
In 2007 Netflix unveiled streaming and changed the way we think about ownership. For $7.99 you could watch a library larger than any video store, on demand, from your couch. It felt like progress. Today the ad‑free Netflix plan costs $17.99, almost 2.5‑times higher, and most U.S. households juggle four paid video services at roughly $69 a month. What began as freedom from cable has morphed into a pricier, never‑ending bundle—only this time you don’t even own the shows you pay to see.
That slippery redefinition of value—access instead of ownership, forever on autopay—has since spread far beyond movies.
Music & Movies were the gateway drug. Spotify promised “all the music on Earth” for less than a CD. Now ad‑free tiers routinely hike rates in lock‑step .
Productivity Software followed. Adobe and Microsoft stopped selling discs; rent their apps every month or lose access—and your project files.
Toothbrushes, dog food, and fashion boxes arrived next. The pitch was convenience, but many users learned how hard it is to cancel when the closet starts to overflow.
Video games took the idea and weaponized it. Fortnite made $3.5 billion in 2023 largely from “battle passes”—seasonal subscriptions that disappear if you skip a monthMore than half of all PC‑gaming revenue now comes from micro‑transactions and passes, not the game itself
And now, the subscription tide is crashing into durable goods—items once considered one‑and‑done purchases.
The pattern is identical: install the hardware, disable it by default, and rent the capability back to the customer—again and again.
No surprise, then, that every quarter brings a new “as‑a‑service” pitch—coffee machines that bill per pod, strollers that unlock premium features, even tractors that won’t start unless a cloud server approves the repair code.
And unlike a one‑time sticker shock, these costs drift upward quietly. The “boiling frog” is your bank balance.
Imagine a near‑tomorrow where:
Your refrigerator chills below 38 °F only if the food‑safety subscription is current. Your DSLR’s 4K mode lives behind a $4.99 patch. Your leased e‑bike slows to 12 mph the moment the GPS notices a lapsed payment.
Far‑fetched? Perhaps. But farmers already fight John Deere software locks just to fix tractors; Peloton downgrades treadmills if you stop paying its $44 monthly content fee; and BMW really did ship cars with seat heaters turned off until the credit card cleared.
Every successful experiment normalizes the next.
Subscriptions can be useful—when they replace a high upfront cost with genuine value. But the model’s spread into every corner of commerce threatens to turn consumers into renters of their own possessions, paying more than ever while owning less than ever.
The next time a glossy “Start Free Trial” button appears, pause and ask: Do I want to borrow this feature forever—or would I rather own it once and keep it for good?