When the Snapdragon Summit 2025 kicked off, most people expected the usual parade of next-gen chips, AI demos, and bold performance charts. What they didn’t expect was a 17-year-old smartphone to steal the spotlight. Yet that’s exactly what happened when Qualcomm CEO Cristiano Amon and Google’s Rick Osterloh walked on stage holding a working HTC Dream, the world’s first Android smartphone.
The reaction in the room was immediate. A ripple of applause mixed with laughter — partly nostalgia, partly disbelief. For a generation of tech followers, the HTC Dream (or T-Mobile G1, as it was called in the U.S.) was more than just a gadget. It was the beginning of a movement, a device that challenged Apple’s iPhone and forced the industry to take Android seriously.
The Phone That Started It All
Launched in 2008, the Dream was a chunky device by today’s standards. It had a 3.2-inch screen, a quirky slide-out keyboard, a small trackball, and just 192 MB of RAM. Powered by a Qualcomm MSM7201A chip running at 528 MHz, it was hardly a powerhouse, but it carried something more important: the first public version of Android.
Back then, Android was risky. The iPhone had already made touchscreens cool, BlackBerry ruled enterprise messaging, and Nokia still had global dominance. The Dream didn’t topple those giants overnight, but it cracked open the door for what would eventually become the most widely used mobile operating system in the world.
More Than Just Nostalgia
Pulling out the Dream on stage wasn’t simply a nostalgic stunt. It was a calculated reminder of continuity. Qualcomm wanted to show that the same company whose chips powered the original Android phone is now pushing boundaries in AI-driven mobile platforms and even Android PCs. Google, by standing alongside, reinforced that story: Android has traveled an extraordinary path from clunky beginnings to near ubiquity.
But what most headlines didn’t highlight is how the Dream’s appearance raises deeper questions — about preservation, about forgotten design choices, and about how quickly digital history fades.
The Preservation Puzzle
One of the most striking details was that the HTC Dream on stage actually worked. That might not sound impressive at first, but in the world of aging electronics, it’s a rarity. Old batteries swell, displays die, and software ecosystems move on without them.
Qualcomm executives admitted they even tried to update the phone to a newer Android build but failed. That failure tells its own story: hardware can last, but software support erodes much faster. In a way, the Dream’s stubborn refusal to update highlights a major challenge for modern tech — longevity isn’t just about physical durability, it’s about ecosystems that stop carrying you forward.
Forgotten Design Lessons
Holding the Dream up to the light also made people rethink design. Here was a phone with a physical QWERTY keyboard, a feature many power users still miss. It had a trackball for navigation, which today feels archaic but once offered precision in a way touchscreens struggled with.
Modern phones are faster, sleeker, and undeniably more capable, but they’re also standardized slabs. The Dream was a reminder that diversity of form factors once existed. In an era where repairability and sustainability are growing concerns, revisiting some of those design philosophies — removable parts, tactile inputs — doesn’t sound so far-fetched.
Marketing Strategy Disguised as Memory
There’s also a business layer to this throwback moment. Qualcomm isn’t in the nostalgia business; it’s in the silicon business. By showing the Dream, the company tied its long-standing partnership with Android directly into its current narrative about powering the next wave of devices. It’s a clever storytelling technique: “We were here at the start, we’re still here, and we’ll be powering what’s next.”
For Google, the symbolism was equally powerful. In a year where Android is expanding into laptops and AI is reshaping user expectations, standing next to the very first Android phone framed the company as a steward of innovation, not just a software vendor.
A Spark for Collectors
Another under-reported side effect: collector markets. Whenever old hardware makes a public comeback, interest spikes. Search trends for “HTC Dream for sale” already show a bump. Working units could become hot items for tech enthusiasts, with prices climbing in second-hand markets. Ironically, this renewed attention can harm preservation. Collectors might mod devices to run modern apps or use custom ROMs, sacrificing authenticity in the process.
Lessons About Longevity
The Dream’s return is also a lesson in how fragile digital history is. Museums and enthusiasts can preserve cars, cameras, or typewriters for decades. But smartphones? They often become bricks within a few years, victims of planned obsolescence and unsupported software.
Seeing a Dream light up in 2025 is inspiring, but it’s also a warning: without deliberate preservation, most of today’s phones will vanish without trace in just a decade. That should push manufacturers to think about archiving firmware, maintaining “heritage” devices, and collaborating with institutions to save tech history for future generations.
Looking Ahead
In the end, the HTC Dream’s stage cameo was more than a nostalgic gimmick. It was a mirror. It showed how far Android has come, what we’ve lost along the way, and what questions we still need to answer about technology’s future.
Will the devices we use today still be remembered, or even functional, in 2040? Will future summits feature the first Pixel or Galaxy Fold, revived as artifacts of a digital revolution? The Dream suggests it’s possible — but only if someone makes the effort to keep those devices alive.
For now, though, one thing is clear: at a summit filled with talk of AI, cloud, and speed, it was an old, clunky smartphone that stole the show.