SanthoshJ.com

Tag: blog

  • Are You Buying or Renting? The Hidden Costs of Ownership

    Are You Buying or Renting? The Hidden Costs of Ownership

    If buying is not owning, piracy is not stealing. Period! – Anonymous

    This is going to be a long rant. But I am sure you can very well relate to it.

    Illusion of Ownership

    I’ve been window shopping for cars recently as my lease is about to end. While looking at options, I stumbled on the BBC news about Volkswagen ID.3 in the UK. On paper, it looks great—sleek design, clean electric drive, everything I’d expect from a next-gen car. But then came the catch: if I wanted a little extra horsepower, a few more kilowatts that the car is already capable of, I’d have to pay for it. Not once, but as a subscription. Think about that. The engine is sitting there under the hood, fully capable, but unless I keep swiping my card every month, I can’t unlock its full potential.

    The same story hit me at home in a much smaller way though. I bought F1 25 for my Xbox. Paid for the game, paid for the console. Yet when I tried to play multiplayer with friends, I found out I need a separate monthly subscription – GamePass, just to unlock that part of the game. It’s not about buying access to an entire library of games—that I can understand—it’s paying extra just to use features of something I already bought.

    It makes me wonder: are we really in an age of innovation, or have companies figured out how to dress up legalized rent-seeking as progress? Innovation seems to take us one step forward, but these subscription plans drag us three steps back. If this is the future of ownership, where exactly are we headed?

    When Buying Doesn’t Mean Owning

    The more you look around, the more you realize this isn’t just a car thing or a gaming thing. It’s everywhere. Take cars, for example. Volkswagen isn’t alone. BMW got roasted a while back for trying to charge drivers a subscription fee to use heated seats. The seats were already installed in the car—you were literally sitting on the hardware—but you had to pay a monthly fee to turn the heat on. Tesla has pulled similar stunts with software-locked features, where you pay extra to “unlock” capabilities that the car is already equipped to handle.

    Gaming isn’t much different. My frustration with F1 25 multiplayer is part of a bigger story. Xbox users know this well: if you want to play online, you need Xbox Game Pass Core or one of its higher tiers. You can spend $70 on a game, but unless you keep paying for the privilege of connecting to other players, you don’t get the full experience. It’s like buying a cricket bat but being told you can only use it in friendly matches unless you pay a monthly stadium access fee.

    And then there are home appliances and fitness gadgets. Smart fridges that promise advanced features only if you stay subscribed. Peloton bikes that cost thousands but become half-useless without a monthly plan. Even printers—HP tried to lock people into an ink subscription model where the printer itself would refuse to work with cartridges outside the plan.

    It’s a pattern that’s hard to miss. You buy the hardware, you bring it home, and yet a good chunk of its value is trapped behind digital locks. What used to be a simple transaction—pay once, own it—has quietly morphed into an endless rental agreement.

    Pitch vs Reality

    If you ask the companies, they’ll tell you this model is all about flexibility. They’ll say subscriptions give you the freedom to pay only for what you need, when you need it. Some spin it as a way to lower the upfront cost—you don’t have to pay for everything at once, just activate features later. And of course, they love to remind us that ongoing payments supposedly help them provide better updates, smoother services, and continued support.

    Sounds nice on paper, doesn’t it? But peel back the marketing gloss and the story looks a lot less noble. What’s really happening is a carefully engineered cycle of FOMO—fear of missing out—where you’re nudged to pay more just so you don’t feel like you’re stuck with a crippled product. It’s not flexibility; it’s artificial scarcity. The hardware is sitting there in your car, your console, your fridge—fully capable, already paid for—but locked away behind digital bars. You’re basically renting slices of something you should already own.

    And let’s not kid ourselves: the point isn’t to make life easier for customers. The point is to turn every possible feature into a revenue stream. One-time sales don’t excite investors anymore, but recurring subscriptions? That’s Wall Street gold. Companies have figured out that disabling features you’ve already bought and then charging you to unlock them is one of the most reliable ways to pad their bottom line.

    The absurdity of it all is hard to ignore. You’re not paying for new innovation. You’re paying to use what’s already sitting in your driveway, your living room, or your kitchen, held hostage until you cough up a monthly fee.

    The Economics of Exploitation

    When you step back and crunch the numbers, what once was a simple purchase becomes a bottomless money pit.

    It starts with business sense: companies used to rely on one-time sales, where you paid once and walked away. Now, the mantra is “recurring revenue” or “MRR”- Monthly Recurring Revenue —and for good reason. Wall Street absolutely loves it. Companies with subscriptions tend to get higher valuations because their income is predictable and sustainable. It’s not just wishful thinking. Research has shown that businesses embracing recurring revenue consistently command bigger multiples compared to those relying on one-time buys . It’s like paying for stability: investors will happily pay more when they know where the money is coming from.

    That predictability comes at a cost—your cost. A monthly fee might sound harmless, but over the years it adds up. That Xbox multiplayer charge or the power-unlocker fee on your car—over five years? It could easily eclipse what the feature would cost outright. Problems usually boil down to the lifetime math: you keep paying just to keep what’s already yours.

    Worse yet, once you get locked into an ecosystem—printer ink subscriptions, consoles, cars, whatever—you’re stuck. The psychological weight of losing access if you stop paying traps you in. You might hate it, but you keep paying to avoid the headache of starting over somewhere else.

    Apple’s iCloud is a good comparison. Sure, it’s convenient when you’re all-in on Apple devices, but you’re effectively paying rent to keep using your own files—from a brand that already charges a premium for hardware. Stop paying? Suddenly, your own data feels like it’s locked in a vault you didn’t build.

    So what does this all add up to? It means companies have stopped selling you a product—they’re selling you ongoing access. And the moment that access feels essential, you’re no longer a buyer—you’re a tenant.

    The Erosion of Rights and Ownership

    Ownership, it turns out, is becoming a relic of the past.

    First off, the right to repair is getting strangled by subscription locks. When essential features are gated behind software licenses, suddenly fixing what you bought yourself becomes impossible—unless you deal with the company’s ecosystem—and pay ongoing fees to stay “authorized.” That’s not ownership; it’s corporate control wearing the guise of convenience.

    Then there’s the privacy nightmare. My Tata Nexon came with a year of free connected features. But I doubt it stopped “checking in” to its mothership after the trial—no consent, no opt-out, just data silently streaming in the background. A Nexon owner in Mumbai reported something eerily similar, describing how his car suddenly pinged in for service after “sending out a couple of signals”—revealing just how little transparency exists about the data being collected  . There’s serious concern brewing over smart vehicles acting like smartphones on wheels, leaving drivers clueless about what’s being tracked—and sold.

    If you think it stops there, consider reliability. Subscription-based features vanish into thin air once servers go down or companies shut them off. Some users on Steam found out the hard way—games they purchased simply stopped working because their licenses couldn’t be validated. And this isn’t hypothetical: Ubisoft players in California filed a class-action lawsuit after The Crew servers shut down, rendering the game useless—even for those with physical discs  .

    Let’s talk ethics for a minute. Suppose you bypass the digital lock—root your car, jailbreak your game, hack your appliance—to get full use of something you already bought. Is that theft, or reclaiming ownership? After all, you paid for the hardware, not a perpetual corporate ransom. Echoes of this can be found online:

    “Once that’s disclosed, people will… well, they’ll do absolutely nothing about it … The car definitely has the capability. It’s just hidden behind 70 layers of inaccessibility.” 

    That line nails it: your product is brilliant, your wallet is empty, and your freedom is locked down by design.

    Legal Angles — USA vs India

    While I was fuming over my ill-fate to pay for GamePass Core, I started going through online forums both in India and the US context on what is the consumer protection authorities doing about this farrago! Here is what I found out.

    The U.S. right-to-repair momentum is gaining real traction—and not a moment too soon. The Justice Department and FTC are slamming John Deere for its practice of forcing farmers to use only authorized dealers for repairs, locking crucial software behind paywalls and licensing restrictions. The FTC alleges this creates a monopoly and drives up costs unfairly  .

    In January 2025, the FTC rolled out a full-blown antitrust lawsuit against Deere, joined by multiple states. Their claim? Deere is gouging farmers and choking off independent repair options  . A judge dismissed Deere’s attempt to toss the case, calling the firm’s arguments weak and repetitive—and made a wry reference to movie sequels that flop worse than the original  .

    That’s not the only fight for DIY justice. California, Oregon, New York, Colorado, and Minnesota have passed meaningful right-to-repair laws. California’s law, which covers devices over $50, kicked in July 2024. By January 1, 2025, Oregon rolled out its anti-“parts pairing” law, banning the tactic of digitally locking replacement parts  . Meanwhile, the U.S. military is even pushing for the right to fix their own equipment in field conditions—no more waiting for contractors to show up  .

    Sure, these moves are encouraging—but the legal environment is still a tornado of End User License Agreements (EULAs) and copy protection laws that tend to strip away your real ownership.

    Across the ocean in India, the fight isn’t nearly as visible. Mostly because the surge of subscription based products are yet to start there. We have the Consumer Protection Act of 2019, which gave birth to the Central Consumer Protection Authority (CCPA) and a three-tier consumer disputes system ready to fight unfair trade practices  . This includes rules against dark patterns, misleading ads, and even subscription traps—patterns exactly like those locking features behind paywalls without transparency  .

    So yes, on paper we’re covered—but here’s the catch: subscription locks on hardware are still a gray area. There haven’t been many court cases challenging them. Legal scrutiny remains light, and thanks to low public awareness, companies often get to slide by these manipulative practices with little pushback.

    Culturally, ownership is still sacred in India—from cars to appliances to mobile phones. As subscription creep spreads, it’s bound to clash hard with that ownership mindset. But without active consumer pressure and legal enforcement, it’s companies, not consumers, calling the shots. In my personal opinion, Indian consumers are not as complacent as the US consumers. Mainly because of the purchasing power parity.

    In short: the U.S. is waking up, lawyers and lawmakers are nosing around, and the machinery of change is wheezing to life. In India, the protections exist—but enforcement is sleepy, and consumers aren’t waking up to the stealth of “rent-ified” ownership.

