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Everything Is Only $9.99
By Leo thee Lemon
Everything is only $9.99 now.
Which is remarkable.
Because somehow I have no money.
Music.
Movies.
Software.
Storage.
News.
Games.
Apps.
Premium features.
Apparently calculators.
Everything is only a little bit.
Nobody needs your entire paycheck.
Everyone just needs their turn.
...
That's the genius of the subscription.
Nobody has to convince me to spend $300.
That sounds like money.
$9.99 barely sounds like money.
Then somebody else needs $12.99.
Another company needs $6.99.
Something quietly becomes $15.99 because apparently there have been exciting improvements.
Then an annual subscription I forgot existed renews.
Wonderful.
I have financially supported a service I haven't opened since February.
...
Every company gets to say the same thing.
It's only...
It's only another two dollars.
It's only a small increase.
It's only the price of a coffee.
I would like companies to stop comparing everything to coffee.
Coffee has suffered enough.
Also, if I bought everything that cost "only the price of a coffee," I would eventually need to sell the coffee shop.
...
The problem isn't one subscription.
That's what makes the whole thing work.
Ten dollars isn't outrageous.
Five dollars isn't outrageous.
Fifteen dollars isn't outrageous.
Individually, everything is reasonable.
Collectively, my bank account is being eaten by ducks.
Tiny bites.
One after another.
Nobody did anything dramatic.
There's just less money.
...
I have a friend with a MacBook that's around fifteen years old.
That computer is now a member of the family.
Nobody touches it unnecessarily.
Nobody looks at it aggressively.
I assume candles are occasionally lit nearby.
It has professional software installed on it that they bought years ago as a one-time purchase.
They paid for the program.
It worked.
It continued working.
Beautiful arrangement.
The current version would cost them around $3,000 a year.
Three zeroes.
Every year.
Their budget is tight.
That isn't some mildly irritating business expense.
That matters.
So the ancient MacBook remains alive.
It hasn't been updated in more than a decade.
I don't even think it goes online anymore.
They just need it to wake up every morning and continue remembering that they already bought the software.
One more year.
...
That's the part I find sad.
You used to be able to buy a program.
Not a plan.
Not a seat.
Not access.
Not a tier.
A program.
You paid money.
Installed it.
Used it until the computer eventually made a noise like a dying refrigerator.
Maybe you bought the next version.
Maybe you didn't.
That decision belonged to you.
Now a lot of software wants rent.
Forever.
...
I remember getting internet on AOL CDs.
A CD.
For the internet.
That sentence sounds prehistoric now.
You installed software from a disc and listened to your modem make noises that suggested two fax machines were fighting inside a garbage disposal.
Then eventually:
Internet.
Slow internet.
Very slow internet.
Download-something-and-go-make-dinner internet.
Download-something-big-and-check-again-tomorrow internet.
There was music.
There were movies.
There were burned CDs.
There were files sitting on your actual computer.
Legally, of course.
Naturally.
...
I don't want dial-up back.
Nobody wants dial-up back.
Technology made our lives enormously easier.
But somewhere along the way it also ran away from us.
We stopped buying software.
We started renting it.
We stopped keeping music.
We streamed it.
We stopped storing everything ourselves.
We rented storage.
Everything became a service.
And every service discovered recurring revenue.
...
I'm not against subscriptions.
That matters.
I'm writing this on Substack.
And to the best of my knowledge right now, no matter what direction my life takes, I think I'll always be here.
It feels like home.
I don't throw that word around lightly.
I love it here.
I write pretty much all day, every day.
I'm thinking about the next article.
The next idea.
How to reach more readers.
How to increase my subscribers.
How to keep the lights on so I can continue doing something I genuinely love.
Sometimes I write until I get a headache and my brain finally says:
That's enough, Leo.
Go to sleep.
Take a break.
The annoying thing is that the break usually works.
I rest.
Sleep properly.
Then the next day I come back and write an absurd amount.
Apparently my brain requires maintenance.
Very inconvenient.
...
Sometimes I don't have a post ready and I keep writing through the headache anyway because I really want something finished.
Probably not my finest system.
Eventually I rest.
Then another streak comes.
Maybe the brain knew what it was doing.
Annoying.
...
I'm also writing a novel on the side.
You'll know more about that when I know more about it.
I don't think Substack is particularly suited to the kind of serialized fiction I want to write, so for now the book is quietly growing beside everything else.
Another thing I apparently decided I needed to write.
Because clearly I was suffering from an excess of free time.
...
So when somebody subscribes here, I understand that relationship.
I'm still creating.
Tomorrow there will be another idea.
Another essay.
Another stupid observation.
Another thing I noticed while I was supposed to be doing something else.
The subscription supports continuing work.
It helps me keep writing.
It helps keep the lights on.
There is an exchange happening again and again.
That makes sense to me.
The same applies to musicians releasing new work.
Publications publishing.
Creators creating.
Software that's constantly hosted, maintained and improved can have ongoing costs too.
Fine.
