In Defence of Enshittification

The internet even has a word for this: enshittification.

Merriam-Webster defines it as “when a digital platform is made worse for users, in order to increase profits.” The term was popularised by author and activist Cory Doctorow, who used it to capture how platforms often begin user-first and then erode over time in the name of growth and monetisation. His post is well worth a read. It’s vivid, sharp, and unapologetic in its critique.

As damning as the term sounds, though, reality rarely fits one dictionary definition.

When being too good becomes a problem

A few years ago, I worked with a brilliant, empathetic Head of UX. Their freemium product was a hit. Hundreds of thousands of people used it daily without ever paying a penny. The free tier was so generous and well-designed that hardly anyone felt the need to upgrade.

That success quietly created two major issues:

1. The tiny pool of paying customers was effectively subsidising the free users, making the product unexpectedly expensive for them.

2. With conversions at a crawl, the company’s long-term future was under threat. There wasn’t enough money to improve the product, retain talent, or even keep the servers running.

In short: the more you delight everyone, the more tenuous the business can become.

The dreaded growth request (and the pushback)

At some point, the Head of Growth requested that some key features be moved behind a paywall and that the free usage limits be tightened. For the design team, it felt like vandalism. A generous, well-loved experience was being deliberately hobbled. By Merriam-Webster’s definition, this was textbook enshittification: making the product worse for users in order to increase profits.

The Head of UX pushed back hard. They worried the changes would tank the company’s Net Promoter Score, light up community forums with outrage, and tarnish the brand they’d worked so hard to build. In their view, the short-term revenue gains weren’t worth the long-term reputational hit. The objections went all the way to the CEO.

In a rare case of corporate morality the CEO sided with design. The Head of UX scored a major win. And the Head of Growth—whose proposals had already been a source of friction—decided to step down, recognising that without these changes, they would never be able to deliver the growth expected of them.

It felt like a clean victory for users. But was it the right call?

Users vs. customers

Look closely at Merriam-Webster’s phrasing: “users,” not “customers.” That distinction matters.

Yes, the changes would have degraded the experience for free users. But they might’ve improved things for paying customers. More revenue means less reliance on venture capital, more runway for development, and a stronger product ecosystem.

So whose experience should perhaps matter more: the hundreds of thousands of free riders, or the smaller group whose subscriptions literally keep the product alive?

Profit vs. survival

The Merriam-Webster definition stresses “profits.” But the issue here isn’t about squeezing a little more margin out of an already highly profitable business. It’s about gathering enough revenue to survive.

That was the case. Without better monetisation, the product’s future was bleak. Friction for free users wasn’t about cynical profiteering, it was about keeping the product alive. And isn’t that, in the end, in everyone’s best interests? If the company folds, nobody—paid or free—gets to use it. But if nudging a few free users to upgrade, or a handful of casual users to move elsewhere, preserves the product, maybe that’s the more responsible design choice.

The ethics of discouraging free users

If offering a less generous free package, or moving features from free to paid, feels wrong, then actively trying to drive free users away can feel downright unethical. But does a company really have a duty to support people who never intend to pay? And is it fair that paying customers must carry that cost?

While it may feel uncomfortable to deliberately reduce user numbers, there’s an argument that making the product less attractive to perpetual free riders is a rational choice. Fewer free users means lower server and support costs, and more resources to improve the product for those who value it most—especially the paying customers whose contributions keep it alive.

The uncomfortable truth for designers

This runs counter to most of what designers are taught. Our role is to improve experiences for all users, always. But products operate in financial ecosystems. Without a viable business, there’s no user experience to champion.

Sometimes, that means designing compromises—even ones that deliberately reduce part of the experience in order to preserve the whole. It doesn’t feel great to think that way, but it may be the best way to safeguard what we care about.

Closing thought

There’s a gulf between gutting a product for short-term gain and making hard trade-offs that balance user delight with business sustainability. The former deserves the full sting of “enshittification.” The latter may simply be the responsible, long-view choice.

The UX leader’s victory felt righteous—but what if it mortgaged the product’s future? Ultimately, everyone loses if there’s nothing left. So the next time you’re asked to “make it worse,” pause. You may not be betraying your values. You may be protecting what matters most: the product’s ability to keep going.

A few years after working with this company, I learned that they'd sold to a large competitor. Try as they might, they just couldn't make the business viable, so were forced to sell. The buyer in question wanted to extend their digital offering and were attracted by the vibrant community. They quickly set about "monitizing" said community, turning the product into a one of their more significant revenue streams, while maintaining the positive sentiment.