    Where Will It End?!

    Imagine a future where the most basic, non-negotiable features of your home or car—like safety systems or essential appliance functions—are tucked behind a paywall. What if seat belts, headlights, or eco-friendly wash cycles in a washing machine became optional, monthly-paid add-ons? The idea isn’t far-fetched anymore.

    In the auto world, this shift is already underway. Carmakers are leaning heavily into subscription models, touting features like automated driving, dash cams, or enhanced safety systems as optional purchases—even though the hardware often comes preinstalled. Critics are rightfully calling it out as a dystopian twist: charging for your car’s basic capabilities turns a vehicle into a software-defined money machine  .

    The tension this creates isn’t just about annoyance—it’s about equity. If features like lane-assist or high-beam driving require a subscription, suddenly you’re divided between those who can afford the extras and those who can’t. Suddenly, safety isn’t universal—it’s premium. That’s chilling.

    Appliances are only following suit. Some smart dishwashers now demand a Wi-Fi account just to start a rinse cycle—no connectivity, no clean dishes  . If that escalates, what’s next? A subscription to the eco-mode on your washer? A fee to unlock its energy-saving parts? The logic of “cloud-connected convenience” is morphing uncomfortably into controlled obsolescence.

    On Reddit, the frustration is laid bare:

    “If I buy a car and it has a turbo, I expect it to go turbo… If I buy a cheeseburger, I don’t want to be charged extra for the condiments.” 

    It’s a sharp—but fair—analogy. You wouldn’t accept paying extra for ketchup. So why should basic functions of essential gear be hidden behind subscriptions?

    When we let this slide unchecked, the divide deepens. Higher-income users may pay for full functionality—locking in better safety or efficiency—while others get hardware that looks the same, but does less. This is not innovation; it’s tiered ownership by stealth.

    The Fight Back: Consumer Power

    Change doesn’t happen by waiting politely. It happens when enough people stand up, roll their eyes, and say, “Nope, not gonna take it.” And sometimes, it actually works.

    Take BMW. They tried to charge a quietly infuriating subscription for heated seats—$18 a month for something you already paid for. The backlash was immediate and brutal. Public outrage forced a U-turn: BMW announced they’d scrap the subscription, opting instead to offer features as either factory-installed or gone entirely

    “We thought that we’d provide an extra service … but people feel that they paid double… perception is reality.”

    It’s rare to see a company admit they misjudged public sentiment—but here, backlash clearly worked.

    Then there’s HP’s ink subscription saga. Their “Instant Ink” model not only locks printers to HP-only cartridges, but disabled existing ink if you cancelled the plan. Users were furious. One customer’s printer became a brick, despite having full ink—then HP directed them to toss it all out  .

    Reddit was unfiltered:

    “If you cancel your subscription … the ink … will be suspended and they will block you from using it.”


    That kind of consumer revolt matters. HP ended up discontinuing the always-online, subscription-ridden printers entirely—even if, frustratingly, they didn’t unlock the features for existing users.

    On the US front, momentum is building. Right-to-repair laws are spreading through states, with provisions allowing consumers to fix what they own without navigating corporate restrictions. Farmers are pushing back too—John Deere is facing a high-profile federal lawsuit for blocking independent repairs. Consumers are finally fighting back against being forced into corporate ecosystems.

    In India, the tools are there too—even if less battle-tested. The Consumer Protection Act of 2019 gives consumers legal ground to challenge unfair subscriptions or deceptive practices. But so far, subscription features on hardware are vague legal territory. Cases celebrating unsubscribe wins are rare—and consumer awareness? Lower than it should be.

    That’s exactly where the next frontier lies. If more people begin raising hell—on social media, in consumer forums, even through legal channels—we can shine a light on businesses slipping us into perpetual payments. An informed user base could become an unstoppable force.

    And yes, real alternatives exist. Not every brand values squeezing you dry by making every feature a rent. Open-source solutions (whether it’s DIY printer firmware or CarPlay alternatives) give you back control. Some smaller, ethics-focused companies still believe offering complete functionality via a one-time purchase creates lasting trust and loyalty—not recurring revenue.

    Though ambitious, here’s the takeaway: we could be cornered into perpetual payments—but if we speak up, vote with our wallets, support repair rights, and back fair-minded alternatives, there’s still a chance we reclaim ownership.

    Reclaim Ownership

    It’s time to put down the corporate script and reclaim what’s rightfully ours.

    Ask the tough questions before you hit “buy.” Do you really own what you’re paying for, or are you signing up for a feature rental? If you’re handing over your card or your signature, make sure you’re not just funding a digital cage.

    Support the brands that reflect your values—those that deliver full ownership without strings, that let you use your purchase freely, not whitelist your access every month.

    Get involved. In the U.S., right-to-repair momentum is booming—states are passing laws, even the military wants to fix its own equipment in the field to avoid corporate monopoly and delays  . Pestering policymakers, backing bills like the REPAIR and SAFE Repair Acts, expressing support for consumers’ right to maintain what they own—these things work.

    In India, the law is already tilted in your favor on paper. The Consumer Protection Act of 2019 gives you tools to challenge unfair, opaque subscription models—but pushing the line between legal rights and corporate evasion means we need to shine a spotlight. Awareness, pressure, collective action—these can close that enforcement gap.

    And remember, there are thriving alternatives—open-source communities, DIY firmware hacks, and smaller, independent companies that still trust their customers with ownership instead of monthly rents.

    So don’t just buy. Vote—with your wallet, your words, your advocacy. Demand ownership, not permissions. True innovation should elevate freedom—not lease it back to us one month at a time.

    I REST MY CASE.

  • The Double-Chassis Mindset

    The Double-Chassis Mindset

    In a quiet corner of the paddock, the Lotus garage felt different. There was no casual chatter, just the steady clink of tools and the low murmur of engineers trading clipped instructions. In the center, under a fitted black cover, sat a shape every team wanted to see but none were allowed to touch.

    From the outside, it looked like just another Formula 1 car waiting for its turn on the track. But word had spread. Colin Chapman was up to something again. Rival mechanics passed by a little slower than usual, pretending not to look, but their eyes betrayed them. They all knew Lotus had a history of finding the gray areas in the rulebook—and sometimes rewriting it altogether.

    When the cover finally came off, the Lotus Type 88 emerged in black and gold, sleek and sharp. At first glance, it was beautiful. At second glance, it was suspicious. Whispers in the pit lane spoke of a double chassis—two frames working together, one to tame the wind, the other to protect the driver. If it worked, it could change everything.

    Meet the Master Mind – Colin Chapman

    Colin Chapman wasn’t just the founder of Lotus—he was its restless engine. Tall, wiry, and always in motion, he had a habit of speaking quickly, as if his ideas were trying to overtake his words. In Formula 1 circles, he was known for two things: winning races and finding ways around the rules without technically breaking them.

    Chapman believed in simplicity through cleverness. Where other teams added more metal, he found ways to take it away. Where others settled for conventional solutions, he searched for something no one had tried before. This philosophy had already given Lotus several championships and innovations that became standard across the sport—monocoque chassis, ground-effect aerodynamics, and lightweight construction.

    But with the Type 88, he was stepping into even riskier territory. The challenge was clear: keep the downforce that made ground-effect cars so fast, but give the driver a more forgiving ride. To most teams, it was a trade-off—choose one and sacrifice the other. To Chapman, that kind of thinking was the problem. He wanted both, and he was convinced the answer wasn’t in refining the old design, but in inventing something entirely new.

    The Unforgiving Ground-Effect Era

    In the early 1980s, Formula 1 was deep in the ground-effect era. The idea was simple in theory but brutal in execution: shape the car’s underside like an upside-down wing, seal the edges with side skirts, and let the airflow pin the car to the track. The result was staggering cornering speeds—and an equally staggering toll on the drivers.

    Picture courtesy: Takayuki Suzuki from Kanagawa, Japan – Lotus 88B (1981)

    To maximize the effect, teams ran their cars with rock-hard suspension, keeping them locked at the perfect height for that vacuum-like grip. It was great for lap times, terrible for human bodies. Drivers felt every bump, every ripple in the tarmac. Their necks and spines took a pounding, and after long stints, they’d climb out of the cockpit looking like they’d been in a bar fight.

    For most teams, this was simply the cost of going fast. Stiffen the suspension, hold your breath through the rough patches, and hope your driver could endure it. But for Chapman, that kind of compromise wasn’t acceptable. He didn’t want to choose between speed and comfort—he wanted both. And that meant he had to stop thinking about the car as a single, fixed frame.

    That was where the first sketches of something radical began to take shape.

    The Breakthrough – A House Inside a House

    Chapman’s answer to the problem sounded almost too simple: what if the driver and the aerodynamic loads didn’t have to live on the same chassis? Instead of one rigid frame doing everything, he imagined two—one inside the other, each with its own job.

    Picture courtesy: Giorgio Piola Design

    The outer chassis would be stiff and low, built to hold the ground-effect tunnels steady and squeeze every ounce of downforce from the air rushing underneath. The inner chassis, cradled within it, would carry the driver, engine, and controls—isolated by softer suspension. The airflow could push and pull all it wanted on the outer shell, but the driver would feel far less of the punishment.

    It was, in essence, a house inside a house. The outer walls took the wind and weather; the inner walls kept things calm and livable. For engineers used to thinking of a racing car as one continuous structure, it was a leap into unfamiliar territory. For Chapman, it was just another example of looking at a problem from a slightly different angle—and seeing a door where others only saw a wall.

    When the first Type 88 chassis took shape, it looked deceptively conventional. But those who knew what was hiding beneath the bodywork understood that this wasn’t an evolution of last year’s car. It was a different species altogether.

    The Stir – Whispers, Shock, and Fear in the Paddock

    When the Type 88 first appeared in the paddock, it didn’t announce itself with wild bodywork or outlandish curves. To the casual eye, it was just another Lotus—sleek, black and gold, a little sharper around the edges than last year’s car. But word travels fast in Formula 1, and by the time it rolled into view, the whispers had already spread.

