What is Convenience?

To write a book arguing against convenience, I had to define the word. After a lot of research and drafting, I came up with this:

When I call something a convenience, or when I say something is convenient, I mean that it saves (or purports to save) time, effort, money, or some combination of the three.

That’s fine in a book, where the definition is followed by pages of examples and arguments (self-checkout, streaming, delivery). But in conversation, I need something snappier, something that calls to mind the feeling of a broken promise—the feeling that you’ve made your life harder by trying to make it easier.

I keep thinking of one of my favorite pieces of writing: E.B. White’s “On Democracy.” He wrote it for The New Yorker in 1943, when the U.S. War Board asked “for a statement on ‘The Meaning of Democracy.’”

White writes:

Surely the Board knows what democracy is. It is the line that forms on the right. It is the don’t in don’t shove. It is the hole in the stuffed shirt through which the sawdust slowly trickles; it is the dent in the high hat.

It’s a beautiful piece. The melody of it is one I keep humming my own lyrics to. But as much as I fall short of E.B. White (which is expected, as he’s one of the best nonfiction writers in the English language), I find it useful. So what is convenience?

Convenience is the bag of food on the front steps. It’s the order that’s not right, but not so wrong that it’s worth complaining about. Convenience is not minding if the noodles are a little colder than you’d like. Convenience is being able to tip in the app and forgetting to.

Convenience is a watch that reminds you that you have a beating heart. It’s the sound of a song playing out loud on a bus, as heard through noise-canceling headphones playing that morning’s news. Convenience is a reminder that all of this could end soon and the feeling that you don’t have to do anything about it.

Convenience is tapping instead of swiping and swiping instead of waiting for change. Convenience is never having to know what correct change is. Convenience is a boarding pass on your phone with 5% battery.

Convenience is a subscription that makes your computer work. It’s a free trial to hear your favorite song. It’s two minutes of ads before a home video. Convenience is the daily software update, the incremental bug fix, and the new AI assistant. Convenience is getting something you haven’t asked for.

Convenience is a $10 service fee on a $15 order. It’s a chatbot asking for a photo of an item damaged in shipping. It’s a doorbell in your pocket; a grainy picture of your front door while you sit in the office. Convenience is the ability to talk to a stranger from the other side of a wall. Convenience is seeing your friends as blinking dots on a map and as cartoon emojis speaking in gray and blue bubbles.

Convenience is the alarm that wakes you up in the morning and the robotic voice that summarizes your messages. Convenience is the suggested rephrasing of an email canceling plans. It’s the time you get back to spend by yourself.

You can get the book here or at your local bookstore. Just ask them to order it.