By Jeremy D. Wells
Carter County Times
I don’t like to think of myself as materialistic. I’m not driven by consumption, or the accumulation of products and things. Sure, I like nice things, just like anyone else. There are lots of things – particularly musical instruments – that I don’t own that I’d like to. But otherwise, I like to think of myself as someone who makes full use of what they have before they retire or replace it.
I don’t like it whenever things go to waste.
I especially don’t like it when technology is made obsolete by design.
Gaming systems come to mind immediately. Many folks, when the next Xbox or PlayStation comes out, will switch immediately to the new system. Meanwhile, I still haven’t upgraded to the PlayStation 5. My PlayStation 4 (PS4) still has a huge back catalog of unplayed games to work through, and I even still play my PS3 on occasion. My PS2 is in the attic, but I fantasize about setting up a hub with all my systems – old and new alike – connected to a single display; ready to play the latest release or the classics that inspired it.
But sometimes the companies who sell these products make their continued use difficult. In the past I’ve lamented changes to Google’s media ecosystem over the years; for instance, how the migration from Google Play Music to YouTube Music caused me to lose access to digital versions of albums I bought with real money unless I want to pay a monthly fee or listen to advertisements between songs.
Similarly, Sony has made it increasingly difficult to access existing purchases and make new purchases on legacy systems. Want to pay the exact purchase price for a game with your credit card? Tough. Purchases can only be made on the digital storefronts for the PS3 and the handheld PlayStation Vita if the account holder adds funds in whole dollar increments through a PC, phone, or a modern game system like the PS4 or PS5. Then those “wallet funds” can be used to make a purchase.
The company also makes it difficult to access your previous purchases, requiring users on the Vita and the older handheld PlayStation Portable (PSP) to scroll through a downloads list to locate a title they’ve previously purchased. This can be tedious, especially as the list includes free demo titles, and titles across platforms – meaning that before you can get to that PSP game you bought in 2007, you might have to scroll through every game you downloaded and played on PS4, PS Vita, and PS3 before you get to it. If you game as much as I do (or at least as much as I did before I had kids) that can be hundreds of games.
It’s even worse when a company purposely bricks a product, or renders it useless, as Spotify threatened to do recently after ending support for their in-car streaming device. While most folks today have smart phones, and use them for a variety of entertainment, not everyone has a modern automobile interface, or even Bluetooth connectivity, to connect their media to their car’s sound system. The Spotify device allowed older cars to do just that, and Spotify customers to listen to their playlist. But the company announced recently that they planned to not only end support, but they would purposely render the hardware unusable. They told the customers who shelled out cash for the device that they should through them in the garbage.
While I didn’t use one of these devices, the very idea of this struck straight at the heart of all my angst surrounding planned obsolescence, and the lack of ownership of things we’ve paid for.
It also triggered something in me that I believe relates to what I call my “poverty mentality.”
Growing up, I didn’t get new things very often. Birthdays and Christmas were always special, my parents made sure of that. But I didn’t get new toys just because I asked. I waited all year, and whittled down my list to what I really wanted under the tree on Christmas morning.
Because of this, I took care of what I received. I treasured these things I’d waited so long for. This is why, 40+ years later I not only still have my Masters of the Universe figures, but the original comic books that came with them.
I also think it’s why I get so emotionally invested in the things I do own, even if I don’t see myself as materialistic. Something deep inside me just balks at the unnecessary disposal of perfectly usable products. Maybe it’s a remnant of that little kid who waited all year for those precious things his peers took for granted.
Ultimately, though, they’re mine. I paid for them. I want to use them. I want to repair them. I want to keep them in service – and out of the landfill – for as long as is possible. Practicality and consumerism be damned.
Maybe I do need to work on letting go, and find a better balance. But that doesn’t mean I need to abide by the tech industries needless waste and cynical cash grabs. Not today. Not ever.
Contact the writer at editor@cartercountytimes.com
