The first thing wealthy people buy isn’t sports cars and mansions. They buy something much more valuable: their time and freedom.
Life is a hassle. And so many things are a drag. Here is what I’ve begun buying back. And a few things I can’t.
You are watching an excellent documentary.
Suddenly, you’re bombarded with a flashing detergent commercial, a loud automobile commercial, a gruesome tampon advertisement, and a soulless political ad.
Before informing you what they’re selling, there’s always some smarmy, grandiose speech. When an ad concludes, you’re left wondering what they’re selling.
The spokesman talks like a drug addict. Some annoying dude calls you three times with the same phone number, leaving a nasty tattoo on your mind.
Then, in an instant, you’re back in front of a documentary, fighting to keep your head from spinning. “Advertising is a levy that the poor and the technologically illiterate pay,” said NYU business professor Scott Galloway.
It’s harsh, but it’s true.
Remove advertising for a few extra bucks. It’s an investment in your well-being. Please believe me. I’ll cover the cost of a much-needed massage. I’m willing to pay for a quality film. I won’t pay a cable company to show me advertising as well.
Are you even watching ads, bro?
I never, ever watch commercials. I have an army of adblockers at my disposal. I pay for YouTube premium and a few streaming services, and they’re well worth it.
What evidence do I have? When I visit my parents, I hear advertising blasting from their home.
They remind me of how stressful and confusing they can be.
No, yard work isn’t meditative.
“Crossing the streams” is something I dislike. For example, I dislike films that have random, unneeded, and gratuitous sex scenes. I’ll watch porn if I want to watch porn. When I’m in a relationship, I go all out. Not at all wishy-washy. No side effects. I’ll go to the gym if I want to exercise.
So I’m not going to try to convince myself that yard maintenance is anything other than a dreaded duty that makes me sweaty and unpleasant. It makes me smell like a rusted pail of old gasoline and gives me a shoe full of manure mud and tiny rocks as a treat. It’s not a physical activity. It’s a pain. As a result, I outsource it.