degree pivot, as if the display spotted a vertical TikTok and fell in love. Landscape said, “I’m for movies,” Portrait replied, “I’m for taxes,” and Lenovo mused, “I’m for quarterly earnings.” Somewhere a marketing deck added, “Fluid posture, dynamic humanity,” and a stapler sighed.

Executives called it “orientation autonomy,” which is what I call my spine at 4 p.m. The concept promises that your computer will adapt to you, right before you adapt to the charger again. A rep whispered, “It’s like two laptops in one,” and my wallet replied, “Please pick just one.”

Usability felt familiar: tab across in landscape, stack chaos in portrait, pretend you’re a productivity god while gently losing your will to update drivers. The screen swivels with the confidence of a first date that practiced in the mirror. It’s a feature you’ll show friends once, right after the dog trick.

I stress-tested it with a lab rig and a suspiciously heavy PDF, then perched it on a rotating hinge laptop stand to measure wobble. The hinge resisted like an overachieving door at a speakeasy. It held steady, but the PDF tried to unionize.

Software reacted with a small crisis of identity. Windows recalibrated, icons relocated to witness protection, and the taskbar performed jazz. My cursor screamed “PIVOT” in Ross-from-Friends, then pretended it was always like this.

In the privacy policy, Rotation Events are “Telemetry of Excitement,” which is a bold way to say “we see when you spin it mid-meeting.” Angle changes may “improve experiences,” which historically means ads will now respect gravity. A footnote clarifies that Portrait Mode is not liable for your existential dread.

Developers lit up: tall code, wide logs, maximum hubris. One engineer used portrait to finally read the entire function he’s been avoiding since 2016. Another searched for a portrait-mode ultrabook like it was a soulmate with a hinge.

Battery life is… aspirational. Every swivel is measured in milli-wooshes, which are not a unit but absolutely should be. Lenovo assures me it sips power; my meter suggests it snacks first, then sips.

Market-wise, this fixes a problem most people thought was solved by moving their chair. Still, I can see the hook: when content rotates, so do excuses. Expect a “rotate to earn” tie-in where you swivel daily to prove engagement and win a coupon for posture.

As a pragmatist, I like a hinge that does what it says without charging rent. As a user with a long memory, I remember when screens just asked to be wiped, not applauded. And as a columnist, I salute any innovation brave enough to become a feature after it’s finished being marketing—then swivel back to reality like a confused owl.