The floppy-disk save icon may be the most successful fossil in computing. Plenty of people clicking it have never stored anything on a floppy disk, yet the little square still means save. The object disappeared, the symbol stayed, and now software carries a tiny museum exhibit in its toolbar.
It is not even a particularly clear picture if you do not already know what it represents. A 3.5-inch disk had a metal shutter, a label, a write-protect tab, and just enough capacity to make moving anything large feel like a logistical exercise. The icon usually reduces all of that to a square with another square near the top. Somehow it works.
Replacing it would probably make things worse. A cloud suggests upload or sync. A downward arrow means download. A folder could be open, move, or browse. Modern applications often save automatically anyway, but when somebody wants a deliberate save action, the ancient plastic rectangle remains oddly unambiguous.
I like that software accumulates these bits of history. We still talk about cutting and pasting without scissors or glue, dial phone numbers without a dial, and copy people into email using a term from carbon paper. The floppy disk earned its retirement years ago. Its tiny pixel descendant apparently has a job for life.