    Rival engineers tried to mask their curiosity. They loitered outside the Lotus garage, glancing in while pretending to study their own parts. Some bent low, as if inspecting the tires, just to get a better look underneath. They had heard the stories: two chassis, one floating inside the other. It sounded absurd, but Chapman had a history of making the absurd work.

    Journalists leaned in too, searching for any visible clue of what made this machine different. The outer chassis gave away nothing. The real magic was hidden deep inside, invisible unless you knew exactly where to look. That secrecy only added to the tension.

    By the time the FIA inspectors arrived, the mood had shifted from curiosity to quiet unease. If this design worked, it wouldn’t just give Lotus a small advantage—it could blow open the competitive order. For teams that had spent months perfecting their own ground-effect cars, that was a problem. For Chapman, it was proof he was on to something.

    The Twist – The Ban Hammer Falls

    The Type 88 never got the chance to prove itself in anger. Even before it turned a competitive lap, the FIA was under pressure from rival teams to take a hard look at the car’s legality. Chapman had designed it to comply with the letter of the regulations, but the spirit of them—that was up for debate.

    The argument was simple on paper: Formula 1 cars were meant to have one chassis, not two. Chapman countered that the rules didn’t explicitly forbid his approach, and that his interpretation still met every safety and dimensional requirement. It was a classic Chapman move—find the gap in the wording, and drive a car straight through it.

    But politics move faster than engineering. At Long Beach, officials ruled the car illegal before the race even began. Lotus was told to use their older, single-chassis design if they wanted to compete. The double-chassis Type 88 was sidelined, its promise left untested.

    For Chapman, it was a bitter pill. He believed he’d found a way to solve a real performance problem without breaking the rules, only to be shut down by fear of what might happen if it worked too well. For the rest of the paddock, it was relief—an innovative threat neutralized before it could change the pecking order.

    The car would never start a Formula 1 race. But its short, controversial life had already made its mark.

    Creativity Isn’t Always Comfortable

    Innovation has a way of making people uncomfortable, especially when it threatens the balance of power. The Type 88 was a perfect example. On one hand, it solved a legitimate engineering problem in a way no one else had considered. On the other, it pushed the boundaries of what the sport’s rule makers and rivals were willing to tolerate.

    Chapman’s design didn’t fail because it was flawed. It failed because it was too different, too soon. Formula 1 thrives on progress, but it also guards its traditions and competitive order. When a new idea arrives that could tilt the playing field overnight, the instinct is often to shut it down first and debate its merits later.

    That resistance isn’t unique to racing. In business, technology, or any competitive field, the most disruptive ideas tend to face the heaviest pushback. Not because they’re bad, but because they challenge people to rethink what they thought was settled. The Type 88 showed that the path to real breakthroughs often runs right through someone else’s comfort zone—and staying on that path takes conviction.

    Your Double-Chassis Moment

    The Lotus Type 88 never claimed a checkered flag, but its legacy isn’t measured in trophies. Its real value lies in what it represents—a willingness to see a problem from a different angle, to split it into parts and solve each on its own terms. Chapman didn’t try to make a stiff suspension more comfortable; he questioned why both jobs had to be handled by the same structure in the first place.

    That’s the essence of creative solutioning. Sometimes, the answer isn’t polishing the same old design—it’s building something entirely new that rewrites the boundaries everyone else has accepted. It’s about finding your own “double chassis,” the separation that turns an either/or trade-off into a both/and advantage.

    Whether you’re designing software, running a business, or just trying to untangle a tricky problem, the lesson is the same: don’t start by asking “What’s allowed?” Start by asking “What’s possible?” Rules and norms will always be there, but so will opportunities hidden in the spaces between them.

    The Type 88 may never have crossed a finish line, but its story still inspires. Because sometimes, changing the race doesn’t require winning it—it just requires showing the world there’s another way to run it.

    So, what’s stopping you from doing the same? You don’t need a Formula 1 budget or a carbon-fiber workshop to think like Chapman. All you need is the willingness to challenge the way things have always been done, to spot the spaces between the rules, and to imagine a solution no one else has tried.

    Some ideas will be met with applause. Others will be met with resistance. That’s the nature of real innovation—it unsettles people before it convinces them. The question is whether you’re willing to build your own “double chassis” and put it out there anyway.

    Because the next big leap forward—in your work, your project, or your industry—might just be the one that everyone says can’t be done… until it is.

  • Building for Everyone: Web Accessibility

    Building for Everyone: Web Accessibility

    I have a disability that makes it hard to differentiate between similar colors. Sometimes I’ll stare at a webpage for minutes, squinting and adjusting my screen brightness, trying to figure out which text is clickable and which isn’t. I’ll miss important buttons because they blend into the background, or struggle to read error messages displayed in red text that looks identical to the black text around it.

    If this is my daily reality—and I can see the screen—imagine what it’s like for someone who can’t see it at all.

    Picture Sarah trying to pay her electric bill online before the deadline. She’s been blind since birth and navigates the web like a pro with her screen reader—usually. But today, she hits a wall that I’d never even notice. The payment button exists visually, but it has no accessible label. Her screen reader announces it as “button” with no context whatsoever. She tries tabbing through the form fields, but the focus jumps erratically, skipping crucial elements entirely. After twenty frustrating minutes of what should be a two-minute task, she gives up and calls the utility company, where she’ll wait on hold for another hour.

    This isn’t some hypothetical scenario. It’s Tuesday for Sarah and millions of others. And here’s what gets me—it’s completely preventable with basic consideration that costs virtually nothing to implement.

    After spending the last eight years building web applications and watching teams struggle with accessibility, I’ve learned something crucial: accessibility isn’t something you add at the end like a coat of paint. It’s woven into every decision you make, from choosing your color palette to writing your first component.

    The massive market you’re ignoring

    Let’s talk numbers, because they’re staggering. In the American context, the CDC reports that 61 million adults in the United States live with a disability. That’s 26% of the population; 1 in every 5 – roughly equivalent to the entire populations of California and Texas combined. Break it down further: 20.2 million people have trouble seeing, 7.6 million have a hearing difficulty, and 13.7 million have a serious difficulty walking or climbing stairs.

    But here’s what really opened my eyes: disability isn’t just permanent conditions. It’s also temporary and situational. That person with a broken arm trying to navigate your site one-handed? They need the same keyboard accessibility as someone with limited mobility. The user in a noisy coffee shop who can’t hear your video’s audio? They need captions just like someone who’s deaf. The executive squinting at their phone in bright sunlight? They benefit from high contrast design just like someone with low vision.

    Microsoft’s inclusive design methodology calls these permanent, temporary, and situational disabilities. When you design for the permanent – the person who’s blind – you end up helping everyone in similar circumstances.

    The economic impact is massive too. The disability market represents $13 trillion in annual disposable income globally. In the US alone, people with disabilities have $490 billion in disposable income annually. When your website is inaccessible, you’re not just excluding people – you’re walking away from serious money.

    Beyond screen readers: What accessibility actually covers

    Most people think accessibility means “make it work with screen readers,” and while that’s important, it’s just the tip of the iceberg. Real accessibility touches every aspect of user experience.

    Visual accessibility goes far beyond blindness. It includes people with low vision, color blindness (affecting 1 in 12 men and 1 in 200 women), light sensitivity, and conditions like dyslexia that affect reading. This means thinking about color contrast, font choices, text size, spacing, and how information is presented visually.

    Motor accessibility covers a huge range of needs. Some people can’t use a mouse at all and rely entirely on keyboards or specialized input devices. Others have tremors that make precise clicking difficult, or limited mobility that makes complex gestures impossible. Your interface needs to work with keyboard-only navigation, have click targets that are large enough, and not require precise timing or complex motions.

    Cognitive accessibility might be the most overlooked area. It includes people with ADHD, autism, memory issues, learning disabilities, and anyone who gets overwhelmed by complex interfaces. This means clear navigation, consistent patterns, simple language, and interfaces that don’t punish mistakes.

    Hearing accessibility affects how you handle audio and video content, but also things like error notifications that rely only on sound, or audio CAPTCHAs that have no alternative.

    Each of these areas has dozens of specific considerations, and they often overlap in complex ways.

    Remember when GDPR caught everyone off guard? Accessibility compliance is having a similar moment, except the consequences can be even more serious.

    The landmark cases started piling up around 2017. Target settled for $6 million after a class-action lawsuit over their inaccessible website. Netflix faced multiple lawsuits over lack of closed captions (subtitles). Domino’s fought their accessibility case all the way to the Supreme Court – and lost. The court essentially said that the Americans with Disabilities Act absolutely applies to digital spaces.

    But it’s not just big corporations getting hit. I’ve seen small businesses face lawsuits over basic accessibility issues – missing alt text, forms that don’t work with screen readers, videos without captions. The average settlement is around $50,000, but legal fees can easily double that.

    The regulatory environment is tightening globally. The European Accessibility Act takes effect in 2025, requiring digital accessibility for a wide range of services. Canada’s Accessible Canada Act is ramping up enforcement. Individual states are passing their own laws – California’s Unruh Civil Rights Act has been used successfully in digital accessibility cases.

    Here’s what’s really driving the increase in lawsuits: it’s not just about compliance anymore. Plaintiff attorneys have figured out that accessibility violations are easy to find and document. They use automated scanning tools to identify problematic sites, then file cases in bulk. Some law firms are filing hundreds of accessibility lawsuits per year.

    Start early or pay exponentially more

    I’ve been on both sides of this equation – building accessibility in from the start, and trying to retrofit it after launch. The difference in cost and effort is astronomical.

    When you plan for accessibility from day one, it becomes part of your natural workflow. Your designers learn to check color contrast as automatically as they check font sizes. Your developers write semantic HTML because that’s just how they write HTML. Your content creators add alt text because it’s part of their checklist.

    But when you try to add accessibility after the fact? Everything becomes a special case. That dropdown menu you built with divs and JavaScript? Now you need to completely rebuild it with proper ARIA attributes, keyboard handling, and focus management. Those custom form controls that look great but don’t announce properly to screen readers? Time for a complete redesign.

