Issue #10
I like phone games before bed. Don't judge me.
I have a favorite one I've played long enough to have a routine. And a few weeks ago, tucked into the barely-used comment section of that game, was a message. Download this other game. Play it to level 12. Get 15,000 coins in the game you actually love.
15,000 coins. That's not a small number. That's striking gold.
So I downloaded it.
The new game was cheesy and, honestly, time-consuming, gathering sticks, collecting rocks, feeding chickens, and building my very own little community from scratch. There were new rules to learn, but I was committed. Free coins were waiting.
Two and a half days later, I hit level 12.
I went back to the original message, typed in my username, clicked to claim my reward, and nothing happened. I tried again. And again. Did everything right. Still nothing.
I was genuinely annoyed. Not just because of the coins, but because I spend money on that game sometimes. I'm not just a free rider. I'm a real one. I felt like I had earned something, and now I couldn't get it.
So I contacted customer service. Explained exactly what happened. Waited.
Two days later, they responded.
"Please be wary of free giveaways and scams."
That was it. That was the answer.
I sat there thinking, I just spent two and a half days feeding digital chickens and building a fake community, for free coins, in a free game, and the lesson I got back was ‘be careful out there?’
The whole thing cost me nothing. Except every minute I put into it.
That's the thing about free. It always costs something.
This isn't new. Not even close.
If you grew up in the 80s or 90s, you might remember getting an envelope in the mail, thick, official-looking, maybe even exciting. Congratulations. You've been selected for a complimentary weekend stay. A hotel, sometimes decent, sometimes aggressively three-star. Free continental breakfast included.
The catch — and there was always a catch — was a four-hour pitch on why you needed to buy into a timeshare or shared community property. They fed you, housed you, gave you a mini vacation, and all you had to do was sit in a room while someone explained, at length, why this was the opportunity of a lifetime.
The stay was free. Your Saturday was not.
That was an early and very committed version of what "free" has always been…a door they hold open long enough to get you inside.
The digital version is less charming but just as effective.
Take Amazon's free returns.
For a long time, that promise was a real differentiator. Buy anything, send it back, no questions, no cost. It changed how people shopped online because the risk felt removed. But the math eventually stopped mathing, and quietly, depending on where you live and what you're returning, free returns started becoming not free.
A restocking fee here, a drop-off requirement there. The promise didn't disappear. The fine print just got longer.
That's worth knowing: when "free" is the thing that earns your trust, losing it doesn't always come with an announcement.
And then there's Temu.
I had to tell my mother to stop dealing with Temu.
Like most of the world, she was pulled in by the prices: impossibly cheap clothes, housewares, interesting finds, shoes that had no business being that affordable. The hauls were fun. The deliveries were exciting.
But every time a package arrived, here came the email. Here came the app notification. Act now! Five more products, three cents each! Today only! Your free gift is waiting!
I urged her, over and over.
She'd look at the deals, and I'd watch the cycle start again. It wasn't just shopping anymore. It was a loop. A system designed to make "free" feel like momentum, like you'd be leaving something on the table if you stopped now.
Eventually, she started to see it. Got tired of being nudged. Put the app down.
I looked at her and said: Temu'll get you.
We gave each other a side eye in agreement. She's finally done with it.
That's what the most sophisticated version of "free" does: it doesn't just get you once. It builds a habit around the feeling of almost-free, of nearly-getting-something, of rewards just within reach. You're not a customer anymore. You're a participant.
And participation is worth a lot more to them than whatever they gave you for three cents.
Sponsor Break…Take dictation like a PRO! My colleagues actually love this… Viewing this ad supports this newsletter.
10x the context. Half the time.
Speak your prompts into ChatGPT or Claude and get detailed, paste-ready input that actually gives you useful output. Wispr Flow captures what you'd cut when typing. Free on Mac, Windows, and iPhone.
Loyalty programs are maybe the most elegant version of this.
Points feel like a gift. A reward. Something you earned. But what you actually did was repeatedly change your behavior over time in exchange for the possibility of a discount that often requires more spending to redeem.
The "free" flight that costs $75 in fees.
The "free" coffee after ten purchases. You paid. The accounting just looked different.
The psychology here is documented and a little wild.
Behavioral economists have a name for it: The Zero Price Effect.
When something costs nothing, people don't just value it more. They lose the ability to compare it rationally to other options. People will choose a free $5 item over a $2 item they actually need. That “free-99” short-circuits the math.
Which means "free" isn't just a price point. It's a cognitive override.
Brands know this. They've known it for a long time. The word is doing heavy lifting every single day, in subject lines, on landing pages, on packaging.
Free gift with purchase (is there any other kind of gift? It’s actually redundant).
Free shipping over $50 (free, after you spend more).
Free consultation (free, until the sales pitch begins).
None of this means “free” is always a trap.
Sometimes ‘free’ genuinely is free. Sometimes the trade is worth it.
But there's a difference between a trade you chose and a trade you didn't know you were making.
The word "free" works hardest in that gap, the space between what we assume and what's actually happening. And most of the time, we don't stop to look because $0.00 has already done its job on our brains before we get the chance.
The next time something is free, it's worth asking: free for whom, and what’s the real exchange?
Usually, the answer is interesting.
Until Next Wednesday,
~Aliya
If you’re enjoying The Weight of Words, forward it to a friend or Buy Me A Coffee… or both!
Thank you for your support!