The Strange Problem of a Product That Works Too Well
In ordinary life, we naturally assume companies want to make the best products they possibly can. A good refrigerator should last longer, a good automobile should need fewer repairs, and a good telephone should remain useful for years. But business has always carried a mighty interesting contradiction. A product that lasts almost forever may be wonderful for the customer while giving the manufacturer fewer opportunities to sell another one. That tension sits at the heart of one of the most famous stories in the history of planned obsolescence: the Phoebus cartel. Beginning in the 1920s, some of the world’s largest electric-light manufacturers joined together to coordinate parts of the international light-bulb business. Their agreements covered markets, production standards, and even how long ordinary incandescent bulbs should last. Historical records show that the cartel pushed manufacturers toward a standardized bulb life of about 1,000 hours. In other words, companies capable of producing longer-lasting bulbs had a financial reason to limit how long the ordinary bulb remained useful. The story is about light bulbs, but the larger question reaches far beyond anything hanging from the ceiling. What happens when making a product last longer is good for the customer but selling another one sooner is better for the company?
The Phoebus Cartel
In December 1924, representatives of some of the world’s largest light-bulb manufacturers met in Geneva, Switzerland, and created what became known as the Phoebus cartel. Companies connected to the arrangement included Germany’s Osram, the Netherlands’ Philips, and major British lighting manufacturers. General Electric also exercised enormous influence over the international lighting business through affiliated and associated companies, although its relationship with Phoebus was more complicated than simply calling GE an ordinary member. Together, these powerful companies were trying to bring greater control and order to a highly competitive international industry. They divided markets, coordinated production standards, exchanged technical information, and worked to limit competition among themselves. But one part of their cooperation became especially controversial. The companies began coordinating how long ordinary incandescent light bulbs should last. A bulb life of approximately 1,000 hours became the industry target. Manufacturers were expected to test their bulbs and keep them within that standard. That meant companies were not simply competing to see who could make the longest-lasting bulb possible. They were operating within a system where making a bulb last too long could work against the agreed business model. And that is where the Phoebus story becomes mighty interesting, because the industry was not only deciding how to make light bulbs—it was helping decide how soon customers would need to buy another one.
When Lasting Too Long Became a Problem
Manufacturers already knew how to make incandescent light bulbs that could last much longer than 1,000 hours. But that does not mean a longer-lasting bulb was automatically a better bulb in every way. Incandescent bulbs involve engineering tradeoffs between brightness, energy use, filament temperature, voltage, and durability. A filament designed to last a mighty long time may produce less light while using the same amount of electricity. So a 2,500-hour bulb was not necessarily twice as good as one lasting 1,250 hours. That technical reality matters because otherwise the Phoebus story becomes too easy to tell as nothing more than companies deliberately making bad bulbs. The more troubling evidence comes from what the cartel did after engineers had already worked out those tradeoffs. Historical documents show that participating manufacturers monitored how long their bulbs lasted and established standards designed to keep them near an agreed target. Companies could face consequences when their bulbs lasted substantially longer than the standard allowed. That means bulb life was not being determined by engineering alone. Business interests were also helping decide how much durability customers would receive. And that is what makes the story mighty revealing: the question was no longer simply how long a bulb could last, but how long the industry wanted it to last.
Companies Could Be Penalized for Excessive Bulb Life
The Phoebus cartel did more than simply suggest how long a light bulb should last. It established testing procedures to make sure participating manufacturers followed the agreed standards. Companies submitted bulbs for standardized life testing, and the results were carefully recorded. If a manufacturer’s bulbs lasted too far outside the agreed range, the company could face financial penalties. That is what makes this story mighty important. We are not simply talking about several engineers independently reaching the same conclusion that 1,000 hours happened to be the perfect lifespan for a bulb. These companies were competitors, yet they were cooperating with one another behind the scenes. They coordinated markets, standards, production, and other parts of the lighting business. And among the things they coordinated was how long their products should last. Engineering certainly played a role because bulb design involved real technical tradeoffs. But once companies began testing and financially enforcing an agreed lifespan, something more than engineering was taking place. The question had moved into economics because limiting product life could also influence how often customers had to come back and buy another bulb.