    I worked on one project where the client wanted to add accessibility to an existing e-commerce site. What should have been a two-week project turned into four months of fundamental rewrites. We had to rebuild the shopping cart, redesign the checkout flow, restructure the navigation, and rewrite most of the JavaScript interactions. The final cost was about six times the original estimate.

    Compare that to a similar project where we planned for accessibility from the beginning. The extra time for accessibility considerations? Maybe 15% additional development time, most of which was learning and establishing patterns that sped up later work.

    The hidden benefits that make it worthwhile

    Here’s where accessibility gets really interesting—the benefits extend far beyond compliance and inclusion.

    Performance improvements are dramatic. Accessible sites tend to have cleaner HTML, which means faster load times. Semantic markup reduces the need for complex CSS and JavaScript workarounds. I’ve seen page load times improve by 20-30% when teams clean up their HTML for accessibility.

    SEO benefits are substantial. Search engines are essentially very sophisticated screen readers. They rely on the same semantic markup, heading structures, and descriptive text that make sites accessible. Sites with good accessibility practices consistently rank better in search results.

    Conversion rates improve. This one surprised me initially, but it makes sense when you think about it. Accessible forms are clearer and easier to complete. Accessible navigation is more intuitive. Accessible content is easier to understand. All of these factors reduce friction and abandonment.

    Support costs plummet. When interfaces are clear and consistent—key accessibility principles—users make fewer mistakes and need less help. One client saw their support ticket volume drop by 40% after implementing accessibility improvements, particularly around form design and error handling.

    Code quality improves across the board. Teams that think about accessibility write more semantic HTML, create better component APIs, and build more robust error handling. These practices make codebases more maintainable and less prone to bugs.

    Why smart teams still struggle

    The biggest barrier isn’t technical knowledge—it’s organizational. Most teams I work with understand the importance of accessibility intellectually, but they struggle with implementation because of structural issues.

    The ownership problem is pervasive. Designers think developers will handle the technical implementation. Developers assume designers have considered the accessibility implications of their designs. QA teams test for functionality but not for accessibility. Product managers prioritize features over accessibility improvements. Everyone assumes someone else is covering it.

    Budget allocation is backwards. Teams budget for feature development but treat accessibility as overhead. They’ll spend weeks building a complex animation but won’t allocate time for proper keyboard navigation. This creates a cycle where accessibility always feels like extra work rather than core functionality.

    Knowledge gaps compound over time. Accessibility requires understanding user needs, technical implementation, legal requirements, and testing methodologies. Most team members are strong in one area but weak in others. Without someone who can bridge these gaps, accessibility efforts become fragmented and ineffective.

    Tool limitations create false confidence. Automated accessibility testing catches maybe 30% of real accessibility issues. Teams run these tools, see green checkmarks, and assume they’re good to go. Meanwhile, users with actual disabilities still can’t complete basic tasks on their sites.

    The expertise bottleneck is real. Many teams want to “hire an accessibility expert” to solve the problem, but accessibility experts are rare and expensive. More importantly, accessibility can’t be delegated to one person—it needs to be embedded in everyone’s workflow.

    A practical roadmap for getting started

    Instead of trying to solve everything at once, focus on building accessibility into your existing processes.

    For business leaders: Stop treating accessibility as a nice-to-have. Make it a business requirement with real consequences. Allocate budget specifically for accessibility work—typically 10-15% of your development budget is a good starting point. Establish accessibility goals in your metrics dashboard alongside performance and conversion metrics.

    Most importantly, get executive buy-in by connecting accessibility to business outcomes. Don’t just talk about compliance—talk about market reach, risk mitigation, and brand differentiation.

    For product and project managers: Build accessibility into your definition of done. A feature isn’t complete until it works for everyone. Include accessibility acceptance criteria in your user stories. Plan for accessibility testing in your QA cycles.

    Create accessibility personas alongside your regular user personas. Meet Sarah, who uses a screen reader. Meet Marcus, who has limited mobility and navigates primarily with keyboard. Meet Elena, who has ADHD and gets overwhelmed by complex interfaces. When you make decisions, think about how they affect these users.

    Track accessibility metrics like you track performance metrics. How many of your key user flows work with keyboard-only navigation? What percentage of your images have meaningful alt text? How many form errors are clearly communicated to screen readers?

    For designers: Learn the accessibility implications of your design decisions. Understand that color alone can’t convey information. Know that interactive elements need to be at least 44px in size for touch targets. Realize that complex layouts can be confusing for screen reader users.

    Start using accessibility-focused design tools. Stark for Figma checks color contrast in real-time. Able for Sketch simulates various visual impairments. Include accessibility annotations in your design specs—not just visual specs, but behavioral ones too.

    Create and maintain an accessible design system. Build accessibility into your components from the start. Document not just how components look, but how they behave with assistive technology.

    For developers: Master semantic HTML before you reach for JavaScript frameworks. Learn ARIA, but understand that good semantic markup reduces the need for ARIA attributes. Implement keyboard navigation patterns consistently across your application.

    Set up automated accessibility testing in your build process. Tools like axe-core can catch obvious issues early. But also learn manual testing techniques—navigate your site with only a keyboard, use a screen reader, test with high contrast mode enabled.

    Build accessibility into your component library. Create reusable patterns for common interactions like modals, dropdowns, and form validation. Make the accessible choice the easy choice for other developers.

    For testers: Expand your testing toolkit beyond automated scanners. Learn to use actual assistive technologies—VoiceOver on Mac, NVDA on Windows, mobile screen readers. Test with real users who have disabilities when possible.

    Create accessibility-specific test scenarios. Can users complete the checkout process using only a keyboard? Do error messages make sense when heard out of context by a screen reader? Can users with cognitive disabilities navigate your interface without getting lost?

    Document accessibility bugs with the same rigor as functional bugs. Include details about which assistive technologies are affected and specific steps to reproduce issues.

    Tools that actually make a difference

    The accessibility tool landscape has exploded in recent years, but quality varies wildly. Here are the tools that have proven most valuable in real projects:

    For automated testing: axe-core is the gold standard. It’s free, accurate, and integrates with virtually every testing framework. Lighthouse includes accessibility audits in its performance reports. WAVE provides excellent visual feedback for identifying issues.

    For manual testing: Learn the built-in screen readers first—VoiceOver (Mac/iOS), Narrator (Windows), TalkBack (Android). For Windows, NVDA is free and widely used. Don’t forget about browser zoom and high contrast modes. And there are hidden gems like ANDI (a tool provided by Social Security Administration of the US government)(https://www.ssa.gov/accessibility/andi/help/install.html).

    For design: Stark integrates with Figma and Sketch to check color contrast in real-time. Colour Contrast Analyser is a free desktop tool for testing color combinations. WebAIM’s contrast checker is reliable for quick online checks.

    For ongoing monitoring: Tenon.io provides automated monitoring and detailed reports. AccessiBe and similar overlays are controversial and not recommended—they often create more problems than they solve. Paid applications like SiteImprove gives valuable insights into the day-to-day state of accessibility of your websites. (SiteImprove, Endorsed… I am waiting for your cheque 😄)

    The key is using multiple tools in combination. Automated tools catch obvious issues, manual testing reveals usability problems, and real user feedback validates your solutions.

    Learning accessibility: Certifications and structured education

    Ok… you can read this section as one from many of my “unmaterialized” dreams – getting certified in A11y! Also my recommendations root from the mistakes I made in learning accessibility.

    If you’re serious about building accessibility expertise-whether for yourself or your team-the learning landscape has matured significantly in recent years. But here’s the thing: not all accessibility education is created equal.

    The gold standard certifications actually matter. The International Association of Accessibility Professionals (IAAP) offers three levels of certification that employers increasingly recognize and respect. The Certified Professional in Accessibility Core Competencies (CPACC) covers foundational knowledge-disability types, assistive technologies, and legal frameworks. It’s perfect for product managers, designers, and anyone who needs to understand the big picture.

    The Web Accessibility Specialist (WAS) certification gets technical. It focuses specifically on WCAG implementation, testing methodologies, and remediation strategies. This one’s essential for developers and QA professionals who need hands-on skills.

    For those managing accessibility programs, the Certified Professional in Web Accessibility (CPWA) combines strategic thinking with technical depth. It’s newer but gaining traction among accessibility consultants and enterprise teams.

    University programs are catching up. A few standout programs actually get it right. The University of Washington’s Master’s in Human Centered Design & Engineering has an excellent accessibility track. Georgia Tech’s Master of Science in Human-Computer Interaction includes substantial accessibility coursework. These aren’t just theoretical-they emphasize real-world application and user research with disabled communities.

    Online learning that doesn’t suck. Most accessibility courses are painfully dry, but some break the mold. Deque University offers practical, hands-on training that mirrors real development workflows. Their courses include actual screen reader demonstrations and coding exercises with immediate feedback. SiteImprove’s Frontier (formerly known as SiteImprove Academy) also gives training materials.

    WebAIM’s training workshops remain some of the best available, especially their screen reader training sessions. They’re not cheap, but they’re taught by people who actually use these technologies daily.

    Udacity’s Web Accessibility course, created with Google, is free and surprisingly comprehensive. It includes real user interviews and practical exercises that go beyond checkbox compliance.

    What to focus on learning first. Don’t try to memorize WCAG guidelines-that’s like trying to learn programming by memorizing syntax. Instead, start with user needs. Spend time watching screen reader users navigate websites. Understand how people with different disabilities actually use technology.

    Learn semantic HTML deeply before touching ARIA. Most accessibility problems stem from poor HTML, not lack of fancy attributes. Master keyboard navigation patterns—they’re the foundation of accessible interactions.

    Study color and contrast not just as technical requirements, but as design principles. Learn to test with actual assistive technologies, not just automated tools.

    Building internal expertise vs. hiring consultants. Here’s what I’ve learned from teams that succeed long-term: you need internal champions, not just external experts. Consultants can audit your site and provide recommendations, but sustainable accessibility requires people on your team who understand both the technical implementation and the user impact.

