Yesterday, I reviewed my credit card statement and saw eight subscription charges. I opened my handy Evernote tracker, where I log each vendor, renewal date, and notes. Three of the eight had notes to cancel, but none of them were even due yet. Everyone had been renewed early.
Buried in my inbox were two emails explaining that the subscriptions had auto-renewed early “for my convenience.” Their reasoning? To “ensure continuity of service” or “avoid billing issues.” When I contacted support, they parroted the same script: Early renewal was done to protect me. How thoughtful.
One of those culprits was my Norton subscription. When I ran Hreflang Builder, a few clients required me to use Windows for VPN access and to affirm that I ran antivirus software. Now, I didn’t need a multi-license plan with only two Windows devices. What should have been a simple downgrade turned into a 45-minute battle.
I ended up with 17 browser tabs open. The chatbot was clueless. The agent pushed upgrades. And here’s the kicker: “downgrade” isn’t even a recognized term in their chat system. They only respond to “plan change,” which — surprise! — they interpret as an upgrade.
Welcome to the war on friction, where companies don’t reduce it — they weaponize it.
Friction Is a Feature — and So Is Confusion
Here’s the uncomfortable truth: the friction you experience when trying to cancel or downgrade isn’t accidental — it’s baked into the business model.
Subscription and SaaS businesses live and die by a set of financial metrics. And nearly all of them reward lock-in over loyalty.
The friction isn’t a bug. It’s a feature — engineered to protect revenue and valuation optics.
Let’s break it down:
- MRR / ARR (Monthly/Annual Recurring Revenue): More subscriptions = more predictable growth. Even if it’s grudging.
- Churn Rate: Making it harder to leave lowers churn on paper, keeping investors happy.
- Customer Lifetime Value (CLTV): Stretch a subscription out, and you inflate this number — even if the user’s long since disengaged.
- Net Revenue Retention (NRR): Downgrades hurt this number. So everything is framed as an “upgrade.”
- Customer Acquisition Cost (CAC): If it cost $300 to acquire you, they’ll fight to keep you — even if it means resorting to dark patterns.
And here’s the ironic part: I’ve run two subscription-based software companies myself, and I’m considering a third. When acquirers came knocking, these were precisely the metrics they obsessed over. One even suggested we intentionally add friction to reduce churn and boost CLTV.
I refused. Because if someone’s not getting value from your product, you shouldn’t be making money off them.
That’s why I now keep an Google sheet listing every subscription—sign—up date, renewal windows, and how to cancel — because I no longer trust companies not to quietly auto-renew, reactivate canceled accounts, or bury the cancel button like it’s a classified document.
But friction isn’t the only tactic. Increasingly, confusion is the product — and bundling is its favorite weapon.
Just like subscriptions bury downgrade options, legacy companies in telecom, home security, and media have perfected the art of packaging complexity to inflate perceived value and obscure real costs.
I explored this in detail in my article on The Illusion of Choice: Bundling, Unbundling, and the Hidden Cost of Convenience.
ADT. Xfinity. Cable. SaaS bundles. It’s the same trick:
- Want to remove something? Price goes up.
- Want to add something? New package, longer contract.
- Want to keep what you have? Sorry — that plan no longer exists.
Whether it’s your internet provider or a legacy security system, the customer experience isn’t optimized for value — it’s optimized for control.
The New Customer Experience Playbook? Exhaustion.
Let me illustrate with a few other battles:
- Norton: Renewed early “for my convenience.” I couldn’t downgrade once processed. I eventually canceled and got a refund — after 45 minutes.
- Dropbox: Charged twice — once for my personal account, once for an old one we’d canceled after selling Hreflang Builder. Their agent admitted it had been canceled, but reactivated it anyway. They wouldn’t budge. I filed a credit card dispute — one minute later, I had a refund. That’s what real frictionless looks like.
- Echelon: My bike subscription doubled in price. I barely use the service anymore. Downgrading triggered a guilt trip over “all the features I’d lose.” (Features I didn’t even use.) They billed me early “to ensure continuity.” I canceled.
- Airtable: I hit a data limit. To move forward, I had to talk to a rep who insisted the only solution was a multi-seat, enterprise plan. I switched to Google Colab — no sales pitch, no drama.
The pattern is clear: add friction, reduce churn, pad the metrics. But what gets sacrificed? Trust. Goodwill. Long-term loyalty. I have experienced that decision-making, doing the mental math of, is it costing me more to unsubscribe in billable time or sanity, and just let it renew, so why bother? They hope for that, and I could not give them that satisfaction. So I powered on. That trust and loyalty were now gone. What started with a simple downgrade for Norton not cancel but I got so frustrated I did not want anything to do with the company. I started looking for an alternative to Dropbox and Airtable. Going from a vocal advocate to an avoid at all costs.
Renewal Traps and Legacy Account Bait-and-Switches
One of my favorite fitness apps is iFit. I use it nearly daily, especially for their running and training hike series, taking me worldwide. It’s integrated into my NordicTrack treadmill and automatically adjusts the speed and incline based on my heart rate. The trainers are fantastic, the content is immersive, and the real-time adjustment feature has been a game changer.
But a few months ago, I started getting bombarded with “renew now” emails — even though my subscription wasn’t due for renewal for a few more months. At first, the messages were framed as a friendly reminder, then the “exclusive offers” started rolling in. Ironically, the “great deal” they were offering was the exact same price I was already paying. It was pitched as a deal to upgrade the “Ultimate Plan.”
But here’s the catch: I already had access to everything they offered. My current plan, which was included when I bought my treadmill, was now viewed as a legacy “app-only” rate that supported hardware integration like heart rate-based incline control. The new “Ultimate Plan” reclassified that same functionality as a premium feature, doubling the price for what I already had.
Had I clicked through and renewed early, I would’ve been voluntarily opting out of my legacy plan, locking myself into a pricier tier for the same experience. And they almost got me.
What tipped me off was one particularly aggressive email that claimed my credit card was missing, and I’d lose access if I didn’t update it. That seemed off. I logged into my account — the card was right there. Below it? A blinking message: “Renew early at a significant discount.” But, reading the fine print revealed the bait: renewing now would convert my current plan and upgrade me to the new Ultimate Plan, and a doubled price tag next year.
This wasn’t just upselling — it was a trap to convert legacy users into higher-paying accounts under the guise of continuity.
Friction vs. the Future Where Simplicity Is the New Loyalty
We’re entering an era where ease of use wins. AI tools are rapidly reshaping user expectations, surfacing answers instantly, streamlining workflows, and anticipating needs. They eliminate steps, reduce clicks, and make things work.
That’s the world users are getting used to.
Yet, many legacy subscription businesses are moving in the opposite direction. They depend on friction to survive—hiding cancel buttons, triggering early renewals, upselling through confusion, and reclassifying existing features as premium. It’s not about creating value; it’s about trapping revenue.
But here’s the problem: users notice. They compare every clunky, manipulative experience against the growing number of tools and services that work — that treat them with respect, save them time, and let them leave if they’re not happy.
Friction-based business models may prop up short-term numbers, but they erode long-term trust. And trust is the real moat.
Here’s the future:
- AI-first companies will win by making onboarding, usage, and cancellation seamless.
- Legacy companies will lose because users no longer tolerate being manipulated.
Simplicity builds trust. And trust builds loyalty.
Make it easy to leave, and people are more likely to stay.
In a world of infinite alternatives and AI-fueled simplicity, the companies that make it hard to leave will be the first ones people abandon — not because of price, but because they’ve made staying feel like surrender.
