Adulthood now requires a monthly subscription

Apparently, adulthood now requires a monthly subscription.

Nobody warned me about this when I was younger. They told me about taxes, bills, responsibilities, and the general exhaustion that comes with being a grown-up. They forgot to mention that one day I’d need a dozen different accounts to watch TV, listen to music, edit a document, protect my home, and apparently even remember my passwords.

I recently found myself staring at my bank statement, trying to figure out where all my money goes every month.

If you’re a child of the '90s, you probably just had a certain Sublime song pop into your head. The difference is, I wasn’t searching for the answer in some deep, philosophical way. I actually wanted to know.

So, I started digging.

I wasn’t budgeting. I was conducting an archaeological excavation through my checking account. Every few lines, I uncovered another recurring charge and thought, “Oh … so that’s still here.”

The culprit wasn’t one big purchase. It wasn’t some wild shopping spree or an expensive hobby. It was impending destitution by a thousand tiny monthly charges.

Subscriptions.

Some of them make perfect sense. Amazon Prime? I use it often enough. Between household items, random things I convince myself I need, and the occasional “I need this delivered tomorrow because apparently waiting is no longer an option,” it has earned its place.

Spotify? Also justified. Except I’m pretty sure I’m paying for a family plan that currently supports a family of … two. My music-obsessed 17-year-old son … and me. There may be other people enjoying my four unused premium music benefits, but honestly, I’m a little afraid to investigate.

Then there are the subscriptions that started innocently enough. Hulu and Disney+ came free with my home internet package for six months. Six months came and went. Then a year came and went. Somewhere along the way, “free trial” quietly turned into “monthly charge,” and I didn’t even notice. I’m not sure if I’m paying for entertainment or if I’m supporting a streaming service’s retirement plan.

Cricut Access is another one. I genuinely love it. When the creative mood strikes, I can spend an entire weekend making shirts, decals, and gifts like I’m running a small custom apparel company. Then I’ll go months without touching it. The subscription, however, remains one of my most loyal, committed relationships. 

I’ve also been receiving Ipsy bags for years, and I’m still not entirely convinced I ever signed up. I just know that every month a little pink package appears in my mailbox, and I’ve accepted that this is simply part of my identity now.

Some subscriptions actually earn their keep. Walmart+ has been a lifesaver because grocery delivery keeps me from walking into the store and leaving with everything except what I originally needed. Plus, the free Peacock subscription is like the toy in a cereal box.

Other subscriptions make me question how we got here.

Microsoft. Adobe. Arlo Security. DoorDash — there’s something deeply ironic about paying a monthly fee for the privilege of paying extra fees.

Apparently, I no longer buy things either. I rent access to them.

I pay a monthly fee to write documents, edit photos, watch my own security cameras (which already cost me my firstborn, six chickens and my prize cow, basically) and occasionally have someone bring me food that I could have picked up myself.

The irony isn’t lost on me that I pay for enough streaming services to entertain a small village. Hulu. Disney+. Netflix. Amazon Prime. Gaia. Apple TV (I don’t even own any Apple products!). Somewhere in there I’m sure there are a few others quietly helping themselves to my checking account every month.

Yet somehow, 99% of my screen time — which honestly isn’t even that much — is spent watching free YouTube videos. Mostly police body cams, interrogations, and the occasional person who genuinely believes it is going to end in their favor when arguing with a state trooper on the side of the interstate about why the Constitutional meaning of "Traveling" should make the fact that they don’t have a valid driver’s license null and void.

I subscribe to Gaia because I genuinely enjoy documentaries about ancient civilizations, consciousness, and the mysteries of the universe. Then YouTube’s algorithm says, “Cool … here’s a guy getting arrested for trying to fight a vending machine,” or “1000 hours of ghosts and cryptids caught on camera,” and somehow that’s what I end up watching instead.

There are the subscriptions I know about — and then there are the ones my children have apparently snuck into my perpetual tab through my Google account. Crunchyroll. PlayStation. Whatever game pass or premium membership is currently essential to their survival.

Every now and then I’ll see a charge and have to ask myself, “Is this one of mine, or am I financing someone else’s digital lifestyle?”

When I was a kid, asking my parents for $20 required a conversation, a reason, and probably a convincing argument. Now, kids can accidentally subscribe to something with two clicks and a saved payment method.

The subscription economy is brilliant because every company knows exactly what they’re doing. Nobody panics over $4.99. 

Nobody loses sleep over $9.99. But when every company takes a tiny little bite every month, suddenly your bank account looks like it’s been attacked by a flock of very organized financial pigeons.

We used to own things. We bought movies. We bought music. We bought software. Now we rent everything.

At this rate, my toaster is going to ask me if I’d like to unlock Premium Toasting Features for only $7.99 a month.

Honestly, I don’t think we’re far from the day when we’ll need a subscription to access our own thoughts. The free version of our brain will come with ads every 10 minutes, and the premium plan — Brain Premium™— will include uninterrupted focus, the ability to remember why you walked into a room, and immunity from getting songs stuck in your head.

Additional charges apply if you’d like to remember where you left your keys.

The funny thing is, no single subscription feels like the problem. It’s only a few dollars. It’s only one more service. It’s only one more convenient feature.

But eventually all those little “onlys” get together and become the answer to the situation we started with:

I’m tryin’ to find a reason why my money’s all gone. 

Apparently, it went to 37 companies that all promised they were only charging me a little bit.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to review my subscriptions.

Right after I watch one more hour (or two) of "The Chit Show" on YouTube. (DO IT LADY!).