Buy Now: A Glimpse into the Shopping Conspiracy

Netflix's “Buy Now: The Shopping Conspiracy” is part documentary, part fever dream—a trippy yet sobering exposé on the relentless churn of consumerism and the hidden mechanisms that keep it alive. Featuring key players like Eric Liedtke, former Adidas brand president, it invites viewers to penetrate an often deceptive layer of modern shopping and confront the uncomfortable reality: 'away' isn’t a magical place where our discarded items vanish into nonexistence. Instead, it's a planetary burden.

Mattresses that have been discarded at a recycling centre in Waltham Forest. Photo: LJ Cadogan

The documentary dances between whimsy and dread, personifying a Broadway lightbulb that, at over 100 years old, still glows with pride. Through its “voice,” we’re introduced to the Phoebus cartel, a shadowy collective of lightbulb manufacturers who, on 15 January 1925, conspired to reduce the lifespan of their products to boost profits. This practice, known as planned obsolescence, is no longer a conspiracy but a cornerstone of modern industry. 

Enter Kyle Wiens, CEO and founder of iFixit, a company dedicated to empowering consumers to repair their tech. Wiens shares his battle against corporate censorship, describing the flood of cease-and-desist letters he receives for simply making repair knowledge accessible. “I assumed we’re not fixing things because it’s not possible, because it’s not economically viable,” he says. “Actually, we’re not fixing things because lawyers are going out of their way to censor that knowledge from the world.”

A mountain of vaping devices in a bin at a recycling centre in Waltham Forest. Photo: LJ Cadogan

At this point, I couldn’t help but picture those sci-fi moments where an ancient piece of tech miraculously boots up when plugged in. Reality? We’ll be scrambling for a device that wasn’t engineered to fail.

From gadgets, the documentary shifts to waste. Anna Sachs, better known as @thetrashwalker, guides us through the growing phenomenon of dumpster diving—a grassroots response to the obscene amount of goods discarded by corporations. Her findings resonate with my own experience in hospitality. In smaller establishments, tight budgets often meant waste was scrutinised—every pound saved mattered. But in larger operations, I witnessed waste on a scale that I found staggering. That was years ago, though, and I’d like to believe some progress has been made.

Yet, as Jan Dell, a chemical engineer, succinctly puts it: “We simply cannot recycle our way out of all the stuff they want us to buy.” The recycling symbols stamped on packaging often mean little; much of the waste still ends up buried or burned. It's a bitter truth.