Somewhere in America, there are two gray linen boxes at the foot of a television stand. That is, until someone inquired about what was inside, which turned out to be DVDs. Numerous ones. Purchased over many years, no longer watched, and hard to justify keeping. Everything, or nearly everything, was available on the streaming services. Digital purchases were always available, more affordable, and more convenient. The boxes were making the most of available space for actual use. They took the recycling outside. A very sensible choice. However, there was a brief pause, a tiny resistance that most likely caught the person experiencing it off guard.
There was logic in that hesitation. Streaming entails ongoing payments. Most consumers never read the terms of service associated with digital purchases, which are linked to unreliable platforms and rely on a good internet connection and a company’s goodwill. It was impossible to remove the discs from those gray boxes. They couldn’t be stopped from working by a remote update. They were owned in the traditional sense of the word.
| Topic Overview | Details |
|---|---|
| Subject | Digital ownership erosion in video games, software, and media |
| Legal Turning Point | Vernor v. Autodesk (2010) — US appeals court ruled EULAs can convert software sales into licenses, eliminating resale rights |
| First-Sale Doctrine | Copyright principle allowing lawful owners to resell purchased copies; effectively bypassed by digital licensing |
| Notable Game Removal | Ubisoft’s The Crew (2024) — pulled from all platforms and deleted from purchased libraries with no refund |
| Adobe Creative Cloud | Shifted from one-time purchase to subscription at $60+/month; missing a payment locks users out of their own project files |
| Microsoft Office | Microsoft 365 replaced perpetual-license Office; annual subscription required for full feature access |
| Hardware Locked by Software | BMW heated seats paywalled; Tesla Enhanced Autopilot remotely toggled based on subscription status |
| When Platforms Die | Google Stadia shutdown (2023) — users lost entire purchased game libraries when service ended |
| Right to Repair Movement | Growing consumer and legislative push to restore owner control over purchased hardware and software |
| Key Concern | Companies retain remote ability to revoke, alter, or delete content after purchase |
For the past fifteen years or so, that sense of ownership has been gradually diminishing, and one of its most active editors has been the video game industry. Not only did Ubisoft remove The Crew from servers in 2024, but it was also removed from the libraries of those who had already purchased it. No reimbursement. No substitute. A fully paid-for item vanished as if the transaction had never taken place. The fact that the incident caused a great deal of outrage online before largely disappearing from the news cycle may indicate how commonplace this behavior has become. People were furious. Nor were they overly shocked.
The legal framework for this change was established discreetly, primarily in courtrooms that received little public notice. In Vernor v. Autodesk, a 2010 federal appeals decision held that end-user license agreements—those lengthy text blocks that users click through without reading—can convert a sale into a license, thereby depriving purchasers of the first-sale doctrine rights that permit resale of a purchased copy. It was referred to by the Electronic Frontier Foundation as “a major blow to user rights.” The practical implications of the ruling were simple: practically all commercial software would be eligible if an EULA stated that you are getting a license rather than a copy. Most people do. Additionally, the business has the right to cancel, change, or reprice what you believed you had purchased once you become a licensee rather than an owner.
The most noticeable example of this change is likely Adobe’s move to Creative Cloud. In the past, you could buy Photoshop and Illustrator outright as a physical disc with a product key that you could use for as long as you wanted. Years after its 2012 release, professionals continued to use Photoshop CS6, which was patched, functional, and, for once, paid for. Adobe did not immediately compel users to upgrade when it switched to a subscription model that cost more than $60 per month, but it gradually stopped supporting older versions. These days, if you don’t pay for Creative Cloud, you can’t use the program, and in certain setups, you can’t open or export files in proprietary formats. The tools are taken hostage. When all of the work in those files is your own, it’s an odd situation.
Microsoft followed suit with Office, switching from a perpetual-license model to Microsoft 365, an annual subscription that generates steady recurring revenue but requires users to pay for software they previously paid for once indefinitely. From the company’s perspective, the reasoning is simple: subscriptions support ongoing development, cloud features, and security updates that are not possible with a single purchase. There is some validity to that argument. Additionally, the arrangement significantly boosts Microsoft’s revenue line, which should be considered when assessing how fervently the industry supports it.
In this sense, hardware is beginning to catch up to software, and that’s where things start to get really weird. BMW gained notoriety for putting heated seats—hardware that is already installed in cars—behind a paywall that requires a monthly subscription. For years, Tesla has been able to remotely activate and deactivate features like Enhanced Autopilot depending on whether a customer has paid for access. The vehicle is parked in your driveway. What the company can do is under its control. Beneath that arrangement lies a philosophical question that most product marketers steer clear of: if a company can determine which parts of a product you can use after you’ve purchased it, then why did you purchase it?
Whether a significant regulatory response is emerging is still unknown. Although there has been some progress in the right-to-repair movement—a number of US states have passed laws mandating that manufacturers give consumers access to parts and software tools for device maintenance—digital ownership rights for games and software are still mainly unaddressed at the policy level. Naturally, the industry claims that better products and wider access are funded by subscription and licensing models. In certain situations, that assertion can be justified. It is more difficult to defend when products are removed from libraries or when a platform’s parent company closes and steals all of a user’s purchases. At least some purchases were refunded after Google Stadia closed in 2023. Not all platform exits will be so well-organized.
As all of this builds up, there’s a sense that most people’s discomfort with subscription culture isn’t just about money. It concerns the distinction between an asset and an arrangement, which is more akin to security. There was more to the DVDs in those gray boxes than just objects. They served as a sort of assurance. Those discs continued to function regardless of what transpired with the platform, the studio, the streaming rights agreement, or the business model of the company. It has always been important to know who is in charge of what you have paid for. Simply put, the answer used to be easier.
