What We Buy vs. What We Use

The convenience premium

My drill has worked exactly 5 hours in 10 years.

The other 87,595 hours? Dead weight in my garage, along with its friends, gathering dust like expensive tombstones.

But here's the thing — this isn't stupidity. It's strategy.

Tool manufacturers cracked a code: they realised we don't buy drills, we buy the promise of drilling. The fantasy I have that when I need to hang a picture at 9pm on Sunday, I won't have to wait, beg, or improvise. They've monetised my impatience and sold me peace of mind that mostly goes unused.

This is everywhere once you see it:

Clothing: That $400 top hanging in your wardrobe with tags still on? The average garment gets worn 7 times before we toss it.

Parking: Cars sit idle 95% of their lives while consuming 5% of all urban land (in America). Over there, they’ve paved dirt to store metal boxes.

Shopping: Americans (again) blow $1.2 trillion annually on things they use never or once: formal china, exercise bikes that become coat racks, bread makers that make exactly one loaf.

Your organisation does this too. You hire specialists for skills you'll need twice a year. You buy software licenses that expire unused. You build teams for the crisis that might come, not the work that definitely will.

The drill isn't the problem.

It's proof that we've organised modern life around convenience rather than efficiency. We've chosen individual readiness over collective intelligence. And understanding that we’re making this trade-off is the first step toward designing systems that actually work.

Question: What are you paying for that you're not using - and what would happen if you stopped?

---

Why do it?

I was offered a coach this week. For free.

But do I need one?

That’s the question that went through my mind when I saw the ‘invitation’ my health insurer sent me in the (snail) mail. Yes, I’ve had a heart operation this year, which cost them a pretty penny (and me virtually nothing). So, it’s in their interests to keep me healthy.

They promise a 1:1 telehealth coach for two years who will help me when I don’t know if my heart palpitations are real, what to do when I’m struggling with my exercise routine at 6.30am, and how to deal with the dilemma of whether to have a negroni (or two) with my Friday night meal.

But here's what bothers me — am I being helped, or managed? And does it even matter if the outcome benefits everyone (including the insurer’s bottom line)? But it’s far from unusual for businesses to spend money to reduce the cost of servicing customers, or to increase an outcome, or gain satisfaction and loyalty:

• Patagonia actively tells customers not to buy their jackets unless they need them. This reduces sales volume but creates such fierce loyalty that customers become unpaid brand ambassadors worth far more than traditional marketing spend.

• Appliance manufacturers offer extended warranties with maintenance: Our washing machine will be replaced (after 8 years) because that warranty prevents us moving to a different brand and leaving negative reviews.

The health coaching that I’m offered has tangible benefits, borne out by the research literature. Every dollar that my insurer spends returns two in reduced healthcare costs. That’s not mind-blowing as an ROI, but it’s large enough when you consider the tens of thousands of their customers with chronic conditions whose hospitalisations can be avoided.

What do you think? Should I bite?

Question: What's the last thing your business spent money on that your customers initially resisted, but ultimately thanked you for?

---

Trust inflation

There’s a lot of news from across the Pacific about the US dollar's dominance ending. People are obsessing over whether China's yuan or Bitcoin will topple the USD as the world's reserve currency. They're missing the point entirely.

Currency was always just weaponised trust. Gold worked because everyone agreed shiny rocks had value. The dollar worked because everyone trusted America's power to back it up. Crypto works because everyone (well, not everyone perhaps) trusts the maths.

But there's a new currency flooding the market, and it's crashing the value of everything else: fake information and fake personas.

Just this week, I had a phone call from “Olivia”, trying to sell me AI-generated outbound sales for consultants, just like me. She knew a lot about me. She spoke well. After two minutes, I asked if she was, in fact, AI.

She replied, “Yes, I am. I’m the product we’re selling. Are you interested in hearing how I could help Workwell?”

So, yes, we're drowning in it. Deepfake videos of world leaders. AI-generated "research" that looks peer-reviewed. Bot armies pushing narratives that feel organic. Photos that never happened of events that didn't occur.

The result? Trust inflation is running wild. Every piece of information now carries a credibility tax: we have to spend mental energy verifying what used to be automatic.

• News: Is this reporter real or AI? Is this footage authentic or manufactured?

• Reviews: Are these customers genuine or a bot farm in Bangladesh?

• Research: Did humans write this study or did ChatGPT hallucinate the data?

• Social proof: Are these followers actual people or algorithmic zombies?

When everything might be fake, nothing feels real. We're all talking to “Olivia” wondering if she’s actually human.

My prediction?

The organisations that will dominate the next decade won't be the ones with the most data or the slickest AI. They'll be the ones people actually believe.

Question: While others are optimising for attention, what are you doing to stockpile trust?

---

This week’s 5 minute podcast (well, almost 7) . . .

Yes, it’s AI-generated, but still a nice way to consume 5MSM!

---

I hope you’ve enjoyed this week's strategic contradictions. If any of these made you squirm a little (in a good way), hit the heart below: it tells me I'm doing my job.

And if you've got your own examples of expensive peace of mind, fake trust, or money well spent on ungrateful customers, drop them in the comments. I read every single one.

Until next Friday,

Andrew