I’m So Tired
Recently I was shopping for a water gun for my son’s birthday, and to my surprise, it was hard to find a simple, sturdy one that didn’t have some kind of battery-powered feature. Not only is that one more thing to break, but I really don’t want to add yet another device to the list of things in our house that require charging. It got me thinking: nearly every purchase these days feels like a negotiation between joy and technology.
That’s not to say they’re always at odds. But finding the sweet spot is getting harder.
There was a time when the march of “smarter” items was a net positive. It made things smoother, smarter, simpler and generally more joyful or interesting to use. These days, that optimism is harder to summon. I know I sound like the aging guy yelling at clouds, but I don’t think it’s just nostalgia. The balance really does seem to have shifted over the past decade, and the trend line isn’t encouraging.
Sure, there’s still plenty to like. I can check the weather, unlock my front door, and queue up music from the same screen. But the magic wears off fast. What starts as convenience often ends in clutter. Every small problem now has an app, gadget, or subscription that fixes one issue and quietly creates three new ones.
Streaming music feels less intimate than owning a few beloved albums. Delivery apps bring cold fries, surge pricing, and mystery fees. Social media promised connection but mostly delivers outrage. Smart homes? Great until the WiFi blinks and nothing works or your fridge needs a firmware update. Even the web is a mess of pop-ups, autoplay videos, cookie banners, newsletter traps, and paywalls. Every click has a privacy cost as well.
You can never possibly watch all of the amazing entertainment that on YouTube and every streaming service out there. And yet, it’s more frustrating than ever to navigate subscription costs while fighting the algorithm that recommends more and more ragebait on YouTube. Toys for toddlers need firmware updates. Cars have become rolling iPads. Your heated seats might already be installed, but unless you pay a monthly fee, they stay cold — taunting you with unearned luxury. Most products require an account. They harvest data. They nag for upgrades. When they break, you’re not allowed to fix them. The tools don’t serve us — they serve their makers. And it’s exhausting.
Even Apple, a company I’ve long admired, feels less like a craftsman and more like a casino. Their stuff still (mostly) works great, but it no longer feels entirely yours. Most of the apps I use are rented. Let a subscription lapse and the functionality vanishes. Not all subscriptions are bad, but when everything is a subscription, it dulls the entire experience. Even products that don’t have a subscription (yet) associated with them loom over us. We’re just waiting for the shoe to drop.
I don’t know what to do about this, really. I have tried to be more intentional about my purchases in general, limiting my exposure to subscriptions, overly complicated features, and “smart” tech in general. I fully appreciate that this makes me sound like the old man I’m increasingly turning into. But my optimism around any consumer purchase has been replaced by cynicism and even a bit of dread. It makes me sad but hopeful that a turning point looms as more folks tire of the state of “smart” everything and looks for something a bit simpler.