Why Would Anyone Make a Product Die Earlier?
The economic logic behind planned obsolescence is not difficult to understand. Imagine a company sells a household product that lasts 30 years. Once nearly everybody who wants one owns one, the company begins running out of new customers. Replacement purchases become rare because the old products are still working just fine. Revenue can slow unless the business finds new markets, new products, or some other reason for customers to buy again. Now imagine that same product lasts only three years. Suddenly, customers have to return to the marketplace again and again to replace something they already purchased before. That repeated cycle creates a steady source of demand for the manufacturer. Of course, that does not mean every product that breaks early was deliberately designed to fail. Products wear out for all kinds of legitimate reasons, including cost, materials, engineering limits, heavy use, and plain old accidents. But manufacturers understand one mighty important business reality: replacement cycles generate revenue. The sooner a product reaches the end of its useful life, the sooner the customer may have to come back and spend money again.
Planned Obsolescence
This business strategy eventually became widely known as planned obsolescence, but it does not always mean somebody secretly installs a part designed to break on a certain day. Modern obsolescence can be much more subtle than that. A product may still work perfectly well while becoming so difficult or expensive to repair that replacing it seems easier. Replacement parts may disappear from the market or cost nearly as much as buying something new. A battery may be sealed inside a device instead of being easily replaced by the owner. Software companies can stop supporting older operating systems, leaving devices more vulnerable or unable to run newer programs. New accessories may no longer connect properly with older equipment. Applications can also stop working on devices that once handled them without any problem. Fashion and marketing can make yesterday’s perfectly useful product suddenly feel outdated when a newer model arrives. None of these things necessarily means the manufacturer deliberately designed the product to fail. But they can shorten how long the customer considers that product useful. Whether obsolescence comes through design, repair costs, compatibility, software, or fashion, the result can be mighty similar: sooner or later, the customer finds themselves back in the marketplace buying another one.
Apple and the Slowing of Older iPhones
A modern controversy involving Apple shows just how complicated the question of planned obsolescence can become. In 2017, consumers learned that software on certain older iPhones could slow processor performance when their aging batteries could no longer reliably deliver enough power. Apple explained that the feature was designed to prevent those phones from suddenly shutting down. From a technical standpoint, that explanation made sense because lithium-ion batteries naturally lose capacity as they get older. An aging battery may work normally most of the time but struggle when the processor suddenly demands a large burst of power. By reducing peak performance, the software could help keep the phone running instead of allowing it to unexpectedly turn itself off. So the issue was not simply that Apple had secretly decided to make old phones useless. The bigger problem was that customers had not been clearly told what the software was doing. A person with a slower iPhone might reasonably believe the entire phone was worn out when the real problem was an aging battery. Replacing that battery could potentially restore much of the phone’s performance without requiring the customer to purchase a new device. That distinction mattered because people make different choices when they understand what is actually wrong with something they own. The controversy became mighty important not simply because Apple managed performance, but because customers believed they should have been clearly informed before software changed how their phones operated.
The Phone Felt Older Because Software Made It Slower
Imagine owning an older iPhone that suddenly begins running slower than it used to. Applications take longer to open, the phone feels sluggish, and everything starts giving you the impression that your device has simply gotten too old. Naturally, you may begin thinking it is time to buy a newer model. But the real problem might not be the phone itself. An aging battery may no longer be able to provide the power the processor needs, and replacing that battery could restore much of the lost performance. That is a mighty important difference when you are deciding whether to spend money on a battery or hundreds of dollars on another phone. If customers know the battery is deteriorating, they have choices. They can replace the battery, keep using the phone as it is, or decide that buying a new device makes more sense. The important thing is that they understand what is happening before making that decision. But when software quietly reduces performance without clearly explaining why, customers may believe the entire phone is wearing out. That misunderstanding can push somebody toward replacing a device that might still have years of useful life left. So the larger controversy was not simply about what Apple did to protect aging phones from unexpected shutdowns; it was about whether customers were given enough information to understand what Apple was doing.
