We live in a world where new products are constantly being released.
Some people use their smartphones for only about a year.
Clothes that are cheaper to replace than to clean.
Shoes that are cheaper to replace than to repair.
Tools packed with gimmicks. . . . .
Premium tool makers keep launching new products and sales every month.
I think it’s really tough to keep creating and selling new things.
In the old days, the philosophy seemed to be to make good things and have people use them for a long time—toughness.
In recent years, advances in machinery have made it possible to produce stable-quality items at speeds incomparable to before.
It’s wonderful that we can now supply things in large quantities, affordably, and evenly to everyone.
As we live in such a world day after day, I feel that the demand we originally had for work and life is shifting beyond what’s necessary toward seeking greater abundance.
I recently purchased a window-cleaning robot, which is similar, and a Lydsto R1 robot vacuum cleaner like a Roomba. When asked if these are truly necessary, it’s hard to say, but they might be needed to enrich our lives.
“Alexa! Flush the toilet?”—that’s impossible. . . . Something like that.
While the world has become incredibly convenient in recent years, I think our sense of attachment to and affection for things has become diluted.
But I don’t think everything needs to be a lifetime possession either. I’d like to cultivate the judgment and sense to deal with things wisely, choosing what’s right for each situation.
The allure of low prices.
There’s the aspect of easy access, but I think the real factor—and a significant one—is that “you can give up if you fail.”
Failure with expensive items hurts, but with cheap ones the pain is less. However, even expensive items can be duds, so price doesn’t always equal performance or satisfaction—it’s really difficult.
Yet gimmicky tools keep multiplying.
I’ve honestly bought plenty of them—mysterious tools.
It feels wasteful, so I’ve tucked them away in the back of my toolbox, but they haven’t seen the light of day in years.
My toolbox is getting cramped, so I need to get another toolbox just to store the tools I don’t use.
And as space increases, I keep acquiring and storing more novel items.
Simple is best.
This applies to everything, but if something goes unused and after six months or a year it still hasn’t been called upon, you should probably do something about it.
The same goes for clothes. “Maybe I’ll wear it?” usually means you won’t, and “maybe I’ll wear it?” shoes usually stay unworn.
Tools are the same—”maybe I’ll use it?” rarely comes to pass.
The memory of using something and finding it convenient should stick with you.
Judging the merits and faults of everything is incredibly difficult, but surprisingly, things that are “eye-opening” or “best buys I wish I’d gotten sooner” are probably fewer than you’d think.
In a world where buying is easy, choosing not to buy might be an option too.