    The most effective approach combines external training with internal mentorship. Bring in accessibility experts to train your team, then have team members practice and teach each other. This builds distributed knowledge instead of creating single points of failure.

    Red flags in accessibility education. Avoid courses that focus primarily on automated testing tools or treat accessibility as a checklist. Be skeptical of “accessibility overlay” vendors who claim their JavaScript widgets can make any site accessible-they can’t, and often make things worse.

    Skip training that doesn’t include actual disabled users or real assistive technology demonstrations. Accessibility isn’t theoretical-it needs to be grounded in real user experiences.

    The certification question for teams. Should you require accessibility certifications for your team? It depends on your context. For specialized accessibility roles, absolutely. For general developers and designers, certifications demonstrate commitment but aren’t substitutes for practical experience.

    What matters more is creating a culture where accessibility knowledge is valued and shared. Regular lunch-and-learns about accessibility topics, internal accessibility audits, and user testing with disabled participants often teach more than formal certifications.

    The goal isn’t to turn everyone into accessibility experts-it’s to make accessibility knowledge distributed and actionable across your entire team.

    The compound benefits of getting it right

    When teams fully embrace accessibility, something remarkable happens-it changes how they think about all user experience problems.

    Teams that understand cognitive accessibility build clearer interfaces for everyone. Teams that master keyboard navigation create more logical interaction flows. Teams that write good alt text become better at all content strategy.

    I’ve watched accessible design patterns become the foundation for better responsive design, clearer error handling, and more intuitive navigation. The skills transfer because accessibility forces you to think systematically about user needs and edge cases.

    The business benefits compound too. Accessible brands build stronger relationships with their users. They face fewer legal risks. They tap into underserved markets. They build products that work better for everyone.

    But the most important outcome is cultural. Teams that prioritize accessibility create more inclusive work environments. They ask better questions about user needs. They build more thoughtful products. They remember that technology should serve people, not the other way around.

    Stop treating people like edge cases

    Here’s what I want you to take away from all of this: accessibility isn’t about compliance checklists or legal risk management. It’s about remembering that the people using your products are real humans with diverse needs and capabilities.

    That means moving beyond the minimum viable accessibility—meeting WCAG guidelines—to actually usable accessibility. It means testing with real users, not just automated tools. It means considering accessibility in every design decision, not just retrofitting it later.

    The web was designed to be universal from the beginning. Tim Berners-Lee said it best: “The power of the Web is in its universality. Access by everyone regardless of disability is an essential aspect.”

    We’ve spent the last two decades making the web faster, more beautiful, and more powerful. Now it’s time to make sure it actually works for everyone who wants to use it.

    To make web accessible, it takes more than technical expertise. One needs “Compassion”. And my dear friend, that will make you a “Superman”. All superheroes don’t have capes. Some come with keyboards and mice 😄.

    Your users—all of them—are counting on it.

  • That “Get 10% Off” Popup? Here’s What It Really Costs You

    That “Get 10% Off” Popup? Here’s What It Really Costs You

    You know the drill. You’re finally on a shopping site, maybe you’re this🤏 close to finding the perfect pair of sneakers, and then—bam. A box slides across your screen, blocking everything.

    “GET 10% OFF YOUR FIRST ORDER!” it screams, asking for just one little thing in return: your email address.

    It feels like a no-brainer, right? A quick discount for an email you can always unsubscribe from later. But the real price of that “deal” is a lot higher than you think, and it has everything to do with your privacy and your ability to just shop in peace. The next time one of those popups ambushes you, it’s worth thinking about what’s really going on behind the scenes.

    So, Why Are They So Thirsty for Your Email?

    Let’s be real: they’re not just being friendly. Your email address is one of the most valuable things you can give a retailer.

    For them, it’s a golden ticket right into your inbox. It lets them sidestep expensive ads and market to you directly, sending personalized deals, “we miss you” emails, and reminders about that cart you abandoned.

    But it goes deeper than that. Your email becomes the anchor for a detailed profile they build about you. They track what you buy, what you browse, and how you interact with their site. Sometimes, this data gets combined with information from other platforms, creating a surprisingly detailed picture of who you are and what makes you click “buy.”

    From a business perspective, it’s a slam dunk. Email marketing costs next to nothing and delivers a huge return. For you, though, it’s the start of a much more complicated relationship.

    It’s Not Just Spam: The Real Downside

    Once you hand over your email, it rarely stays in one place. Many companies share or sell this data to third-party advertisers, analytics firms, and even shady data brokers. Suddenly, it’s not just one store that has your info; it’s dozens you’ve never even heard of.

    This also makes you a bigger target. The more databases your email is in, the more likely it is to be exposed in a data breach, landing you on spam lists or, worse, in the hands of scammers. And while privacy laws like GDPR exist, not every site plays by the rules. Consent is often buried in the fine print, leaving you unsure of what you’ve actually agreed to.

    They’re also designed to be manipulative. These popups are masters of psychological nudging. They create a sense of urgency with a “limited time offer!” or use FOMO (fear of missing out) to push you into a decision.

    You’ve seen the design tricks: the huge, glowing opt-in button right next to a tiny, grayed-out link that says something guilt-trippy like, “No thanks, I hate savings.” They’re counting on you to take the path of least resistance, trading your long-term privacy for a short-term reward.

    But Does This Stuff Actually Work?

    You might be thinking, “Who really falls for this?” Well, it turns out, a whole lot of us do. These popups aren’t just annoying; they’re shockingly effective.

    The numbers don’t lie:

    • On average, these popups convert anywhere from 3% to 11% of site visitors. Some of the most aggressive ones convert a staggering 42.5% of people.
    • Those big, screen-blocking popups get up to 76% more sign-ups than the little slide-in banners from the side.
    • They’re especially powerful on our phones, converting 74% better than on a desktop.
    • Toss in a discount or a free guide, and sign-ups can jump by over 150%.

    So yes, these tactics work. But their success comes at the expense of a good, clean user experience, and it slowly erodes our trust.

    How to Shop Smarter (and Keep Your Sanity)

    You don’t have to swear off online shopping forever. You just need a better game plan.

    1. Get a “burner” email. Set up a separate email address just for shopping, newsletters, and promotional offers. It keeps your main inbox clean and contains the marketing flood to one place. Services like Nordpass (Hey Nordpass, I am waiting for your cheque) gives you burner emails, and so does iCloud.
    2. Be a quick unsubscriber. After you snag your discount and make a purchase, don’t hesitate to go into your email preferences and unsubscribe. Be ruthless.
    3. Skim the privacy policy. You don’t have to read the whole novel, but a quick search for words like “third-party,” “share,” or “affiliates” can tell you a lot about where your data is headed.
    4. Favor sites that ask nicely. Look for sites that use simple, unchecked boxes to ask for your consent. It’s a sign they respect your choice instead of trying to trick you into one.

    So, the next time that “Get Offer” box slides onto your screen, just take a breath. That 10% off is tempting, but your data is worth a lot more to them than the discount is to you.

    Ultimately, it’s your inbox, your data, and your peace of mind. Protecting them is a pretty good deal.

  • The Velocity Trap: How Goodhart’s Law Derails IT Projects

    The Velocity Trap: How Goodhart’s Law Derails IT Projects

    You know that project. The one where everything looks perfect on paper. Velocity charts climbing, burndown slopes diving, tickets closing left and right. Every dashboard screams “success!” in bright green.

    Meanwhile, your dev team’s burning out. Stakeholders are muttering about something feeling “off” with the product. That feature you delivered right on schedule? Users hate it.

    There’s a name for this disconnect between what we measure and what actually matters. An economist named Charles Goodhart figured it out decades ago: “When a measure becomes a target, it ceases to be a good measure.”

    This is Goodhart’s Law, and it’s quietly sabotaging IT projects everywhere. In our data-obsessed world, it’s the bug we can’t seem to patch.

    What Goodhart’s Law Actually Means

    Here’s the deal: the moment you start measuring something, people’s behavior changes. They’ll optimize for the metric instead of the thing you’re trying to improve. The number becomes the goal, not what the number was supposed to represent.

    Classic scenario: your team gets judged on closed bug tickets. Sounds reasonable, right? Better software quality through more bug fixes. But watch what happens. They’ll knock out ten easy typos while ignoring that one nasty race condition that’s been crashing servers. They’ll close tickets prematurely, knowing they’ll probably reopen them later. The metric looks amazing. The software? Still broken.

    This isn’t some abstract theory. It’s the “Cobra Effect” in action – named after that time the British government in India offered bounties for dead cobras. People started breeding cobras just to collect the reward. Same energy, different century. That’s an interesting story for another time!

    From Banking to Burndown Charts

    Goodhart first spotted this pattern in the 1970s at the Bank of England. The government tried controlling inflation by targeting specific money supply metrics. Banks immediately started gaming the system, moving money around to hit the targets while completely missing the point of fighting inflation.

    What started as an economic observation turned out to be a universal truth about human behavior. And nowhere does it thrive quite like in the metrics-heavy world of Agile development.

    The Velocity Trap in Action

    Velocity is supposed to be a planning tool. It helps teams predict how much work they can realistically handle. But the second a manager says, “We need 10% more velocity this quarter,” it becomes a target. Game over.

    Now your team’s inflating story points. Breaking simple features into microscopic tasks that don’t add up to anything meaningful. The velocity number goes up, management’s happy, but you’re not actually delivering faster. You’re just better at making the chart look good.

    Same thing happens everywhere. Push for on-time delivery? Teams cut corners on testing and pile up technical debt. Reward lines of code? You get bloated, inefficient software. In every case, people aren’t being malicious – they’re just responding to the incentives you’ve created.

    Why We Keep Falling for It

    Here’s the thing: for stakeholders who aren’t in the weeds, a project feels like a black box. Metrics like velocity or ticket counts seem like a perfect window into what’s really happening. They offer the illusion of control in a chaotic world.