I'm not arguing that every recurring payment is some elaborate conspiracy involving ducks.
Some ducks have jobs.
...
What I don't understand is why everything needs to become that relationship.
If somebody makes a finished piece of software and I want that version, why can't I just buy it?
Charge me a fair price.
Let me own that version.
Then make something better.
If I want the better one, I'll buy that too.
You know.
A customer returning because you made something worth buying.
Wild concept.
...
Artists should make money.
Writers should make money.
Developers should make money.
People deserve to be paid for their work.
This isn't:
Everything should be free.
It's:
Not everything needs to collect rent forever.
...
Subscription prices also have an interesting habit.
They creep.
A dollar.
Two dollars.
A new tier.
Advertisements unless you pay more.
A feature moved upstairs to Premium Wonderful Plus.
Nothing becomes outrageous enough to make you immediately leave.
It just gets slightly more irritating.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Another duck.
...
Then there are subscriptions we simply forget.
Free trial.
Enter card.
Seven days later:
Congratulations.
You are now supporting this company.
Three months later you notice.
I should cancel that.
Then somebody texts you.
Dinner happens.
You forget.
Another month.
There is something strange about a business model that can profit from you not remembering it exists.
Making money because somebody values your product is one thing.
Making money because cancelling slipped their mind feels different.
...
And yes, businesses now exist to help people find and cancel subscriptions.
For a fee.
We've created enough subscriptions that another business can survive by helping us escape them.
I genuinely respect the completeness of the circle.
Soon I'll need a service that manages the service that manages my subscriptions.
Probably $9.99.
...
Then somebody asks:
Why aren't people saving?
Saving what?
The leftover scraps after everybody else subscribed to the paycheck?
...
I enjoy financial advice.
Especially from people who haven't needed to know what milk costs in twenty years.
Stop buying coffee.
Eat at home.
Make a budget.
Cancel unnecessary subscriptions.
Some of this is good advice.
Know where your money goes.
Absolutely.
But eventually telling somebody to budget harder becomes insulting.
Sometimes there isn't a spending problem.
Sometimes there simply isn't much money left.
Those are different problems.
...
I don't need a billionaire explaining that ordinary people need to spend more efficiently.
When was the last time you stood in a grocery store doing mathematics?
Not investment mathematics.
Egg mathematics.
Do I buy twelve?
Eighteen has a better unit price.
But eighteen costs more right now.
If I save three dollars here, can I buy chicken?
Put the yogurt back.
Try another store.
Maybe next week.
When was the last time the price of milk changed your afternoon?
Right.
You probably don't do your own shopping.
...
For most people, prices aren't abstract.
Three dollars matters.
Twenty dollars matters.
A price increase matters.
Not everybody is deciding where to invest surplus capital.
Somebody is deciding whether eggs financially ruin Tuesday.
...
And that's why the ducks keep coming back to me.
Nobody is attacking my bank account with a tiger.
I'd notice a tiger.
It's ducks.
One gets $6.99.
One gets $11.99.
One became $17.99 while I wasn't looking.
One has been taking $4.99 for six months and I don't remember inviting it inside.
No single duck appears particularly dangerous.
Then suddenly there are feathers everywhere.
...
That's how tollbooths work.
Nobody needs all your money.
They just need their turn.
...
Yes.
Cancel things you don't use.
Trim the nonsense.
But eventually you run out of nonsense.
Rent stays.
Food stays.
Electricity stays.
Transportation stays.
Phone stays.
Internet certainly seems committed to staying.
There is only so much optimization available.
Eventually you're no longer cutting waste.
You're cutting life.
...
Don't go out.
Don't travel.
Don't buy books.
Don't subscribe to entertainment.
Don't eat anything nice.
Don't have hobbies.
Don't buy coffee.
Excellent.
We have successfully optimized the human being.
They now require food, shelter and electricity.
Very efficient.
Not much of a life.
...
I don't think the purpose of being alive is to become the cheapest possible version of yourself.
People need music.
Stories.
Books.
Dinner somewhere that isn't home.
Something stupid.
Something unnecessary.
Something that makes Tuesday slightly better.
We shouldn't have to defend every small pleasure like we're presenting evidence in court.
...
Maybe that's what bothers me about subscription culture.
It isn't one $9.99 charge.
It's the assumption that every corner of life can support another one.
Another little bite.
Another recurring payment.
Another company permanently attached to your bank account.
And because every individual charge is small, you're supposed to feel ridiculous complaining.
...
It's only $9.99.
Yes.
I know.
So are all the others.
...
I don't expect subscriptions to disappear.
Some make perfect sense.
Some I happily pay.
Some support people doing work I want to continue existing.
But I would enjoy a future where not every company dreams of becoming a permanent line on my bank statement.
Sometimes I would like to buy something.
Pay for it.
Own it.
Use it.
And have the relationship end.
You don't have to become part of my family.
...
Because I already have enough monthly relationships.
And I'm starting to think the most expensive phrase in modern life might be:
It's only $9.99.
