From subscriptions to smart devices, ownership has quietly been replaced by licensed access. As consumers push back, crypto users are embracing self-custody as a return to real control.
Jan 30, 2026
For most of modern consumer history, ownership was straightforward. You paid for a thing, and the thing was yours. You could use it when you wanted, how you wanted, for as long as it worked. No logins required. No monthly charges. No terms quietly changing in the background.
That assumption has eroded faster than many people realized.
Across entertainment, software, vehicles, and even basic household devices, ownership has been replaced by something thinner and more conditional. Today, “buy” often means “rent indefinitely, as long as the rules don’t change.” And increasingly, they do.
People are beginning to push back — not loudly at first, but persistently. The backlash shows up in canceled subscriptions, renewed interest in physical goods, and growing skepticism toward platforms that promise convenience while quietly retaining control. In crypto, that same impulse has taken a more explicit form: self-custody.
The transition didn’t happen overnight. It crept in through convenience. Streaming replaced shelves. Software updates replaced boxed products. Smart devices promised automation and ease. Subscriptions felt harmless — until they stacked up.
A single monthly fee is easy to justify. Five is annoying. Ten starts to feel punitive.
Subscription fatigue has become a recognizable consumer sentiment, not because people hate paying, but because they’re paying without gaining permanence. Movies disappear from libraries. Games lose support. Software locks files behind expired plans. Even hardware can lose functionality when payments stop.
In this model, the consumer owns less than they think. They may possess the device, but not the features that make it useful. Control sits elsewhere.
Smart home technology illustrates this tension especially clearly. Security cameras that require ongoing payments to access footage. Thermostats that lose advanced functionality without cloud subscriptions. Connected devices that quietly degrade when plans lapse. When access ends, ownership shrinks.
Cars have followed a similar path. Modern vehicles increasingly ship with hardware already installed, but features activated only through software subscriptions. Heated seats, navigation systems, performance upgrades — all present, all locked. The buyer owns the car, but not the full experience of driving it.
The message is subtle but consistent: possession is no longer enough.
By the time regulators get involved, a problem is usually already widespread. That’s what makes California’s Assembly Bill 2426 notable. Taking effect at the start of 2025, the law requires sellers of digital goods to clearly disclose when consumers are purchasing licenses rather than ownership.
The scope is broad: video games, movies, music, e-books, apps, and other digital media. Companies can no longer market these transactions as purchases without explaining the limits. Access may be temporary. Terms may change. Content may be removed.
The law doesn’t restore ownership. It restores honesty.
For many consumers, this legal shift didn’t feel revelatory. It felt validating. People already suspected that their digital libraries weren’t really theirs. AB 2426 simply confirmed the reality they had been living with.
Few groups understand conditional ownership better than gamers. Physical media, once the standard, allowed games to be played decades after release. A cartridge or disc didn’t ask permission. It didn’t depend on servers staying online.
Digital distribution changed that relationship.
Today, even when users pay full price, they’re often buying access governed by platform policies. Games can be delisted. Accounts can be banned. Updates can remove features. Platforms like Steam now explicitly state that purchases are licenses, not ownership — a level of transparency that has sparked wider conversations about what digital ownership actually means.
In response, some players are returning to physical media. Others are simply more cautious, favoring platforms and publishers with clearer policies and fewer dependencies. The goal isn’t nostalgia. It’s durability.
And gaming is just one example.
The same licensing logic appears across technology categories.
Software that once offered perpetual licenses now requires continuous subscriptions. Miss a payment, and tools stop working or files become inaccessible. Creative professionals, businesses, and individuals alike are locked into ongoing costs just to maintain access to their own work.
Smart devices promise intelligence but demand compliance. Automotive software increasingly gates core features behind paywalls. Even productivity tools shift functionality over time, sometimes removing features users relied on.
What’s emerging is a hybrid form of ownership: consumers own the shell, but not the system that animates it. Hardware without autonomy. Products without permanence.
That gap between expectation and reality is where frustration grows.
Crypto didn’t invent the ownership debate, but it crystallized it.
In traditional finance, most people don’t hold their assets directly. Banks, brokers, custodians, and exchanges act as intermediaries. They manage access, enforce rules, and ultimately decide when and how funds move. Accounts can be frozen. Withdrawals delayed. Policies revised without notice.
Crypto introduced a different option: self-custody.
By holding private keys, users retain direct control over their assets. No intermediary approval is required to transact. No platform can unilaterally block access. The phrase “not your keys, not your coins” became shorthand for a simple idea: ownership without control isn’t ownership at all.
Over time, this philosophy has shifted from niche ideology to mainstream practice within crypto. By 2025, a majority of global crypto wallet users relied on non-custodial wallets. An even larger share of on-chain transactions flowed through wallets controlled directly by users rather than platforms.
Hardware wallet adoption followed a similar trend, reflecting growing comfort with personal responsibility over convenience.
For many users, the appeal isn’t philosophical. It’s defensive.
Custodial platforms introduce a specific kind of risk: counterparty risk. History has shown what happens when centralized platforms fail, are hacked, or simply disappear. Billions have been lost to breaches, collapses, and scams that relied on users surrendering control of their assets.
Self-custody doesn’t eliminate risk. Users can lose keys. Wallets can be compromised. Mistakes are irreversible. But it changes where risk lives.
Instead of trusting a third party to act correctly, users take responsibility themselves. There’s no customer support desk for lost keys — but there’s also no centralized entity that can freeze funds or change withdrawal rules overnight.
This trade-off has become more appealing as awareness grows.
Self-custody also unlocks participation. Non-custodial wallets are gateways to decentralized finance protocols, NFT marketplaces, and on-chain applications that don’t rely on centralized approval.
Users can lend, stake, trade, and interact directly with smart contracts. No account creation. No waiting periods. No discretionary freezes.
This openness has driven higher engagement in wallets designed for decentralized use. Control isn’t just about protection. It’s about possibility.
Institutions have noticed as well. In 2025, institutional wallet ownership grew sharply, with many firms adopting hybrid custody models. These systems combine third-party oversight with direct control features, balancing regulatory requirements with autonomy.
The direction is consistent: fewer locked balances, clearer rules, and reduced reliance on centralized gatekeepers.
The distinction mirrors what consumers are experiencing elsewhere. Keeping funds on an exchange feels like renting access. Moving them into a personal wallet feels like possession.
Inside crypto casinos and gaming platforms, similar dynamics are emerging. Players increasingly favor assets that exist on-chain rather than in proprietary databases. Tokens, skins, avatars, and access passes that live in a wallet can persist even if a platform shuts down.
If the service disappears, the asset remains.
That permanence is becoming a selling point, not a novelty.
What’s unfolding isn’t just a technical debate. It’s cultural.
Consumers are reexamining what ownership means in a world where products can be altered or revoked remotely. They’re less willing to accept vague promises and buried terms. They want clarity. They want durability. They want control.
Regulators are responding cautiously. Companies are adjusting language. Users are changing behavior.
Crypto’s embrace of self-custody reflects this broader reckoning. It isn’t perfect. It demands education, better interfaces, and stronger security practices. But it aligns more closely with traditional ideas of ownership than many modern consumer products do.
In the digital economy, ownership has become an active choice. It requires understanding trade-offs, accepting responsibility, and sometimes giving up convenience. But for a growing number of users, that trade feels worth it.
As legal frameworks evolve and consumer expectations sharpen, the definition of ownership may finally begin to catch up with reality - not as a marketing term, but as a lived experience.
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