Picture this: You wake up groggy on a Monday morning, shuffle to the kitchen, and reach for the kettle. But instead of the comforting click of boiling water, you’re greeted with a cheery digital screen blinking “Subscription Required.” It turns out you forgot to renew your kettle’s monthly plan, so now you’re locked out of your own tea-making apparatus until you cough up £4.99.
Sound ridiculous? Of course it does. But give it time. If the subscription model continues its relentless march into every corner of our lives, this could be our future.
A World Where Everything Has a Monthly Fee
Subscriptions used to be for magazines—something quaint, harmless, and easy to forget. Now, they’re everywhere, demanding monthly tributes for things that once came without strings attached. Music? Subscription. TV? Subscription. Razors? Subscription. Fancy socks? Subscription.
But the audacity of it all lies in this: we’ve already paid for the thing. You buy a coffee machine, and it sits in your kitchen, smugly refusing to function without its proprietary pods. You purchase a printer, and it demands a subscription for ink that should just come out of the box. It’s a world where ownership is an illusion, and even your appliances think they’re your landlord.
The Mattress: Sleeping Sold Separately
Take the humble mattress—a beacon of comfort in a weary world. Imagine a subscription-based model where you can lie down for free, but actual sleep is locked behind a paywall. For £12.99 a month, you unlock “Comfort Mode,” which offers basic support for light napping. Want adjustable firmness or access to dream analysis? That’s part of the premium plan.
And don’t forget the reminders. Every few nights, your mattress might interrupt your slumber with a cheerful notification: “Upgrade now for an uninterrupted REM cycle!” The worst part? We’d probably pay for it, because who doesn’t want to sleep properly?
Fridges That Freeze You Out
Fridges are already edging into subscription territory. Some newer models won’t let you access advanced features—like tracking your groceries—unless you pay for a monthly app plan. But why stop there? Imagine a fridge that only cools during daylight hours unless you pay for “Extended Chill,” or charges extra to use the freezer.
Even worse, it might send passive-aggressive alerts: “Your ice cubes are melting. Would you like to subscribe to our Cold Essentials Package?” All while you stare at the fridge you already paid for, wondering why it’s trying to blackmail you into financing its lifestyle.
Lights: Basic Illumination Not Included
Now, let’s turn to the most fundamental of household items: lightbulbs. Surely these humble inventions, staples of civilisation, couldn’t fall victim to the subscription madness? Think again. Smart bulbs already require apps to function, and it’s not hard to imagine a world where basic illumination is free, but “Warm Glow Mode” costs £2.99 a month.
Perhaps they’ll take it further—charging extra for brightness or adding an hourly cap. Left in the dark because you forgot to renew? That’s a £5 “Reconnect Fee.” Just don’t bother complaining to the bulb; it’s too busy updating its firmware.
Why Are We Paying for Things We Already Own?
Here’s the crux of it: we’ve bought these items outright. They’re ours. Or at least, they should be. But in the world of subscription models, ownership is little more than a technicality. Companies are redefining the concept of buying something, twisting it into a never-ending lease agreement disguised as convenience.
It’s not just appliances, either. Cars now come with subscription features, like heated seats that only work if you pay extra. Software you once bought outright now charges a monthly fee just to keep functioning. Even toothbrushes have started joining the subscription bandwagon, demanding regular payments for replacement heads that could just as easily be bought in bulk.
The Nightmares of Subscription Models
What makes this hypothetical nightmare even worse is the sheer chaos of managing so many subscriptions. You’d spend half your time juggling renewal dates and half your income paying for things you already own. One month you’re locked out of your kettle because you forgot to renew; the next, your fridge decides it’s not cold enough because you didn’t subscribe to the deluxe cooling package.
The psychological warfare of subscription tiers adds insult to injury. Basic plans turn everything into an exercise in mediocrity, locking away features that should be standard. Boiling water is free, but pouring it into a mug? That’s part of the Gold Plan.
Even then when you have a subscription to pay for something, they expect you to pay more again to receive what you did before only without the ads that were not there before anyway (looking at you here, Amazon and Netflix).
Why Are We Doing This?
Here’s the thing: subscriptions aren’t about convenience—they’re about control. Companies have realised that if they make us dependent on a product we can’t easily replace, they can bleed us dry one monthly payment at a time.
We’ve already seen the beginnings of this madness with smart devices. Coffee machines that won’t brew without branded pods. Printers that refuse to work unless you pay for ink subscriptions. Cars that charge extra to unlock features that are already built into the vehicle. It’s a creeping trend, turning everything we own into something we rent forever.
Cancel… Everything.
So here’s my suggestion: unplug your smart devices, dust off your non-Wi-Fi-enabled appliances, and enjoy the rare thrill of using something without having to enter your credit card details first. Because if we’re not careful, we might wake up one day and realise that even making toast requires a subscription—and that our toaster is judging us for not upgrading to the Deluxe Burn Control plan.
The future might be smart, but it’s looking increasingly daft.
James Henshaw is a brooding Geordie export who swapped the industrial grit of Newcastle for the peculiar calm of Lincolnshire—though he’s yet to fully trust the flatness. With a mind as sharp as a stiletto and a penchant for science-tinged musings, James blends the surreal with the everyday, crafting blogs that feel like the lovechild of a physics textbook and a fever dream.
Equally at home dissecting the absurdities of modern life as he is explaining quantum theory with alarming metaphors, James writes with the wit of someone who knows too much and the irreverence of someone who doesn’t care. His posts are infused with a dark humour that dares you to laugh at the strange, the inexplicable, and the occasionally terrifying truths of the universe—whether it’s the unnerving accuracy of Alexa or the existential menace of wasps.
A figure of mystery with a slightly unsettling edge, James is the sort of bloke who’d explain the meaning of life over a pint, but only after a dramatic pause long enough to make you question your own existence. His wit cuts deep, his insights are sharp, and his ability to make the surreal feel strangely plausible keeps readers coming back for more.
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