The only thing better than a free trial is remembering to end it on time
Checking my bank statement, I found subscriptions I’d completely forgotten existed still charging me month after month. Time for a digital spring clean
“Hang on, I just need to download the app,” my baby brother told me.
“For what?” I asked.
“It wants me to subscribe.”
“It’s a lamp,” I said. “Doesn’t it already subscribe to electricity?”
My brother was setting up his newest purchase — a lamp that looked like a light saber. You couldn’t stare at it directly without putting your retinas at risk. Not only was this sterile monstrosity demanding data, it was also a health hazard.
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The app I could accept — turning the lamp on from your phone, changing colours remotely. But a monthly subscription fee for additional colour palettes, and a dedicated newsletter? Not wanting to sound like an out-of-touch older sister, I held my tongue. Kids these days will subscribe to anything…
But the next day I got my snarky ass handed to me by my own bank statement.
Organising my taxes on a spreadsheet at the last minute in January, as I always do, I discovered my hypocrisy laid out in neat rows. Subscriptions I’d completely forgotten existed, still charging me month after month.
The worst offender was a book subscription, run by a friend of a friend, which sent surprise titles by post each month based on your tastes. For months, I kept receiving crime novels despite specifying my complete lack of interest in the genre. I donated them to a murder-loving friend and carefully redid the questionnaire. My preferences were clear: literary fiction, romcoms, nonfiction essay collections.
Then Dan Brown arrived through my letterbox.
I really should have cancelled at that point. But cancelling required an email. And that email would go to a guy I’d once gone on a date with. The whole thing had been terribly awkward. Emailing to cancel his business felt like rejecting him twice. So I just revised the questionnaire and hoped for the best.
Nine months in, a self-help book I never requested arrived: Take Control of Your Life Today printed in bold on the cover.
I took the hint and finally sent the cancellation email. But as I peered through my statements, there were more. Each subscription felt like a diary entry, documenting the different phases I fell in and out of throughout the year.
The writing app that charged me every time I failed to log in with proof I’d written that day. The idea was to trap myself into discipline. But I forgot the app existed after six weeks. By the time I spotted it on the bank statement, the penny count had reached £21.77. I’d essentially fined myself for reaching my goal.
Then there was the knockoff indoor cycling class. I was excited to get fit and maybe make some bike buddies. I lasted three sessions before accepting that I’m not someone who thrives cycling to Taylor Swift at a deafening volume. Nor could I handle small talk featuring only kids, holidays in Spain, and Jenna — a nice woman who’d committed cardinal sins like wearing pyjamas to school pickup. The rest of the subscriptions I found were made up of various Patreons, Substacks and streamers propping up hustle culture in the face of a stagnant economy.
The problem isn’t just the cost — though I saved more than £200 from my cancellations — it’s that these systems, as we all know, are designed to make leaving harder than staying. Our attention and options have become increasingly fractured as we’ve had to keep on top of numerous smaller charges instead of a few big ones.
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I hate doing my taxes, but I do appreciate that it prompts a digital spring clean at the start of the year. One I would likely never get around to otherwise. Especially since “past me” is a pest. She’s an optimist who truly believes she’ll remember to cancel the free trials on time. She is very annoying.
Still, I can’t blame her entirely. A significant number of the subscriptions do make the cut and even some that don’t still have impacts that are worth the admin. Like the woman who now writes every morning. The one who puts herself out there at new classes or hobbies. The person who would let someone else choose her reading list so she can expand her literary horizons. The girl who supports other creatives in this delicate era.
While I won’t be subscribing to a lamp any time soon, I will continue to explore — but selectively. If the cancellation process requires more than the click of a link I’m gonna have to pass. The only thing better than a free trial is the relief of remembering to end it on time.