Apple Never Admitted It Was Trying to Force Upgrades
It is important to separate what Apple actually acknowledged from what critics believed might have been happening. Apple admitted that software reduced performance on certain older iPhones when aging batteries could no longer reliably provide the power those phones needed. That part of the story is established. Apple did not admit that it slowed phones to force customers into buying newer models. The company consistently said the purpose was to prevent unexpected shutdowns and keep aging devices operating more reliably. Critics, however, argued that customers were not clearly told what was happening. Without that information, somebody with a slower phone might assume the whole device was worn out and decide to buy a new one. That could certainly benefit Apple financially, even if encouraging upgrades was not the original purpose of the software. But benefiting from an outcome and deliberately creating that outcome are two different claims. One is supported by Apple’s acknowledged performance management, while the other requires evidence about motive that has not been established. We can criticize the lack of transparency without claiming we know more than the evidence shows. History becomes a whole lot stronger when we separate what we can prove from what we merely suspect.
The Settlements Were Enormous
Apple eventually faced lawsuits and government investigations in several places over the iPhone performance controversy. In the United States, the company agreed to a class-action settlement potentially worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Apple also agreed to pay $113 million to settle investigations involving numerous states and the District of Columbia. Along with other legal and regulatory consequences, the controversy became mighty expensive for the company. But we should be clear about what Apple did and did not admit. Apple did not admit that it deliberately sabotaged older phones to force customers to buy new ones. The larger issue was the company’s ability to use software to change the performance of devices customers already owned. A phone could therefore behave differently after a software update even though nothing physically had changed in the customer’s hands. That gives technology companies a kind of continuing influence over products long after they leave the store. Customers may not always know what changes were made or why their device suddenly behaves differently. That is why transparency becomes so important when software can affect performance, battery life, compatibility, or other important functions. The Apple controversy reminds us that in the digital age, buying a product does not always mean the company that made it has stopped influencing how that product works.
The Difference Between Phoebus and Apple
The Phoebus cartel and the Apple controversy should not be treated as though they were the same kind of case. Phoebus involved competing manufacturers coordinating industrial standards, including how long ordinary light bulbs were expected to last. Historical documents show that bulb life was actively monitored and controlled within the cartel. Apple’s situation was different because it involved one company using software to manage the performance of aging batteries in older iPhones. Apple admitted the performance management but did not admit that the purpose was to force customers to buy new phones. So one case gives us evidence of coordinated lifespan control, while the other gives us evidence of undisclosed performance changes without proof of a deliberate replacement scheme. Still, putting the two stories side by side reveals a larger issue that has not gone away. The company making a product usually knows a whole lot more about how that product works than the person buying it. That information gap can shape what customers believe about repairs, upgrades, durability, and whether something really needs to be replaced. When the seller controls both the technology and the explanation, the customer can be left making decisions with only part of the story. And whenever one side knows much more than the other, that imbalance creates power.
From Mechanical Obsolescence to Digital Obsolescence
In the twentieth century, manufacturers mainly controlled the physical product they sold you. Once you bought a refrigerator, television, or automobile and took it home, the company had limited ability to change how that product worked. Today, software has changed that relationship in a mighty important way. A modern automobile can receive a remote update that changes how certain features operate. A smart television can still work perfectly well while losing support for applications you regularly use. A smartphone update can change performance, battery use, security, or the way familiar features behave. A printer may reject certain cartridges because its software no longer accepts them. A subscription service can remove a feature that customers once considered part of what they were paying for. Digital platforms can also change what free users are allowed to do without changing anything physically in the customer’s hands. The product no longer has to break before it becomes less useful. Its capabilities can simply be changed, restricted, or discontinued through software. That gives companies continuing influence over products long after customers have paid for them. And that represents a mighty important change in consumer economics because ownership no longer always means having complete control over what you bought.
