Last month, I got declined for a $8 coffee.
Not because I'm broke. Because I'd hit my credit card limit from subscription charges I'd completely forgotten about.
Embarrassing? Yes. Eye-opening? Absolutely.
So I did something I should've done years ago: I audited every single subscription tied to my credit cards, PayPal, and App Store.
The total? $412 per month. Nearly $5,000 a year.
For software I barely used.
The Subscriptions I Forgot Existed
Here's the complete list of charges I found (and this is embarrassing to admit):
Streaming/Entertainment:
- Netflix: $23/month (hadn't watched in 3 months)
- Disney+: $14/month (signed up for one show, never canceled)
- HBO Max: $16/month (forgot this existed)
- Spotify: $11/month (actually using)
- YouTube Premium: $12/month (autopay from 2023)
AI Tools:
- ChatGPT Plus: $20/month (using maybe twice a week)
- Claude Pro: $20/month (redundant with ChatGPT)
- Midjourney: $30/month (haven't opened in 2 months)
- Perplexity Pro: $20/month (free version was fine)
Productivity:
- Notion: $10/month (moved to Obsidian, forgot to cancel)
- Grammarly: $12/month (barely use)
- Calendly: $12/month (could use free version)
- Superhuman: $30/month (definitely not worth it for me)
SaaS/Tools:
- Adobe Creative Cloud: $55/month (only use Photoshop)
- Figma Pro: $15/month (freelancing dried up, still paying)
- GitHub Copilot: $10/month (using)
- Webflow: $16/month (launched site a year ago, still paying)
Random:
- Gym membership: $45/month (went twice in 6 months)
- Meal kit service: $60/month (forgot to pause, boxes piling up)
- Cloud storage: $10/month (95% unused)
- Domain registrations on auto-renew: $32/month average
I sat there staring at my spreadsheet feeling genuinely nauseous.
How Did This Happen?
The brutal truth? Subscriptions are designed to be forgotten.
Think about the sign-up flow:
- "Start your free trial! No credit card required!"
- (Wait, actually we do need your card for the $1 verification)
- "Cancel anytime!"
- (But we'll make cancellation require logging in, finding settings, clicking through 3 confirmation screens, and declining our "special offer")
Then the subscription kicks in. $10 here, $15 there. Small enough to not trigger alarm, large enough to add up fast.
The genius of the subscription model isn't recurring revenue—it's invisible recurring revenue.
The Psychology of Paying for Nothing
Here's what fascinated me most during my audit: I knew about most of these subscriptions. I just couldn't bring myself to cancel them.
HBO Max: "But what if I want to watch something next month?"
Gym: "I'm going to start going again, I just need to get motivated."
Adobe: "I might need Illustrator someday, even though I only use Photoshop."
Claude Pro + ChatGPT Plus: "They're different models, it's good to have options."
This is textbook sunk cost fallacy. I was paying $412/month for optionality—not value, not usage, but the mere option to use these services if I felt like it someday.
I was renting potential.
The $127 Epiphany
I decided to run an experiment. I canceled everything except subscriptions I'd used in the past week.
This left me with:
- Spotify: $11/month (daily use)
- GitHub Copilot: $10/month (daily use)
- Cloud storage: $10/month (actually needed)
- Internet/phone: $96/month (essential)
Total: $127/month.
Down from $412.
That's $285/month savings. $3,420 per year. For literally nothing—I wasn't sacrificing any actual utility.
But here's the weird part: I felt anxious about canceling.
What if I needed Midjourney next week? What if I wanted to watch that show on HBO? What if a client asked for Illustrator files?
These "what ifs" had been costing me thousands of dollars.
The Subscription Industrial Complex
After my revelation, I started noticing how deeply subscription culture has embedded itself.
Software companies don't sell products anymore—they rent access. Car manufacturers want subscription-heated seats. BMW tried to charge $18/month for heated seats you already own. HP wants a $36/month ink subscription.
It's not about value anymore. It's about capturing recurring revenue.
And it works because of three psychological hacks:
1. Small Dollar Illusion $20/month sounds trivial. $240/year sounds expensive. So they show you the monthly price.
2. FOMO Pricing "Lock in this price before it increases!" Creates urgency to subscribe now, worry about needing it later.
