I Didn’t Sign Up to Financialize My Life
I used to buy music. LPs, CDs, and the occasional downloaded file. Once I paid, it was mine. I could listen whenever I wanted. Then it shifted to streaming. Spotify and Apple Music made it effortless. Millions of songs are available instantly. No shelves. No collection to browse. Buying music had been a ritual. Discovering something. Bring it home. Playing it for people I cared about. That ritual is gone. I still have music, but it lives on devices and behind passwords now. It is harder to share and easier to lose.
This was sold as progress, but it does not feel like it. I miss record stores and buying something to keep. I resent having to pay continuously for access to things that used to belong to me. That was my first experience of the shift from ownership to permission. It did not stop with music. Movies moved to streaming, and software followed. Companies stopped selling tools and started leasing them. Miss a payment, and the tools stop working.
Convenience became conditional.
Ownership faded before I fully noticed. I stopped buying things and started managing subscriptions instead. One by one, small monthly charges became permanent financial background noise.
Somewhere along the way, this strategy was renamed the sharing economy. A name that still bothers me. Sharing used to mean lending something to someone I knew. It was personal and informal. It was built on trust. Now sharing means platforms, unreadable contracts, and ratings that determine whether I am allowed to participate.
Companies like Uber and Airbnb were sold as revolutionary. The promise was freedom and opportunity. Earn extra income. Be your own boss. Cars became businesses. Homes became income streams. Spare time became labor. The promise of freedom and the reality of obligation are not unique to these platforms. It shows up wherever systems are designed to serve capital first and people second.
Risk moved downward from companies to individuals, wrapped in friendly language. Subscriptions were never really about access. They were about predictability for the provider. Stable revenue. Reduced risk. Long-term control.
I accepted it for convenience. The cost was a recurring obligation. Freedom slowly began to feel like dependence. This is the sharing economy. Less about sharing and more about renting personal belongings to strangers through apps that take a cut.
When the commodity is you
The sharing economy did not stop at things. It moved on to people. Uber described itself as a platform connecting drivers and riders. In practice, it turned personal vehicles into commercial assets while shifting insurance, maintenance, and depreciation to individuals. The car was repurposed, not really shared.
Airbnb followed the same pattern. The spare room became managed inventory. Hosts coordinated cleaners, monitored reviews, and adjusted pricing to algorithms. The home, the one place a person is supposed to control, became a small business.
Then the same logic moved further. Surrogacy agencies and egg donation brokers adopted similar structures. The language softened the transaction: compensation instead of payment, journey instead of contract. A body became a service. Biology entered the marketplace.
Content creation followed, dressed up as self-expression. Platforms promised that anyone could build an audience and make a living. Some people do. But the demands are relentless. Post constantly. Track engagement. Adjust to algorithm changes.
Personality becomes product. Attention becomes inventory. Platforms take a cut and control the relationship with the audience. Change the algorithm, and years of effort can collapse overnight. This pressure to perform for an algorithm is not unique to creators. It shows up wherever platforms interact with people, including the professional networks we use to manage our careers. The creator carries the risk while the platform keeps the margin.
I am not arguing that everyone participating in these systems is exploited. People make choices, and sometimes the income matters. What concerns me is the structure. It makes these arrangements feel natural while quietly moving risk downward and profit upward.
The word I keep hearing is flexibility. Flexible income. Flexible hours. Flexible commitments. In practice, flexibility belongs to the platform. They summon labor when needed and discard it when not. For the worker, flexibility tends to mean instability. The logic has no clear stopping point. Each new platform finds another part of life to turn into a transaction.
This is not a sharing economy. Sharing implies reciprocity and trust. What I see instead is a rental economy with warmer language. Platforms control the relationship. They capture the margin. Individuals carry the risk. It is not empowerment. It is not freedom.
I am a platform’s revenue source.
AI Transparency Statement for “Renting My Own Life”: The author defined all core concepts, direction, and parameters for this work. In the writing of this article, “Renting My Own Life,” AI assisted in drafting some text, conducting research, and creating visualizations elements. The AI tools used include ChatGPT, Claude, and Gemini. All AI-generated content was thoroughly reviewed and verified for accuracy and appropriateness. The final work reflects human judgment, expertise and experience.
