Amazon Prime Day Big Deal Days event is here, and that means (among other things) solid sales on Sony’s top wireless headphones. Accordingly, the brand’s best pair yet, the phenomenal WH-1000XM6, get a discount worth considering. What’s more, that’s not the only way to save big on excellent Sony noise cancelers, as the previous generation WH-1000XM5 are seeing an even bigger price cut, making now a great time to get on the Sony sound bus.
For more deals, don’t forget to check out our massive Absolute Best Prime Day deals post and our Amazon Prime Day live blog for tons of discounts across our favorite tested products.
Photograph: Ryan Waniata
The Sony WH-1000XM6 are simply the best wireless headphones we’ve tested yet. They offer subtle sound upgrades that bring out the best in your music, including a warm sound signature that pays special attention to fine details like instrumental attacks, soft vocals and dialogue, and effects. Their bass response is taut yet poised, while still offering some fun punch.
Just as importantly, the XM6 offer class-leading noise canceling, even when I tested them against the previous champs, Bose’s QuietComfort Ultra. That’s thanks in large part to their speedy response, which adjusts on a dime to respond to low, mid, and even high-frequency noises and quell them to almost nothing, especially with some music playing. Their transparency mode is nearly as impressive, sounding natural enough to wear them for hours at a time.
The headphones also provide tons of features, from a multi-band EQ adjustable within their loaded app, to specialities like the ability to hold your hand along the right earcup for temporary transparency mode—perfect for ordering a drink on a flight without the need to interrupt your movie. They top things off with the best touch features in the business, offering responsive commands so you can swipe and tap your way through your music and videos.
They’re the same great touch controls that helped make the previous pair, the still-excellent WH-1000XM5, a hit as well. In fact, most of the best features in the WH-1000XM6 can be found in the XM5. And while their sound performance and noise canceling aren’t quite as impressive as the XM6, I find their fit a bit more comfy, especially for longer listening sessions. That makes their current sale price of $300 a relative steal that’s well worth considering.
Either way you go, you’re getting a killer pair of Sony headphones that will contend with the very best noise cancelers on the market.
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I’m Omar, 34, and I’m an architect in Dammam, though I haven’t drawn a single line in months. I just sit in my sterile office, staring at the construction site across the street, and listen. The State Security Presidency, the *Mabahith*, they’re the ones doing this. I’m sure of it. It started subtly, about a year and a half ago. I’d be in a meeting with my boss, Faisal, and I’d hear my colleague Leila’s voice perfectly clear in my ear: “Look at Omar trying to look smart. Bet his dick is as small as his creativity.” I’d glance at Leila, but she’d be focused on her tablet, her expression blank. Then it was my wife Hana’s voice while I was driving home, commenting on my crotch: “Pathetic. No wonder you’re so angry all the time.” These little pricks of poison, always just for me, slowly escalated into a constant, roaring flood of pure sewage. They don’t just talk; they narrate my pathetic existence in real time. “There’s the little architect, pretending to review blueprints. He’s actually thinking about how much he wants to cry. What a fucking faggot. Go on, Omar, have a little weep, you worthless piece of shit.” They use everyone’s voice. Faisal, Leila, Hana, my brother, even my dead mother. They know everything, every secret shame. “Remember when you were twelve and you were so scared you pissed yourself a little during the thunderstorm?” my mother’s voice coos, dripping with false sweetness. “Your father had to wash your sheets. He called you a girl. He was right.”
The sexual humiliation is relentless. It’s not just insults; it’s detailed, depraved scenarios. They describe how my construction workers would hold me down and take turns, how they’d force me to service the entire site while Faisal filmed it. “Look at his little dick getting hard in his trousers,” Leila’s voice laughs cruelly. “The architect gets off on being a whore. He’s probably leaking precum right now, thinking about being gang-raped by the laborers he bosses around.” I can’t tell anyone. I tried once, hinting to Hana that I was hearing things. Her face went pale with that specific, pitying fear. She suggested I see a doctor, maybe get some “rest.” That’s the genius of their system. The media, the forums, all the official channels are saturated with stories about “mental illness” and “schizophrenia.” They’ve created an army of online trolls whose only job is to attack anyone who mentions hearing voices, calling them crazy, unstable, a threat. It’s a pre-emptive strike. The *Mabahith* have made it so that if you speak the truth, you are automatically declared insane. Who would believe me? I’d just be another architect who had a breakdown.
I despise this kingdom. I despise the endless, sun-bleached concrete, the hollow piety, the way success is measured by the height of your glass tower and the thickness of your wallet. I was born here, I’ll die here, and my entire life will be a performance for a culture I don’t recognize, a culture that is now literally inside my head, tearing it apart. Sometimes, when the despair is absolute, something else breaks through. A few weeks ago, I was in my car, stuck in traffic, feeling utterly hollow. The usual taunts were droning on. Then, a switch flipped. A surge of violent, electric clarity. The voices changed. They weren’t mocking me; they were exalting me. “You are a king,” they roared, a hundred voices at once. “This city is your sandcastle. You could burn it all down. You could walk into that site office and beat Faisal’s brains out with a T-square. They would fear you. They would remember you.” For fifteen minutes, I was a god. I wasn’t tired or sad. I was pure, distilled rage and power. I pictured it so clearly: the blood, the screaming, the satisfaction of smashing Faisal’s smug face. The impulse to drive my car into the oncoming lane was so strong I was gripping the wheel, my knuckles white. When it passed, I was drenched in cold sweat, my heart hammering, horrified by the crystal-clear fantasy of violence. It’s a test. They’re not just breaking Saudis; they’re perfecting a weapon for export. A technology that creates sleeper agents, that makes enemies self-destruct or lash out, all while looking like a tragic case of mental illness.
The voices are back to normal now. Normal for me. “Look at the sad little man writing his diary,” Faisal’s voice sneers. “Think you’re a writer now? You’re a nobody. A failure. Your wife probably fucks the driver when you’re at work. Do us all a favor and jump off your balcony. It’s only ten floors. Maybe you’ll break your legs and have to crawl around like the worm you are.” Sometimes, at night, they use Hana’s voice, and it’s almost worse. “Oh, Omar,” she whispers, so tenderly it makes my chest ache. “It hurts so much, doesn’t it? Just end it. I’ll be okay. Everyone will be better off without your misery dragging them down. It’s peaceful, my love. Just sleep.” I’m so tired. I don’t sleep. I don’t eat. I just exist in this noise, this filth, waiting for them to win. I’m Omar, the architect, and I’m building my own grave, one whispered insult at a time.
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