Not everything is built to last. In a world where even diamonds come with seasonal updates from Tiffany and Cartier, it’s no wonder that a growing number of consumers are feeling trapped in an ever-tightening loop of product refreshes and updates—the planned obsolescence of everything.

Entire businesses are constructed around the release-today-refresh-tomorrow model, not because consumers wouldn’t prefer longer-lasting products, but because companies like Apple can get more from their clients by doing so.

As Vance Packard observed in The Waste Makers, a prescient critique of the status quo written in 1960, our entire economy relies on consumers’ willingness to spend more each year than they did the year before.

It’s not all the companies’ fault either.

Planned obsolescence is as much a sociocultural phenomenon as it is a savvy business strategy. We learn from a young age to shun those who fail to take part in the sacred rites of product and wardrobe updates, and we’ve entirely normalized the concept that whatever we purchase today is likely to be entirely outdated next year.

The fact that we harbor these beliefs is by no means accidental, and in many ways, the current state of affairs was purposely engineered after the Great Depression to reignite economic growth. In 1932 the duo Sheldon and Arens coined the concept of “creative waste” to fuel a stronger economy, and marketing agencies have taken it from there.

The 2010 documentary The Light Bulb Conspiracy brought planned obsolescence into the spotlight for the modern audience and sparked a steadily growing movement for rethinking the practice. However, could we truly survive without it?

The cost of constant upgrades

Let’s begin with an admission of guilt: We all stand to gain from the relentless pace at which our products become obsolete.

The latest iPhone comes packed with features unimaginable just half a decade ago, and the fast fashion industry satisfies deeply rooted needs concerning self-expression and status. Going one step deeper, most of our livelihoods stem from serving the machinery of planned obsolescence. Whether you’re in retail, logistics, a hardware engineer in Palo Alto, or someone serving them, we all have blood diamonds in our pockets.

The next time your paycheck hits your bank account, you can thank planned obsolescence for a sizable chunk of it.

If only it was all positive vibes in the building.

Because of planned obsolescence, we’re punished by poorer quality goods, higher expenses, and a mounting sense of unfairness as the perfectly functional is rendered obsolete by design. Most of the time we pay more to get less, and we thank our corporations with glee for the privilege of consuming whatever they deem fit to offer.

The environmental impact is staggering to boot. According to the United Nations, electronic waste alone reached a whopping 53.6 million metric tons worldwide already in 2019, with only 17.4% recycled appropriately. The fashion industry is no better, consuming 93 billion cubic meters of water annually and contributing to 10% of global carbon emissions. Given that 85% of all textiles end up in landfills, justifying the sheer amount of waste we goad the industry into is no easy feat.

And why even bother?

Apart from maintaining the status quo of consumerism-fuelled constant growth, there’s no good reason for fighting on behalf of planned obsolescence. Not only do we deserve an economy where products are made to last, but our continued existence on this planet depends on it.

However, shaking off our addiction might prove more difficult than many anticipate.

The problem with getting rid of planned obsolescence

Asking whether our way of life could survive the downfall of planned obsolescence is by no means a rhetorical question.

What would happen if everyone was sold one set of light bulbs designed to last a lifetime and we only upgraded our iPhones when a paradigm shift in the underlying technology appeared?

For starters, we’d need to reimagine ourselves as consumers.

While there’s a growing subculture of thrifting and minimalism, the majority still operate happily under the norms of disposable culture. Quite a few of us do our utmost not just to take part in consumerism, but to outdo everyone else in it. For as long as our species has been around we’ve been searching for status and meaning from resources and differentiated possessions. In many ways planned obsolescence is only our just dessert even if we might not like the aftertaste.

We’d also have to rethink what success looks like for companies.

Shifting metrics from endless revenue growth to permanently satisfied customers sounds idealistic, but convincing stakeholders to embrace lower profits just because it’s morally more palatable is a Herculean task.

Frankly, our economy might not withstand a sudden move away from planned obsolescence. Many jobs—from marketing to manufacturing—are built on the back of consumers chasing the new, and the fate of entire countries that depend on international trade is on the line.

This is why a tactful and decidedly surgical approach is necessary, one that gradually shifts both consumer behavior and business models without breaking the economy in the process.

Rethinking consumerism for a sustainable future

Some are already envisioning a future that breaks this cycle.

Take LoveSac, for example. CEO Shawn D. Nelson champions a “Design for Life” philosophy, creating products intended to last a lifetime. Their modular couches are not just durable but also adaptable, designed to evolve with the customer’s needs. “Human beings have been conditioned to expect and accept obsolescence in every form,” Nelson says. “We simply deserve better products, even if no one is willing to deliver them.”

Another notable example is Patagonia, the outdoor apparel company committed to environmental sustainability.

Patagonia encourages customers to buy only what they need and offers repair services to extend the life of their products. They’ve proven that it’s possible to build a successful business model that doesn’t rely on marketing aimed at generating an army of drones trapped in a loop of endless consumption and planned obsolescence.

Fairphone, a Dutch smartphone manufacturer, takes this ethos into the tech world. They design phones with modular components that users can easily replace or upgrade, significantly extending the device’s lifespan. This approach challenges giants like Apple and Samsung, whose annual releases often render previous models obsolete.

What positive examples like LoveSac and Patagonia make painfully evident is that as capitalism stands today, we’re not seeing the best of humanity.

The moral imperative of thinking differently

For most corporations out there, making money simply isn’t enough. Instead, many feel the need to make all the money.

What most corporations gain in profits they lose in morals and principles. Building a sofa that lasts a lifetime is less profitable than selling a dozen that wear out every second year, but it’s an endeavor that stands up to moral and ethical scrutiny.

Shawn D. Nelson admits the challenges: “Do I need to make money? Yes. I will be removed from my seat if I don’t. But we don’t need to make all the money. In fact, it’s perfectly fine if one day I no longer make money by selling sofas, that’s a signal for me to move on to the next industry and repeat what I did with LoveSac.”

Balancing between profitability and staying true to ethical commitments isn’t easy, and it certainly isn’t taught at most business schools.

However, there’s an imminent need for the business leaders of the future to start thinking differently.

We could begin by equipping our young leaders with the right values and principles so that they see value in a future where we consume less but with more purpose. This doesn’t mean stifling innovation or economic growth. Instead, it means redirecting our efforts toward more sustainable cycles of production and consumption and more rigorous expectations for value creation.

Building things that last and serving clients’ best interests might never be the most financially rewarding path, but morally, I can’t see anything superior.

The transition won’t be easy, but it is necessary.

In the end, the question isn’t just about what it would take to move our economy away from planned obsolescence, but whether we’re willing to embrace a future where we discard profits and status as the primary source of value and focus the measurement on elevating the lasting impact we leave on the world.