The High Price of Free

Popped up the other day, and it got me thinking about “The High Price of Free” again.

From just about any link, let’s say I’m looking at material on a tablet, there will usually be a top bar on the web page’s screen, “Download our free app!”

I did that a time or two, and when I set up my most recent tablet, I didn’t just import old settings, but I did a clean install — only apps I’ll use.

Which means, now, when I see those “Download the free app?”

No.

The apps tend to run advertising that only the parent company makes money from, and there’s no user control on viewing the ads, then, there’s a privacy concern, with the added notion and observation of software bloat. That yucky feeling of too much — like the tablet’s trousers seem to fit a little tight around the waist. Loosen it a notch and it still feels a little too tight.

The High Price of Free

Free comes at a price. The expense must be borne by some endeavor.

I was searching for a new book to read, just classical “summer” reading, and I clicked on four different titles in Apple’s iBooks, with its “Free Sample” preview. Of those, I bought one because it was ripping good fun, and then I got in line for the next one from the same author. Two of the other books were highly recommended, but the prose didn’t work — for me.

The High Price of Free

My whole ebook purchase process reminded me about The High Price of Free. I downloaded — too numerous to name — titles and documents, looking for a certain experience. Knowledge, action, adventure, something, or some combination therein?

Then, there’s another consideration, on one site, the free app merely offered an “in–app purchase” to the paid–subscription of that site with the added bonus of still being served the advertising.

How’s that a deal?

However, as a business person, I admire the way it works.

Ethics might be a bit muddy, but that could just be my expectations.

About the author: Born and raised in a small town in East Texas, Kramer Wetzel spent years honing his craft in a trailer park in South Austin. He hates writing about himself in third person. More at KramerWetzel.com.

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