You May Own the Hardware but Not Control the Experience
Traditional ownership used to be pretty straightforward. You bought a chair, took it home, and the manufacturer could not remotely decide how many people were allowed to sit on it. You bought a hammer, and nobody could send an update limiting you to 100 strikes a month. Once you paid for those products, they were yours to use as you pleased within the law. Digital products have changed that relationship in ways earlier generations could hardly have imagined. Today, you may buy the physical device while much of what makes that device useful depends on software controlled by somebody else. A smartphone, automobile, television, or appliance may rely on cloud services, subscriptions, licenses, accounts, applications, and corporate servers. If one of those services changes or disappears, the physical product sitting in your home may suddenly do less than it did when you bought it. The company may even be able to add, remove, restrict, or modify features through a software update. So yes, you may own the hardware sitting in your hand or parked in your driveway. But part of what makes that hardware valuable can remain under somebody else’s control. And that changes the meaning of ownership because in the digital age, paying for the product does not always mean you control everything the product can do.
Cory Doctorow and “Enshittification”
Writer Cory Doctorow popularized the term “enshittification” beginning in 2022 to describe what can happen when successful digital platforms gradually become worse for the people using them. The word may sound crude, but the economic idea behind it is mighty serious. A platform often begins by offering customers tremendous value, convenience, low prices, or even free services. The goal at first is to attract as many users as possible and make the service difficult to live without. Once enough people depend on the platform, the company has more power to change the deal. Prices may rise, advertising may increase, useful features may disappear behind subscriptions, or the free version may become less useful. The company may then begin squeezing sellers, creators, advertisers, or other businesses that depend on the same platform to reach customers. By that point, leaving can be difficult because everybody has invested time, money, audiences, data, or business relationships into the system. According to Doctorow’s model, the platform gradually becomes less valuable to users and business partners while extracting more value for itself. Eventually, almost everybody involved may feel that the service is worse than the one they originally joined. So beneath that intentionally provocative word is a familiar economic story: attract people with value, make yourself difficult to replace, and then use that dependence to gain more from them.
First Make Leaving Difficult
Digital companies often benefit from what economists call switching costs, which simply means it can become mighty difficult to leave once you are deeply connected to a service. Suppose years of family photographs are stored on one platform. Your friends and relatives may all communicate through the same social network. Your business might depend on one online marketplace to reach customers. Your documents may be stored inside one software system, while your customers follow you through one particular application. Technically, nobody may be forcing you to stay. But leaving can still cost you a whole lot even when the company never charges an actual exit fee. You may lose data, customers, contacts, compatibility, or years of information you worked hard to organize. Even when everything can be transferred, learning another system and rebuilding what you already had takes time and effort. The more deeply your life or business becomes connected to one platform, the harder switching becomes. That gives the company greater power because it knows many customers will tolerate changes rather than go through the trouble of leaving. Once leaving becomes harder than staying, the relationship between the customer and the company begins to shift in the company’s favor.
Free Can Become Limited
A digital service may begin by offering generous features because the company wants as many people as possible to sign up and start using it. At first, storage may be plentiful, advertising limited, and many useful features completely free. Then little by little, the arrangement can begin to change. Storage shrinks, advertisements increase, and features that once came with the basic service may move behind a subscription. Before long, there may be several premium levels, each promising something the free version no longer provides. The free service may still work, but using it becomes increasingly inconvenient. That does not automatically mean the company is cheating anybody because digital businesses have real expenses. Servers, employees, software development, cybersecurity, customer support, and infrastructure all cost money. A company has to generate revenue if it expects to survive. But the timing of these changes matters because a company desperate to attract customers may behave very differently from one that already has millions of people depending on its service. Once customers have invested their time, information, relationships, and sometimes their businesses into a platform, walking away becomes much harder. That is when market power enters the picture, because the company may discover it can give customers less or charge them more without losing enough people to make it change course.
