Planned obsolescence, the tidy art of selling people the same product more than once. Why sell someone a product that lasts when you can sell them the same product repeatedly? It started in the 1920s, when a group of German industrialists, presumably while twirling their moustaches, formed the Phoebus cartel and decided light bulbs were too reliable. From then on, bulbs would dutifully expire after 1,000 hours, like clockwork. And thus, the great tradition of engineering things to fail was born.

The fine art of designing things to break

Modern corporations have refined this practice to near-perfection. Designers now face the critical question:

“How do we make sure this thing breaks just after the warranty expires, but not so catastrophically that customers riot?”

A few master-strokes of planned obsolescence:

  • Washing machines, built to survive exactly two years (conveniently, one month past the warranty). The vital components? Made of cheese. The rest? Titanium. Just enough to lull you into a false sense of value before the drum falls off mid-cycle.
  • Printer ink cartridges, equipped with “smart” chips that scream “I’M EMPTY!” when they’re still 40% full. Refill them? Oh no, that would be reckless. Never mind that the printer itself costs less than the ink required to print a single PDF.
  • Disposable razors, a marvel of modern engineering. The blades? Sharp enough for three shaves. The handle? Sturdy enough to last a lifetime you’ll never use it for.
  • Nylon stockings, originally strong enough to tow a tank, now designed to disintegrate if you so much as look at them wrong. Because nothing says “female power” like buying new tights every time you leave the house.
  • Smartphones, with soldered-in batteries and the kind of “optimised battery performance” that turns the device into a brick around month eighteen.

The waste nobody puts on the brochure

The arrangement empties wallets and fills landfills with perfectly avoidable waste. Repairability would interfere with selling the same customer a slightly worse version of last year’s model.

What people end up doing (if they can be bothered)

  1. Repairing things. YouTube is full of tutorials on how to outwit the warranty stickers, which tend not to hold up legally anyway.
  2. Buying from the rare honest company. They exist. Somewhere. Probably.
  3. Embracing the junk. The printer is a glorified paperweight; one moves on.

The final irony

Even “eco-friendly” innovations aren’t safe. Lead-free solder sounds virtuous, until you realise it grows “tin whiskers”, tiny conductive hairs that deliberately short-circuit your devices over time. Nothing says “sustainability” like engineering failure into the very atoms of your product.

Happier?

Planned obsolescence sits at the centre of a system that does well selling things people do not need, that do not last, and that tend to be replaced before they are paid off.

At least the line goes up.