    But there’s a massive gap between what stakeholders actually want—a product that works and solves real problems – and what’s easy to count. We measure what’s convenient instead of what’s important. Then we wonder why the numbers look great but the product sucks.

    The Real Damage

    When you fall into this trap, you don’t just get bad data. Teams develop tunnel vision, obsessing over metrics while losing sight of the bigger picture. Quality becomes an afterthought.

    This is where technical debt multiplies. To hit that deployment target, teams take shortcuts and promise to “fix it later.” Spoiler alert: later never comes. The codebase turns into a house of cards, making every future change slower and more expensive.

    The human cost is even worse. Constant pressure to chase arbitrary numbers kills morale, stifles creativity, and destroys the psychological safety teams need to do their best work. Eventually, stakeholders realize the metrics are meaningless, and trust between leadership and the team evaporates.

    How to Use Metrics Without Getting Used

    The solution isn’t to throw out all your data. It’s to get smarter about how you use it.

    First, never rely on a single metric. Build a balanced scorecard that tells the whole story. Track output metrics like lead time, but balance them with quality indicators like bug escape rates. Layer on outcome metrics—user adoption, customer satisfaction scores. And don’t forget team health through regular retrospectives and honest conversations.

    Shift your focus from output to outcomes. Instead of asking, “How many story points did we complete?” ask, “What value did we deliver to users?”

    Most importantly, treat metrics as diagnostic tools, not weapons. When a number drops, don’t start pointing fingers. Get curious. Ask your team, “What’s happening here? What is this telling us about our system?”

    The Bottom Line

    Metrics are tools, not destinations. They’re the map, not the territory. A good map is invaluable for navigation, but staring at it won’t get you where you need to go.

    Your job as a leader isn’t to be a metric manager – it’s to interpret the data wisely, protect your team from the distortions of metric-driven pressure, and keep everyone focused on what really matters: delivering genuine value.

    Take a hard look at your dashboards. Are your metrics lighting the path forward, or just lighting a fire under your team?

  • The Elastic Nature of Time: Parkinson’s Law

    The Elastic Nature of Time: Parkinson’s Law

    Ever wonder why that “quick” project somehow ate up your entire month? Or why adding more people to your team made everything slower instead of faster?

    You’re not losing your mind. You’re witnessing invisible laws at work—principles that govern how we collaborate, create, and sometimes spectacularly fail in our professional lives.

    These aren’t mystical forces or corporate conspiracy theories. They’re well-documented patterns observed across decades of organizational behavior, backed by research and countless “aha!” moments from professionals who finally understood why their workplace felt so chaotic.

    Understanding these laws won’t just satisfy your curiosity—it’ll give you a competitive edge. You’ll predict problems before they happen, design better systems, and maybe even save your sanity in the process.

    Let’s start with the most relatable one: why everything takes longer than it should.

    Work expands to fill the time available for its completion.

    This gem comes from Cyril Northcote Parkinson, who observed this phenomenon in 1955 while studying bureaucratic efficiency. But you don’t need to work in government to see it everywhere.

    The Two-Week Feature That Could’ve Been Done in Two Days

    Picture this: Your development team gets two weeks to build a “simple” login feature. Day one, they dive into research. Days two through five, they debate the perfect architecture. Week two brings endless code reviews and “just one more improvement.”

    The feature ships exactly at the deadline—polished, over-engineered, and probably more complex than needed.

    Now imagine the same team facing a critical bug fix with only two hours before a client demo. Suddenly, they’re laser-focused, cutting through unnecessary complexity, and delivering a working solution in record time.

    Same people. Same skills. Different time pressure. Entirely different outcomes.

    The Psychology Behind the Phenomenon

    Parkinson’s Law isn’t about laziness—it’s about human nature. When we have abundant time, we:

    • Overthink decisions that could be made quickly
    • Perfect work that’s already “good enough”
    • Create complexity to justify the time allocation
    • Procrastinate because urgency feels distant

    The antidote? Strategic time constraints. Not arbitrary deadlines that stress everyone out, but thoughtful limits that channel focus and creativity.

    Practical Applications

    For Project Managers:

    • Set shorter, iterative deadlines instead of one massive milestone
    • Build in buffer time separately from the work estimate
    • Use timeboxing for meetings and decision-making sessions

    For Individual Contributors:

    • Estimate your work honestly, then cut 20% off your timeline
    • Use the Pomodoro Technique for focused work sessions
    • Ask yourself: “What’s the minimum viable version of this task?”

    For Teams:

    • Implement regular sprint reviews to maintain momentum
    • Create artificial constraints (like demo days) to force completion
    • Question whether that “improvement” is truly necessary

    This is the first article in my series exploring the hidden laws that shape our work lives.

    What workplace “laws” have you noticed in your own experience? Share your observations in the comments below.

  • So, You Think You’ve Free Will!

    So, You Think You’ve Free Will!

    💡

    Article inspired from real life incidents. Knowledge “sponsored by” – Paradoxes.

    You’re browsing Amazon at 2 AM, ostensibly looking for a phone charger. Twenty minutes later, your cart contains the charger, a short story collection, drain clog cleaner, a pack of caffeine strip, and—somehow—a KitchenAid lemon squeezer you’re genuinely excited about (Based on True Story! 🤪). The “Customers who bought this item also bought” suggestions feel like mind reading, each recommendation hitting with uncanny precision.

    Here’s the unsettling question: Did you choose these items, or did they choose you?

    This isn’t just about shopping algorithms. It’s about the fundamental mystery that’s haunted humanity since we first wondered whether we’re the authors of our own stories or just characters following a script we can’t see. Welcome to the paradox of free will—now with same-day delivery.

    Basic understanding of the workings of paradoxes are learned from this book

    Millennium Old Question in Gen AI Era

    Philosophers have been wrestling with this question for millennia. The Stoics believed everything was predetermined by cosmic reason. Buddhist thinkers explored how desire itself might be an illusion. Enlightenment philosophers championed human reason and choice. But none of them had to contend with recommendation engines that know they want a banana slicer before they do.

    Modern pop culture has become our new philosophical laboratory. The Matrix* asked whether choice is real when reality itself is manufactured. Westworld explored whether artificial beings with programmed responses can achieve genuine agency. Everything Everywhere All at Once suggested that maybe infinite choices collapse into the same fundamental human experiences. These aren’t just entertainment—they’re thought experiments about the nature of human agency in an age where technology predicts and shapes our desires.

    (* For Gen Alpha kids – Matrix is a movie from 2000, which IS still a “religion”. Choose red pill to know the truth. Or take blue pill and stay stuck in snapchat and Instagram)

    The Amazon algorithm doesn’t just respond to what we want; it participates in creating what we want by showing us what others like us have wanted. We’re choosing from choices that emerged from the collective choices of millions of others, creating a feedback loop where individual preference becomes indistinguishable from algorithmic suggestion.

    Surprise Surprise!!

    In the 1980s, neuroscientist Benjamin Libet conducted experiments that sent shockwaves through philosophy departments worldwide. He measured brain activity while people made simple decisions—like when to flex their wrist. The disturbing discovery: their brains showed signs of “deciding” about 350 milliseconds before the people reported being aware of their intention.

    If our brains are deciding before “we” decide, who exactly is in charge?

    This 0.35-second gap has become the smoking gun in the case against free will. It suggests that what we experience as conscious choice might be our brain’s after-the-fact rationalization of decisions already made by unconscious processes. We’re not the CEO of our minds—we’re the spokesperson, explaining decisions made in boardrooms we’re not allowed to enter.

    Black Mirror episodes like “Bandersnatch” play with this terrifying possibility, creating interactive narratives where viewers make choices that feel meaningful but ultimately lead to predetermined outcomes. Minority Report imagined a world where crimes could be prevented because they were predictable—free will reduced to statistical probability.

    The Amazon algorithm operates on a similar principle. It doesn’t read your mind; it reads patterns so consistent across human behavior that individual choice starts to look like a beautiful illusion. You think you’re surprising yourself with that banana slicer, but somewhere in a data center, a machine learning model saw it coming.

    Living the Paradox: The Responsibility Trap

    Here’s where the philosophical rubber meets the road: our entire society is built on the assumption that people are responsible for their choices. We praise success, punish crimes, and structure relationships around the belief that people can change, learn, and decide differently.

    But if free will is an illusion, what happens to responsibility? Should we stop holding people accountable? Abandon the justice system? Give up on personal growth?

    Should we praise Oscar Piastri for his F1 race wins? Should we not punish Elizabeth Holmes for defrauding millions of dollars? If they didn’t act on their free will, how can they be held responsible for their success or crimes?

    Different cultures have grappled with this differently. Eastern philosophical traditions often embrace a more fatalistic view—what will be, will be—while Western individualism doubles down on personal agency and self-determination. Social media has created a fascinating hybrid: we curate our online selves with obsessive intentionality while being shaped by algorithms designed to predict and influence our behavior.

    The paradox deepens when we consider that believing in free will seems to matter regardless of whether it exists. Studies show that people who believe in free will are more likely to behave ethically, work harder, and help others. The belief itself has causal power—a meta-level of choice about whether to choose.

    The Practical Magic of “As If”

    Perhaps the most psychologically healthy response to the free will paradox is what philosophers call “compatibilism”—the idea that we can act as if we have free will even if we don’t, because the experience of choice is what matters for human flourishing.

    Think about your Amazon shopping experience again. Even if the algorithm influenced your decisions, you still experienced the satisfaction of finding exactly what you didn’t know you needed. The feeling of serendipity, of personal discovery, remains meaningful regardless of the mechanical processes that enabled it.

    Successful societies operate on this “as if” principle. We structure laws, relationships, and personal development around the assumption of choice because this assumption creates better outcomes than its alternative. It’s a collectively agreed-upon useful fiction—or maybe a profound truth we can only access by living it.

    The placebo effect of believing in free will might be the most human thing about us: we become more free by acting as if we already are.

