Hey folks 👋
Welcome back to another SK NEXUS Deep Dive.
If you’ve been following this series, you know what we’re about: unpacking the messy, under-explained corners of tech. The kind of topics that either get ignored, or covered in jargon so heavy that people leave more confused than when they started.
We’re not here to reinvent the wheel, but to make sense of it. To take ideas floating around the internet and strip them down into something clear, practical, and maybe even entertaining along the way.
We’re not The Verge or Wired (not yet, anyway). Think of us as your local guide through the global tech noise - by the time you’re done, you’ll actually get it, and maybe even explain it better than half the “experts” out there.
And today, we’re looking at something most of us have experienced without necessarily having a name for it.
We’ve been told that updates make things better.
But sometimes, the opposite can happen.
Your phone gets slower. Your laptop starts struggling with software it used to handle fine. A few years later, the device that worked perfectly well suddenly feels old.
That idea has a name: planned obsolescence.
It’s a strategy that has been around for almost a century, built around the idea that products can be designed to become outdated, inconvenient, or less useful over time. In the modern tech world, that idea has taken on new forms through hardware, software, updates, batteries, compatibility, and repair restrictions.
So how did we get here? How does planned obsolescence work today? And could some of the technology we use every day be designed to push us toward the next upgrade?
That’s what we’re getting into.
The Origins of Planned Obsolescence
Sounds like something out of a sci-fi movie, right?
It isn’t. It’s a real business strategy, and it has shaped how we buy, use, and replace products for nearly a century.
I’ve mentioned the term before, but it’s worth breaking down properly.
What exactly is planned obsolescence?
Where did the idea come from?
Who started using it?
Understanding where it came from makes the modern version easier to spot.
Because once you see the pattern, you start noticing it everywhere. Products don’t always become obsolete because they stop working. Sometimes the system around them changes until replacing them becomes the easier option.
1920s: The Beginning of Something New
The Lightbulb Conspiracy
Let’s rewind to the early 20th century.
Back then, companies had figured out how to make lightbulbs that could last around 2,500 hour.
But there was one problem. It was bad for business.
If people only needed to buy a lightbulb once in a decade, how would manufacturers survive?
So, in 1924, the world’s biggest lightbulb makers - General Electric, Philips, Osram, and others - formed a secret alliance called The Phoebus Cartel.
Their goal?
Not to improve lighting. Not to reduce costs.
But to intentionally reduce the lifespan of bulbs to just 1,000 hours.
They standardized failure and rigged the game to boost sales by making products die faster.
Engineers who made longer-lasting bulbs were punished.
Factories were fined for producing bulbs that exceeded the “lifespan quota.”
This wasn’t a side effect. It was the business model.
And this was just the start.
How GM Made You Hate Your Old Car
The Phoebus Cartel wasn’t the only group changing how companies thought about product lifespans in the 1920s. Around the same time, the automobile industry was running into a different problem.
In 1908, Henry Ford launched the Model T, one of the first cars to be mass-produced at scale. Ford wanted to build a car that people could keep for years. He said, “We want the man who buys one of our cars never to have to buy another.”
By the 1920s, many Americans already owned cars. If the car still worked, there was little reason to replace it.
General Motors took a different approach.
Starting in the 1920s, GM began introducing regular design changes, new colors, and updated models. The goal was to give customers a reason to want the newer version even when their existing car still worked.
The product didn’t have to stop working. It only had to start feeling old.
This helped turn car ownership into something people could keep upgrading rather than a one-time purchase.
The shift was visible in how long people kept their cars. By the mid-20th century, the average ownership period had become much shorter than it had been earlier in the century.
1930s: Obsolescence as an Economic Strategy
Depression-Era Economics Meets Design
Just when you thought that planned obsolescence couldn’t get darker, it got even darker.
In 1932, during the depths of the Great Depression, a real estate broker named Bernard London wrote a paper titled “Ending the Depression Through Planned Obsolescence.”
His proposal? Every product should have a predetermined expiration date. Once that date passed, you’d be forced to discard it and buy a new one, or pay a fine for still using it.
That’s right: “a tax for hanging onto old stuff.”
London argued that this forced cycle would “keep the wheels of industry turning” and rescue the economy from collapse. In other words, breaking things on purpose… to fix the system.
At the time, most people ignored him.
But the scary part? His vision eventually came true… not as law, but as strategy.
And it hasn’t stopped since.
Creative Waste: The Spin That Made It Sound Smart
Right after Bernard London pitched forced obsolescence, some clever minds gave it a rebrand.