3. Cancellation Friction Every subscription I canceled required:
- Logging in (had to reset passwords for half of them)
- Finding the settings page (purposefully buried)
- Clicking through "Are you sure?" screens
- Declining "special offers" to stay subscribed
- Sometimes even talking to support
By the time you find the cancel button, you're exhausted and think "eh, it's only $10."
The AI Subscription Trap
AI tools are the worst offenders because they're new enough that we don't have reference points.
Is $20/month for ChatGPT Plus a good deal? Depends. For what? Compared to what?
I tracked my ChatGPT Plus usage for a month:
- Week 1: 47 queries
- Week 2: 12 queries
- Week 3: 6 queries (busy week, barely used it)
- Week 4: 28 queries
Total: 93 queries in a month.
At API pricing (which uses the same models), that would've cost about $4-5.
I paid $20 for $4 worth of usage. That's a 400% markup for "unlimited" access I didn't fully use.
But I kept the subscription because "what if I have a heavy usage week?"
Spoiler: I never did.
Why We Can't Stop
The hardest part of my subscription audit wasn't finding them—it was clicking "cancel."
Each subscription represented a version of myself I wanted to be:
- Gym membership = "I'm someone who works out"
- Adobe Creative Cloud = "I'm a creative professional"
- Notion = "I'm organized and productive"
- Meal kits = "I cook healthy meals"
Canceling felt like admitting failure. Admitting I'm not that person.
But here's the liberating truth: paying for a gym membership doesn't make you fit. Paying for Photoshop doesn't make you a designer. Paying for ChatGPT doesn't make you productive.
You're just paying.
What Changed
I've been subscription-light for two months now. Here's what actually happened:
The Panic Phase (Week 1): I genuinely felt anxious. What if I need something I canceled?
The Adjustment Phase (Week 2-3): I realized I could just... resubscribe if I needed something. It's not like these services disappear. ChatGPT still works on the free tier. I can pay for one month of Adobe if I need it.
The Clarity Phase (Week 4+): I stopped thinking about them entirely. Turns out, I didn't need 90% of what I was paying for.
The New Approach
For AI tools specifically, I switched to pay-per-use.
Instead of $20-30/month subscriptions to ChatGPT, Claude, and Midjourney, I use platforms that charge per query or generation.
Some months I spend $35. Some months $12. Some months $4.
But it matches my actual usage. I'm not paying for access I might use someday. I'm paying for value received.
Last month I needed heavy image generation for a project. I spent $48 that month on AI tools. Worth it. Delivered value.
This month? I've spent $7. Because I don't need much. And that's fine.
The difference is intentionality. Every dollar I spend is a conscious choice, not an auto-renewing charge I forgot about.
If You're Drowning in Subscriptions
Here's what I'd recommend:
Step 1: Find them all
- Check credit card statements for recurring charges
- Check PayPal subscriptions
- Check App Store / Google Play subscriptions
- Check any family/shared plans
Step 2: Categorize by last use
- Used in past week = keep (for now)
- Used in past month = audit (do you actually need it?)
- Haven't used in 2+ months = cancel immediately
Step 3: Challenge the "what ifs" For each subscription, ask: "If this didn't exist, would I pay full price to buy it right now?"
If no, cancel it. You can always resubscribe.
Step 4: Replace subscriptions with usage-based For tools with variable usage (AI, cloud storage, etc.), look for pay-per-use alternatives. Services like ARES let you access ChatGPT, Claude, and other AI tools without monthly subscriptions—you only pay for what you use.
The Real Cost of Subscriptions
It's not just money. It's mental overhead.
Every subscription is a tiny recurring decision: "Should I keep this? Am I using it enough? When did I last log in?"
That's cognitive load. Death by a thousand paper cuts.
Canceling 80% of my subscriptions didn't just save $3,400/year. It cleared mental space. I stopped wondering if I was "getting my money's worth" from seven different services.
I just pay for what I use. When I use it.
The Uncomfortable Truth
Subscription companies are betting you won't cancel. They're betting on inertia, on "it's only $X/month," on FOMO, on cancellation friction.
They're betting you'll forget.
And for years, they won on me.
Not anymore.
How many subscriptions are you paying for right now? When's the last time you actually used all of them? Genuinely asking—I'm curious if I'm the only one who let this get so out of hand.