Artificial Intelligence Raises the Stakes
Artificial intelligence makes these questions even more important because AI is beginning to influence how people write, read, search, create, analyze information, and make decisions. The companies building these systems have enormous influence over what their products can do and who gets access to those capabilities. They determine prices, usage limits, available models, data policies, and which features remain free or move behind paid subscriptions. That does not mean AI companies are secretly creating some modern version of the Phoebus light-bulb cartel. There is no evidence supporting a claim that broad. But the underlying economic tension is still worth paying attention to. An AI company needs enough revenue to pay for computing power, research, employees, security, infrastructure, and continued development. The customer naturally wants the most powerful and useful service possible for the lowest reasonable price. Those interests can work together because a company benefits when customers believe they are receiving good value. But they are not perfectly identical because giving customers unlimited access to everything may not produce a sustainable business. That means companies will continue making decisions about what users receive, what they pay for, and what limitations come with each level of service. As AI becomes more important in everyday life, understanding who controls those decisions may become just as important as understanding what the technology itself can do.
The New Obsolescence May Be Access
The most important product of the future may not become obsolete because something inside it physically breaks. It may become obsolete because capabilities that still exist are no longer available to you. The advanced version may be sitting right there, but your subscription does not include it. A feature that worked yesterday may still function perfectly, yet your plan no longer gives you access to it. The information may exist, but an algorithm determines whether you ever see it. Your automobile, computer, or smartphone may already contain technology capable of doing more than your account permits. Nothing has to wear out for the product to become less useful. The company may simply change the software, subscription, license, or level of access. That creates a mighty different relationship between consumers and the things they believe they own. In the old days, obsolescence usually meant something wore out, broke down, or became too old to repair. In the digital age, a perfectly functioning product can lose value because somebody somewhere changed your permission to use part of it. The future of planned obsolescence may therefore be less about making products break and more about controlling what customers are allowed to do with products that still work.
Regulation Has a Role
Markets work best when consumers understand what they are buying and companies have to compete for their business. Problems begin when businesses can hide important information, coordinate against competition, make it mighty difficult for customers to leave, or prevent people from reasonably repairing what they already own. That is why consumer-protection laws and disclosure requirements matter. Antitrust enforcement also matters because competition gives customers somewhere else to go when one company stops treating them fairly. Privacy protections become increasingly important when digital companies collect enormous amounts of information about the people using their services. Right-to-repair laws can give consumers more control over products they purchased instead of forcing them back to the manufacturer for every problem. None of this means companies should be prevented from making profits. Profit can encourage investment, competition, innovation, and the development of better products. But healthy capitalism requires more than profitable companies; it also requires informed consumers with meaningful choices. A market becomes less competitive when customers cannot understand what they are buying or cannot reasonably switch to another provider. And something is mighty wrong when you paid for a product yesterday but cannot understand why somebody else can decide what that product is allowed to do tomorrow.
The Consumer Has Power Too
Consumers are not completely helpless when it comes to protecting themselves from products designed around short replacement cycles or limited access. Before spending serious money, we can look at how easy a product is to repair and whether replacement parts are available. We can ask how long the manufacturer promises to provide software and security updates. We should also understand whether we are actually buying something or simply paying for temporary access through a subscription or license. With digital services, it helps to know whether our photographs, documents, contacts, and other data can be exported if we decide to leave. Consumers can also support companies that offer longer warranties, replaceable batteries, repairable components, and dependable long-term support. Those choices send a message about what customers value. But individual buying decisions can only go so far. If nearly every company in an industry adopts the same restrictive practices, finding a better alternative becomes mighty difficult. A consumer cannot choose an option that the marketplace no longer provides. That is when stronger competition, consumer protections, right-to-repair laws, or other regulation may become necessary. Individual choices matter, but sometimes meaningful change requires changing the rules of the marketplace itself.
Summary
The Phoebus cartel showed that companies can have financial incentives to shorten product life, while Apple’s 2017 controversy showed how software can affect products customers already own. The cases were different, but both reveal a basic tension: companies benefit from repeat business, while consumers benefit from durable products. Today, obsolescence can involve software, subscriptions, repairs, and restricted features rather than something simply breaking. The modern question is no longer just how long a product lasts, but how much control a company keeps after the customer buys it.