    Embracing the Mystery

    Maybe the real error is thinking this paradox needs to be solved rather than experienced. Modern physics has taught us to live comfortably with quantum uncertainty—particles that exist in multiple states until observed, effects that precede causes, reality that shifts based on measurement. Perhaps consciousness operates in a similar vague space where determinism and choice coexist without contradiction.

    Emergence theory suggests that complexity can create genuine novelty—that while individual neurons operate according to physical laws, the networks they form can generate properties that transcend their components. Your brain might be a deterministic machine that somehow produces the genuine experience of choice, the same way individual water molecules create the wetness they don’t possess alone.

    The Amazon algorithm might predict your behavior with startling accuracy, but it can’t predict why that lemon squeezer made you happy, or the story you’ll tell about buying it, or how it might change your relationship with fruit preparation. The meaning emerges in the gap between prediction and experience, between pattern and novelty.

    The Human Element

    The free will paradox might be less about finding the right answer and more about staying curious about the question. Every time you pause before clicking “add to cart,” every moment you choose kindness over convenience, every decision to change direction—these experiences matter not because they prove you’re free, but because they’re how freedom feels from the inside.

    The algorithm knows what you’ll buy, but it doesn’t know who you’ll become. That space between prediction and possibility might be where free will lives—not as a philosophical conclusion, but as a lived experiment in being human.

    So the next time you find yourself marveling at Amazon’s uncanny suggestions, remember: you’re not just shopping. You’re participating in humanity’s oldest philosophical experiment, one purchase at a time. The algorithm may know what you want, but only you can decide what it means.

    The paradox of free will isn’t a problem to be solved—it’s a mystery to be lived. And perhaps that’s the most human choice of all.

  • Being Poor is Expensive

    Being Poor is Expensive

    What if I say, whatever you think economic might be actually more expensive than you think?

    This blog post is about you, and the financial blunders you have done so far.

    I have the fix too! Read along.

    Last weekend, I was visiting one of my family friends. I was helping him with dishes after cooking. And I found a Hexclad frying pan among the dishes. We all know Hexclad is an expensive brand. Obviously, it became a point of discussion. What came out of the discussion was a hard hitting fact that living a poor or middle-class life is more expensive. Let us see how that works.

    Picture yourself buying a non-stick pan of a good brand – say Tramontina. It will cost you around $20-$30. It has a life of around one year before the non-stick coating wears off, if you use a nylon or silicon spatula with it. If you use a wooden or steel spatula, consider it is dead the same day. Essentially you have to buy a pan every year. Now look at HexClad pans. It will cost you $120-$140. Fact is, it will last for at least 10 years, use whatever kind of spatula you use steel, wood, or others.

    Here you will see a pattern. You will be spending at least $300 over 10 years for a non-durable pan (adjusting to price rises). Where as you will spend only one-third if you buy an expensive one.

    Which one will you buy? This simple dilemma illustrates one of the most insidious aspects of poverty: being poor is expensive. This concept, known as the “boots theory of socioeconomic unfairness,” reveals how financial constraints trap people in cycles of higher costs and reduced opportunities.

    The Origins of Boots Theory

    The boots theory emerged from the brilliant mind of Terry Pratchett, the beloved fantasy author who wove profound social commentary throughout his Discworld novels. In his 1993 book “Men at Arms,” Pratchett introduced the concept through the character of Captain Samuel Vimes, a working-class city watchman who understood poverty intimately.

    By https://www.abebooks.co.uk/servlet/BookDetailsPL?bi=30529355692&, Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2092022

    Pratchett wrote: “The reason that the rich were so rich, Vimes reasoned, was because they managed to spend less money. Take boots, for example. He earned thirty-eight dollars a month plus allowances. A really good pair of leather boots cost fifty dollars. But an affordable pair of boots, which were sort of OK for a season or two and then leaked like hell when the cardboard gave out, cost about ten dollars.”

    The mathematics of this situation revealed itself starkly. Vimes would spend ten dollars on cheap boots that lasted perhaps a year. Meanwhile, someone with fifty dollars upfront could buy boots that lasted for years. Over a decade, the poor man might spend $100 on boots while the wealthy person spent just $50 for the same period of footwear.

    Understanding the Deeper Mechanics

    The boots theory operates on several interconnected principles that extend far beyond footwear or frying pan. At its core lies the concept of “poverty tax” – the additional costs imposed on people who cannot afford to make optimal economic choices.

    When you lack sufficient capital upfront, you’re forced into a pattern of purchasing inferior goods and services that cost more over time. This creates what economists call a “liquidity trap,” where your inability to access cash when needed forces you into more expensive alternatives.

    Consider how this principle manifests in everyday life. If you can’t afford to buy groceries in bulk, you pay higher per-unit prices for smaller quantities. If you can’t maintain a minimum bank balance, you pay monthly fees and overdraft charges. If you can’t afford a reliable car, you spend more on repairs, higher insurance rates for older vehicles, and potentially miss work opportunities due to transportation issues.

    Real-World Applications

    The boots theory reveals itself across virtually every aspect of modern life, creating a dominos effect of interconnected financial disadvantages that compound over time.

    Housing represents perhaps the most dramatic example. If you cannot afford a down payment for a home, you’re forced to rent. Over thirty years, rent payments often exceed what mortgage payments would have been for the same property, yet you build no equity. The renter ends up paying significantly more for housing while accumulating no assets.

    Banking and credit systems perpetuate this pattern ruthlessly. Without sufficient credit history or income, you cannot access low-interest loans. Instead, you rely on payday loans, credit cards with exorbitant interest rates, or rent-to-own schemes that can cost three times the retail price of goods. The people who most need access to affordable credit are systematically denied it.

    Healthcare demonstrates the boots theory’s life-and-death implications. Without insurance or preventive care, minor health issues become major emergencies. A $200 dental cleaning prevents a $2,000 root canal, but only if you can afford the upfront cost. Emergency room visits for routine care cost exponentially more than regular doctor visits, yet they’re often the only option for the uninsured.

    Transportation costs reveal similar patterns. Reliable newer cars require substantial down payments but offer lower maintenance costs, better fuel efficiency, and dependable operation. Cheaper older cars demand constant repairs, consume more fuel, and can cause job loss when they break down at critical moments.

    a pile of pills and money sitting on top of a table
    Photo by Çağlar Oskay / Unsplash

    The Psychology of Scarcity

    The boots theory connects deeply with research on scarcity mindset and decision-making under financial stress. When operating with limited resources, people focus intensely on immediate needs, often at the expense of long-term planning. This isn’t a character flaw but a rational response to survival pressure.

    Psychologists have discovered that financial stress literally reduces cognitive capacity. When you’re worried about making rent or buying groceries, your brain has fewer resources available for complex decision-making. This cognitive load makes it harder to research better options, compare long-term costs, or plan strategically – precisely when such skills matter most.

    The stress of poverty also affects risk tolerance. When you’re living paycheck to paycheck, you cannot afford to have purchases fail. This paradoxically pushes people toward familiar options, even when those options are more expensive over time. The $50 boots might be the better long-term investment, but if they fall apart in month two, you cannot afford to replace them.

    Systemic Reinforcement

    The boots theory reveals how economic systems often reinforce inequality through seemingly neutral mechanisms. Markets generally reward bulk purchasing, long-term commitments, and upfront payments – all privileges of having surplus capital.

    Credit scoring systems exemplify this dynamic. They reward consistent payment history and low credit utilization, both easier to maintain with higher incomes and savings. Meanwhile, people struggling financially face late fees, higher interest rates, and reduced access to credit precisely when they need it most.

    Employment structures contribute to this pattern. Many jobs offer health insurance, retirement matching, and other benefits only to full-time employees. Yet people working multiple part-time jobs – often out of necessity rather than choice – are excluded from these advantages despite working equivalent or longer hours.

    Breaking the Cycle 🔥

    Understanding the boots theory suggests several approaches to addressing poverty’s compounding costs. Individual strategies focus on maximizing the value of limited resources, while systemic solutions aim to reduce the poverty tax itself.

    On an individual level, the boots theory suggests prioritizing purchases that offer long-term value when possible. This might mean saving for several months to afford better boots rather than repeatedly buying cheap ones. Community resources like credit unions, buying cooperatives, and tool libraries can help people access better options collectively. Take example of the micro-financing self groups project by Government of Kerala, India.

    Systemic solutions require recognizing that poverty is not simply a lack of money but a complex web of higher costs and reduced opportunities. Progressive policies might include expanded access to low-interest credit, programs that help people build assets, and regulations that limit predatory lending practices.

    Some communities have experimented with “matched savings” programs that help people accumulate funds for major purchases. Others have created cooperative buying programs that allow individuals to access bulk pricing. These approaches recognize that small interventions can break expensive cycles.

    The Moral Dimension

    The boots theory carries profound moral implications for how we understand poverty and social responsibility. It reveals that many of the “poor financial decisions” attributed to low-income individuals are actually rational responses to impossible situations.

    When someone repeatedly buys cheap boots instead of saving for expensive ones, they’re not being shortsighted – they’re responding to immediate needs with limited resources. Judging these decisions without understanding the constraints involved represents a fundamental misunderstanding of poverty’s mechanics. Simply put, they are not “idiots” to buy substandard products. They are forced to react to today’s needs with today’s money.

    This insight challenges narratives that attribute poverty primarily to personal failings or poor choices. While individual decisions matter, the boots theory demonstrates how structural factors create systematic disadvantages that compound over time.

    Seeing the Hidden Costs

    Terry Pratchett’s boots theory provides a lens for understanding one of poverty’s cruelest paradoxes: that being poor costs more money. This isn’t a quirk of modern economics but a fundamental feature of systems that reward existing wealth while penalizing its absence. At the end of the day, the financial systems are made as we see today are made by the rich for rich. Poor and middle-class must help one another to survive!

    Recognizing the boots theory’s operation in our daily lives helps us understand why poverty persists despite individual effort and good intentions. It reveals how seemingly small financial disadvantages accumulate into significant barriers over time.

    Perhaps most importantly, the boots theory challenges us to see poverty not as a simple lack of money but as a complex system of compounding disadvantages. Only by understanding these mechanisms can we begin to design interventions that address poverty’s root causes rather than merely its symptoms.

