How many of us are guilty of foregoing the 15-minute walk to Tesco and instead reaching for our phones to order £20 worth of groceries to be delivered? I know I am. Sometimes it’s because I’m “too hungover” to make it to the shop to get the hash browns I so desperately crave. Sometimes it’s because I’m “too busy” between work, socialising and cramming all my other chores into the day. Sometimes it’s because I’ve already started cooking a meal only to realise that I’m missing a key ingredient.
None of these are valid reasons for having someone else pick up my groceries. I do not have a chronic health condition, a contagious debilitating illness or caring responsibilities that make it hard for me to leave the house. I am simply suffering with a bad case of “can’t be bothered”, and thus frequently find myself booking Ubers, Deliveroo-ing groceries and ordering takeaways.
My love affair with “convenience culture” began during the Covid-19 lockdowns, when we were given an 18-month “get out of jail free” card from leaving. It has been years since the stay-at-home orders have been lifted, but I continue to find myself relying on the modern luxuries that make life just a little too easy.
Convenience culture describes how our modern technology-driven societies prioritise comfort, ease and efficiency above all else. Its effects are most felt in the places where technology and infrastructure are advanced enough to enable easy and practically 24/7 access to goods and services—which usually means urban areas.
This enables a collective “can’t be bothered” attitude that keeps us passive and docile; consuming “content” where we could be creating art; self-isolating under the guise of self-care where we could be connecting with others.
In the 20th century, the dishwasher, washing machine and vacuum cleaner were hailed as technological advancements that would make our lives easier—that would remove some friction from homemaking. In the 21st century, you can avoid getting dishes dirty in the first place by eating exclusively from polystyrene and cardboard boxes. There are door-to-door laundry services, same-day delivery options and apps like TaskRabbit which allow you to outsource odd-jobs to strangers. (Whatever happened to getting your mate round to help put that shelf up? Or move that sofa?) There is even a modern-day solution that eradicates your need to think about anything: what to have for dinner, how to apologise to your friend, what words to use in that email, and so on.
But now, in my own life, I am increasingly finding the value in doing the difficult thing. Many other young people, ironically on the internet, are doing the same. A new online trend called “friction-maxxing” celebrates doing things the difficult way, for example choosing to walk to the shop over ordering delivery, thinking for yourself rather than using AI, valuing manual labour over automation. Much like the analogue trend I wrote about several months ago, all friction-maxxing really involves is turning the clock back a decade or two.
Kathryn Jezer-Morton, who coined the phrase in an essay for “The Cut”, defines “friction-maxxing” as a process of “building up tolerance for inconvenience”. Now, it is worth noting that the choice to opt in or out of convenience culture is an inherently privileged one. There are people the world over who absolutely cannot afford to have their groceries delivered, or who don’t have access to the infrastructure and technology that can make modern life so frictionless.
I am aware that even just by living in London I have access to more convenience than many others across the country. Back in my rural hometown, if I wake up with the need for frozen carbohydrates and Lucozade, then I must compel myself to the local Sainsbury’s—a 60-minute round trip by foot, including at least 100 metres of incline. However hungover I was, this expedition did not seem like such an undertaking growing up because I was used to it. My tolerance for inconvenience was increased by living in a carless household, where getting groceries always involved free cardio and a gluteal workout.
In the spirit of escaping from the clutches of convenience culture, I am trying to opt for the “difficult thing” more often. Of course, there are days when I really don’t feel like showing up at the office, or attending a social event, or going to that yoga class with my friend like I promised. But I know it’s good to practice doing these things anyway. Else I risk “can’t be bothering” myself out of living.
Life without friction implies a life without the bumps in the road that can help us course-correct. I’d rather not smooth-sail my way into an empty life. So, if you need me, you can find me at my local Tesco, communing with my fellow man in the frozen food aisle.
