Recently, I had an unexpected sci-fi moment:Some years ago, I bought a multifunction printer, complete with a handy ink subscription. However, since I now primarily use the device for scanning and digitising and hardly ever print, I decided to cancel the subscription — it simply wasn’t worth it anymore. Then came the surprise after the cancellation period ended: the manufacturer remotely disabled my printer, even though the cartridges were still full. The device was rendered unusable. The manufacturer’s chatbot gave me a choice: either purchase new cartridges for a hefty €141.99 or reactivate the ink subscription.
Now I’m left with the lifeless shell of a device I once bought with the firm intention of using it. And now I’m learning that it’s all about the company’s intentions instead. Instead of "ownership," I now have a product that continuously costs me — both financially and mentally. When did digital products become opaque services that I can barely control?
How did we end up in the subscription economy?
Since the last major financial crisis in 2008, the global digital economy has gone through several stages: the sharing economy, platform capitalism, surveillance capitalism, data capitalism, the attention economy, and most recently, during COVID-19, disaster capitalism. Throughout these phases, the concentration of power and money in the hands of tech corporations has steadily grown. Added to this are the development and increasing dominance of cloud services, data management, and now the boundless possibilities of artificial intelligence. The foundation for the strongest customer loyalty ever created!
Currently, we are quietly entering the age of the subscription economy. That means: everything becomes a subscription. Traditionally, we’re used to paying money for a product. After purchase, it’s ours, and (theoretically) we can do whatever we want with it. After all, it belongs to us. But the increasing shift to subscriptions marks a paradigm change: instead of traditional purchase models, we now see more and more subscription-based services across industries. The economy is shifting its focus from ownership to access.
Netflix is a prime example of this new economic model, offering access to movies and series in exchange for a monthly subscription fee. A byproduct of this model is the personalization of services, tailoring recommendations based on user behavior. Digitalization made the binge economy possible. Instead of buying a DVD like in the past, we now pay a relatively low price for access to a library of thousands of movies. Spotify operates similarly: instead of managing millions of tracks on hard drives, we gain access to curated playlists and rent the music we like at the moment.
For users, these subscriptions are convenient and ultimately cheaper than buying every song or movie individually. You can choose how you want to use the service and easily cancel the subscription when you’re no longer interested. For companies, subscription models are fantastic because customer relationships now span longer periods. This offers ongoing opportunities to sell additional services. And the key factor:The longer a service is used, the more data is collected, leading to an ever-deeper understanding of user preferences, which in turn boosts upselling potential.
This is where the downsides of subscription models become evident. What initially seems like a good deal quickly becomes a burden due to steadily rising prices or the introduction of additional fees. Many subscriptions are designed to lock users into a specific ecosystem, making switching either unattractive or outright impossible. I’m reminded of a friend, a designer, who experienced the so-called lock-in effect firsthand with Adobe Creative Cloud. When he tried to cancel what he thought was a monthly contract, he was billed for the remainder of the year. Unbeknownst to him, he had been locked into an annual subscription — a classic dark pattern tactic. Countless users worldwide, along with the U.S. government, protested against these practices in the summer of 2024.
Service subscriptions often consume our attention to a degree disproportionate to their utility: I have to deal with the fact that features included at the time of purchase suddenly become available only with additional payments. I have to navigate changes to terms of use that could affect the future security of my personal data. And I constantly have to keep track of canceling contracts on time — while hoping I can find the cancellation button.
These hidden additional costs are nearly ubiquitous with digital products. Every interaction generates a well-documented stream of our personal data as a "byproduct." And eventually, it dawns on us: I am the product. The better companies know users’ preferences, the greater the potential for upselling. Another service here, a special feature there, available for just a little extra. But how are we supposed to keep up with the sheer number of entertainment formats and digital services? Welcome to the binge economy!
At the same time, the subscription economy reflects the changing consumption habits of post-millennials. This demographic increasingly makes and manages purchases via smartphone and wants targeted access to selected products and services. Among all user groups, this one likely has the highest acceptance of subscriptions. Tailored offers, flexible pricing, service ratings, and turning things off when they’re no longer fun are the foundations of modern consumer culture.
It’s pointless to demonise subscription models outright. The subscription economy is already an integral part of the digital economy, and any industry that sees potential for subscription services will adopt them. For consumers, however, it’s crucial to critically engage with these models and ensure the legal prosecution of shady practices like dark patterns, lock-in tactics, or hidden subscription traps. Personally, I also believe in the importance of conscious consumption: you can use tools to manage subscriptions, check out reviews, or impose a waiting period on yourself before clicking the subscription button—guided by the question: Do I really need this?
Ultimately, it’s about resisting the urge to hand every form of entertainment, distraction, or creative expression over to Big Tech companies. For many, after a long, hard day, Netflix may feel like the only option. But there’s so much more out there: local libraries where you can borrow world literature classics, or small indie cinemas showing films Netflix would never offer. In the end, it’s about preserving some independence by actively contributing to maintaining public spaces for autonomy and resistance against an increasingly homogenised culture. It may take some effort, and you might have to leave the house, but you might just experience something no streaming subscription could ever offer: an unexpected moment.