Capitalism doesn't own convenience

Slow down.

Learn to be bored.

Cook everything from scratch.

Put down your phone.

Stop trying to optimize your life.

Where have you heard these self-help tropes before? If you're expecting a blog post about one of those books that blames the downfall of society on smart phones or about trad wives in an MLM peddling natural supplements to cure hyperactivity, good guess, but we were actually looking for "anti-capitalists."

"But wait, Stacie, isn't that how you describe yourself?" Yes, and I also describe myself as an ADHDer who has been feeling out of place among my liberation and social-justice-oriented peers who insist that convenience is a capitalist trap. That's what this is about.

I understand where the impulse comes from. Capitalism has taught us to measure our worth by our productivity; that's kind of its whole thing. We are apparently meant to squeeze every ounce of energy out of ourselves like a tube of toothpaste before we can rest and to treat every technological advancement as an opportunity to produce more rather than an opportunity to access more pleasure, joy, ease, or freedom.

But while capitalism exploits efficiency, it doesn't own it. Efficiency isn't inherently capitalist; it's just a tool the system uses. Who benefits from our efficiency? That's not a leading question, by the way. It may have different answers in different contexts. It's merely an invitation to reflect before vilifying efficiency altogether. If a company develops new technology that allows one employee to do the work of three, and the result is layoffs and higher profits, vilify away! If I use technology to reduce the amount of time I spend on chores, paperwork, scheduling, and repetitive tasks so that I have some left over to redistribute to my relationships, hobbies, community, and resting, we're talking about something very ethically different. The same tool can serve values at either extreme.

Technology and convenience have the potential to create something that feels increasingly scarce in modern life: abundance. Abundance of time, energy, choice. I wonder: who do you believe is entitled to that abundance?

A washing machine doesn't just wash clothes. It gives people hours of their lives back that they otherwise would have spent scrubbing laundry by hand. Not particularly controversial, right? Let's kick it up a notch: A dishwasher is more than a mere appliance; for those of us who struggle with executive functioning, it may be the difference between cooking dinner and spending money I may not have on takeout. Those who can clear their sink with relative ease and no assistance might believe those who can't are simply lazy, but my fellow AuDHDers know their household and personal care appliances are lifelines, the difference in whether they're meeting what could be called basic needs or doing without and hoping for the best. The difference between mental health and mental illness, in some cases. The ability to air fry my meal in minutes instead of bake it for an hour might mean I'm eating when I otherwise wouldn't. The ability to use a water flosser to get between my teeth rather than my old roll of floss might save me from a cavity.

Grocery pickup, meal kits, calendar reminders, password managers, robot vacuums. These aren't morally good or bad. They simply reduce friction. What matters is what we do with the energy they return to us. If the answer is, "My employer (or my family, my friends, my inner critic, etc.) now expects even more output," we've recreated the same problem. If the answer is, "I finally have the bandwidth to paint, volunteer, text back, read for pleasure, or do absolutely nothing," then convenience is creating genuine abundance.

Not everyone experiences "slow" the same way, even though many discussions about slowing down and smelling the roses assume speed, stimulation, and boredom are experienced by everyone the same way. We're told we've forgotten how to be bored, and boredom is where creativity happens. Constant stimulation is what's making us anxious, "It's the phones!" (said every parenting and teacher TikTok ever). And these things, of course, may be true for some individuals, but for many of us, especially those with high stimulation needs, boredom isn't peaceful. It's not just outside our comfort zones; it's more than unfamiliar or unpleasant. It's actively dysregulating, and while we're in a cultural moment that uplifts "self-regulation" as the pinnacle of wellbeing, to choose something dysregulating when we could choose something regulating seems silly, even before you factor in that not all minds have the same level of access to regulation, that the energetic cost of regulating can be very high even if is possible. That's not how most of us want to spend our energy! The assumption that everyone would benefit from less stimulation overlooks the reality that some nervous systems need more stimulation to function well.

Likewise, speed isn't always the enemy. For many of us, reducing friction is exactly what allows us to become present. When I automate repetitive tasks, listen to audiobooks at double speed, dictate instead of typing, or use GoblinTools to break down overwhelming tasks I wouldn't otherwise be able to start, I'm not usually trying to cram more work into my day. I'm often trying to make my brain usable enough to fully participate in the parts of life I care most about. When the goal is access, not productivity, do you feel the same way about speeding up?

I notice a novel pattern of romanticizing inconvenience, much of which I had assumed was rooted in ethical concerns (which I share) about overconsumption (repair instead of replace) and pollution (walk instead of drive). But then we get into the calls to bring back all things analog. I struggle more to understand the agenda behind those: write letters instead of texting, grind your own coffee beans, bake your own bread, use cash instead of a card, deliberately leave your phone at home or lock it in a literal cage, keep a paper planner instead of a digital calendar.

I'm not talking about personal preferences; I understand those may have no "agenda" at all. I'm talking about the preachiness, the judgment of those who don't do the same. There are certainly thoughtful reasons someone might choose the slow version. I do some of these things, but I get the sense that my intentions, are not what the influencers who recommend them have in mind. I'm not longing for the olden days or nostalgic for simpler times when I pay in cash; I just don't want to pay a 3% credit card surcharge. And if I don't write my appointments by hand, I'll definitely forget about them. I have one friend who abstains from AI use because of valid climate change concerns, and I have another who does the same but because they are terrified they'd be canceled by the Internet's morality police otherwise. Again, friction itself isn't a virtue. Sometimes it builds skills or creates meaning, and sometimes it's simply exhausting. Sometimes it's a result of disability. Sometimes it's the barrier preventing someone from participating in the life they're trying to build. Reducing unnecessary friction should be honored as a valid accessibility strategy, not an indicator of laziness.

Capitalism has no doubt distorted our relationship with efficiency. The time we save usually isn't returned to us because expectations expand instead. Take my last-straw moment at a workplace that denied me ADHD accommodations, for instance. They claimed that allowing me overtime to complete required documentation I had trouble focusing on wouldn't be "reasonable" because it would financially impact the company, (more reasonable that I be the one financially impacted by working for free as punishment for my disability, I suppose). After quite a fight, I was finally able to convince my supervisor to permit me to use a shorter template I'd created for myself that still met all the criteria, but instead of leaving it at that, she said, "If you're going to write so little, I expect you to take on an extra client with the time you save." She argued that this is the only way it would be fair to my non-ADHD coworkers who wouldn't get to write shorter notes.

Similarly, texts and emails require immediate responses while snail mail could plausibly take a week to even open, and no one would take it personally. Algorithms demand constant content. Every labor-saving device somehow becomes an excuse to demand even more labor. All of this is a real problem, but certainly the solution can't be to reject ease itself. We have to reclaim it; we have to use technology, automation, and other convenient tools on our own terms to maximize our freedom, not our output.

I'm not particularly interested in a world where everyone moves faster. Or slower for that matter. I want one where people have enough autonomy to choose their own speed. If I feel like six hours making soup would be a joyful process because it's cold outside and I have a guest over who likes soup, then I should just as easily (and without judgment) be able to choose that as I should be able to choose a three-minute microwaved can of Progresso so I can spend the 5 hours and 57 minutes I have left with loved ones, immersed in a hobby or following whatever captures my curiosity that day. Neither choice is morally pure. I want it to be okay for us to ask how tools can help us to spend more of our lives living instead of how they can help us produce more.