The man sat in the dim light of his small apartment. The television glowed. It was the only light. He watched the screen.
Netflix. Always Netflix.
It was his escape, his distraction, his ritual.
He paid for it. Every month. Ten pounds, then twelve, now more.
Always more…
The email came. He read it. Price increase. Again. The numbers were there, cold and unfeeling.
Standard plan: £12.99.
Premium: £18.99.
Even the ad-supported plan, the cheap one, was up to £5.99. He stared at the screen.
The words blurred. More value, they said. He wondered what value meant. More shows? More movies? More of the same?
He didn’t know. He only knew he would pay. He always paid.
He thought about the money. What it could buy. A meal. A drink. A book. But no. It went to Netflix. Every month. Like a tax. A toll for the privilege of forgetting. For the luxury of not thinking. For the comfort of the familiar.
He didn’t cancel. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. The ritual was too ingrained. The habit too strong.
He scrolled. The titles flashed by. Stranger Things. Squid Game. Wednesday. He had watched them. He would watch them again. He didn’t know why. He just did.
The algorithm knew him. Knew his tastes. Knew his weaknesses. It fed him content. Endless content. He consumed it. Like a man in a desert drinking sand.
The comments section was there. He read it. Anger. Frustration. Resignation. People were angry. People were always angry.
But they paid. They always paid. He wondered why. He didn’t have an answer. He only knew he was one of them.
A cog in the machine. A number in the ledger.
Netflix didn’t care. Why would they? They had millions of users. Billions in revenue. They were a giant, towering and indifferent. They raised prices because they could. Because people would pay. Because he would pay.
He thought about cancelling. Just for a moment. But the thought passed. It always did. He reached for the remote.
He pressed play. The screen lit up. The show began. He watched. He forgot. He paid.
The man sat in the dim light of his small apartment. The television glowed. It was the only light. He watched the screen. Netflix. Always Netflix…
But here’s the thing, the man didn’t have to be just a consumer. He could be a creator. He could be the one sending out the emails instead of receiving them. He could build his own list, his own audience, his own empire. He could send out daily emails, filled with value, filled with insights, filled with stories. And those emails?
They could make him money. Real money. The kind of money that could pay for Netflix ten times over.
Think about it. Every email is a chance. A chance to connect. A chance to sell. A chance to build a relationship that lasts. Netflix raises prices? Fine. Let them.
You now have a little something going on. Your email list. Your people.
Your tribe. And they’re worth more than any streaming service could ever be.
So start building. Start emailing. Start creating. Because while Netflix is busy taking your money, you could be busy making it and we’d prefer that story any day of the week…
HERE’S ONE OF THE MANY SILLY LITTLE ARTICLES THAT MY FELLOW BRITS ARE UP IN ARMS ABOUT…
And I thought it was apt to write a little story about it.
Stephen Walker
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Stephen Walker
Unit 146317
PO Box 7169
Poole
BH15 9EL
United Kingdom