    The next time you see someone making what appears to be a poor financial decision, consider the boots they might be wearing – and the boots they wish they could afford. The difference between those two pairs of boots might just explain everything about the distance between their world and yours.

    Tell me about your thoughts on what kind of bad decisions you have took due to not having enough resources in comments.

    References:

  • The Confidence Trap: Dunning-Kruger Effect

    The Confidence Trap: Dunning-Kruger Effect

    We all have gone through this. You’re scrolling through social media and stumble upon someone confidently sharing medical advice with zero healthcare background, while your doctor friend rarely posts anything about medicine. Or maybe you’ve sat through a meeting where the least experienced person dominates the discussion while seasoned experts stay quiet. You are not alone. Everyone have seen this paying in front of their eyes time and over.

    The Cruel Irony of Incompetence

    Back in 1999, psychologists David Dunning and Justin Kruger stumbled upon something that explains so much of human behavior. They discovered that the people who know the least about something are often the most confident about it, while true experts tend to doubt themselves. It’s like a cosmic joke: the skills you need to be good at something are the exact same skills you need to recognize you’re bad at it.

    Think about learning to drive. Remember those first few lessons when you thought you had it all figured out? You probably felt pretty confident right up until you tried parallel parking or merging onto a busy highway. Meanwhile, your driving instructor – who’s taught thousands of students – probably seemed overly cautious about things that felt simple to you.

    Where This Shows Up in Real Life

    This phenomenon is omnipresent in the world, and works in ways both amusing and alarming.

    In the classroom, struggling students often think they’ve nailed the test, while top performers walk out convinced they bombed it. Teachers see this constantly: the student who confidently turns in their exam first isn’t usually the one who aces it.

    At work, the newest team member might jump into complex projects with gusto, while the senior colleague who’s seen every possible way things can go wrong approaches the same task with healthy skepticism. It’s not that experience makes you pessimistic – it makes you realistic.

    Right after attending an online course, is the time an average techie will be the most confident with the newly earned skill. A person who just completed the AWS Cloud Practitioner certification will imagine building a Taj Mahal with the new skill. But the moment, they work on an actual project, the Taj Mahal built in the mind will start crumbling down.

    In politics and public discourse, this effect runs rampant. Complex issues that experts spend decades studying get reduced to confident hot takes from people who learned about them five minutes ago on YouTube.

    The Psychology Behind the Blind Spot

    Why does this happen? It comes down to a perfect storm of mental limitations.

    When you don’t know much about something, you literally can’t see what you don’t know. It’s like trying to navigate a city with a map that only shows three streets – you feel oriented until you realize there are hundreds of roads you can’t even see. The very ignorance that makes you incompetent also makes you unable to recognize your incompetence.

    Meanwhile, truly skilled people have what psychologists call the “curse of knowledge.” They’ve internalized so much that seems obvious to them, they assume others must know it too. They’re also acutely aware of how much more there is to learn, which makes them humble about what they do know.

    Another culprit is our feedback-starved environment. How often do we get honest, specific feedback about our performance? Most of the time, we’re left to judge ourselves, and we’re notoriously bad at it. We notice our efforts more than our results, our intentions more than our impact.

    Breaking Free from the Trap

    The good news? Once you know about this effect, you can start working against it.

    Embrace the beginner’s mind. When approaching something new, assume you know less than you think. Ask more questions. Seek out people who disagree with you. The moment you feel completely confident about something complex, that should be a red flag to dig deeper.

    Create feedback loops. Actively seek out honest assessment of your work. This isn’t about seeking praise – it’s about creating systems that give you accurate information about your performance. Whether it’s asking a trusted colleague for specific feedback or tracking objective metrics, external reality checks are invaluable.

    Study the masters, and the disasters. Look at people who are genuinely excellent at what you’re trying to do. What do they know that you don’t? Also examine spectacular failures in your field. What blind spots led to those disasters?

    Exit the comfort zone. That queasy feeling when you realize you don’t know something you thought you knew? That’s growth knocking at your door. The most dangerous thing you can do is avoid situations that might reveal your limitations.

    The Deeper Truth

    Here’s what makes this whole phenomenon so human: we all fall for it sometimes. The person confidently explaining something they barely understand might be a Nobel laureate in their actual field of expertise. Context matters.

    The real insight isn’t about pointing fingers at overconfident people – it’s about recognizing our own blind spots and building systems to work around them. The smartest people aren’t those who never experience the Dunning-Kruger effect; they’re the ones who’ve learned to catch themselves in it and course-correct.

    In a world overflowing with information and opinions, this understanding becomes almost a survival skill. The next time you find yourself absolutely certain about something, pause. Ask yourself: What are the unknowns that I don’t know? The question itself might be the beginning of real wisdom.

    Tail note: Writing this piece has been its own exercise in self-awareness – a reminder that understanding something intellectually and applying it consistently are two very different skills. The irony isn’t lost on me that I could be demonstrating the very effect I’m describing.

  • The Toilet Paper Affair – Ancient Necessity to Modern Luxury

    The Toilet Paper Affair – Ancient Necessity to Modern Luxury

    There are some things that no one* wants to talk about in a public forum. One of those things is how we clean ourselves after using the toilet. Being a South Asian, I find the bathroom etiquette a bit different from where I am now- in the US. I don’t think it is something we have to keep mum about.

    [*Mostly]

    Earlier, I had read a ” Quora WAR ” where there was a fierce fight between fellow Western country people vs Indians. Indians advocated using water and the West despised that and advocated using dry wipes/toilet paper. Recently (Yesterday), I remembered this Quora debate and I was curious, when was the commercial production of toilet tissues started? And what were the hygiene methods followed before that.

    Obviously, My reading started with Wikipedia. And from there, it was a rabbit-hole. I don’t know how, I kept on reading for almost 2 hours. And this piece is out of my understanding of things I read during that mere 2 hours.

    We take it for granted today, but toilet paper has a fascinating story spanning thousands of years. From creative ancient solutions to the modern perforated roll, humanity’s quest for comfort and cleanliness reveals surprising ingenuity.

    Time Before Toilet Paper

    Historically, people used whatever they had in their habitat, to clean themselves. This varied from grass, leaves, tree barks, etc. And yes, many civilizations insisted and used water as the main cleaning method. But this was mainly based on the availability of clean water.

    Wherever the availability of water was in question, people got creative! Ancient Romans used “tersorium”- basically it is a sea sponge on a stick. They sock it in vinegar or salt water between uses. These were communal.

    Greeks preferred smooth pottery fragments with rounded edges. Of course, no one wanted the other end of the digestive tract injured! 😀

    Early Chinese civilizations wrapped cloth around wooden sticks shaped like spatulas.

    Medieval Europeans show their class divisions even in the bathroom! The wealthy used wool, hemp, or even lace. While commoners made do with whatever cloth they had- sometimes, their own sleeves (- today, YUCK!). In the 1700s rural Americas, people turned to nature, using corncobs and seashells.

    No matter what we think about these methods, every civilization and every class of people in those valued one thing – Cleanliness.

    True Toilet Paper Pioneers

    We all know China invented paper somewhere near 100 AD. By the 6th century, Emporer Yandgi’s court records show that he used 15,000 sheets of paper annually, just for his personal hygiene!

    Early Chinese toilet papers were made from rice straw, hemp, and bamboo. They boiled the material, churned it into a pulp, flattened and dry it, and then cut into shape before using it. By 14th century, the imperial court enjoyed “Perfumed paper sheets”. Records show that the royal family alone used almost 0.75 million sheets yearly!!

    However, not everyone was happy with this invention. Traveling Muslim merchants described the Chinese practice as “Haraam” (foul), they always preferred using water.

    The West Catches Up

    Western toilet paper development took longer. Sir John Harrington invented the flushing toilet in 1596, though it would not become common for centuries. By the 1700s, newspapers became a popular bathroom staple.

    The commercial breakthrough came only in 1857 when American entrepreneur Joseph Gayetty found a way for the commercial production of toilet papers. But at that time it was sold in another name – “Medicated Paper for Water-Closet”. He sold it 500 sheets for 50 cents. Only then the use of “Toilet papers” really arrived in the West.

    Rolling into Modern Era

    Later in the 19th century, manufacturers found the best and most economical way to produce and store toilet paper – as “Rolls” like we see today. Seth Wheeler of Albany patented perforated wrapping paper in 1871. and the first modern perforated toilet paper roll came out in 1891, making the “tearing” much easier – literally and figuratively! 😀

    That was the same time home plumbing was improving a lot which resulted in having the toilets inside the home itself. With that, the consumption of toilet paper rose – first as a vanity symbol and later as a common addition to the shopping list.

    Big Business in Bathrooms

    Brothers – Clarence and Edward Irvin Scott founded Scott Paper Company in Philadelphia in 1879, initially cutting and packaging toilet paper for retailers to sell under their brands. The company grew after 1896 when Arthur Hoyt Scott joined. They started mass-producing their brand of toilet paper. By 1910, they had built the largest paper mill in Chester, marking the industrialization of toilet paper production.

    Meanwhile, that old paper made of concoction in China became popular there by the 16th century.

    From Luxury to Necessity

    We humans always run behind an unknown “comfort”. The story of toilet paper is also not so different from that. Imagine using the pottery fragments in place of that “plush quilted ultra-soft scented bathroom tissues”. This everyday item we rarely think about represents centuries of innovation and cultural evolution.

    Next time you pull a pack of tissue papers from the back aisle of Costco, spare a “thanks” for your ancestors and their corncobs, sea sponges, and pottery fragments.

    And maybe soon, you might be “Zapping” to buy tissue papers.

    Final Thoughts

    The COVID-19 pandemic time gave us some lessons as well as some “FailArmy” videos. One of those videos was people fighting over the last available toilet paper pack in some shop. After the pandemic, there has been a surge in American homes installing Bidet faucets in their bathrooms. A bit late, but the West is now catching up again with the East! 😀

    Let me know if you liked this article – leave a reaction/comment. Cheers.