Yesterday, Netflix announced announced that it’s well on its way to a, well, blockbuster year of profits. The online movie outfit banked 430 million in revenue, lowered its costs-per-subscriber (who now number 11 million), and boosted all of the important acronyms and ratios that stock analysts care about.

But the rah-rah press releases don’t mention an important detail: I am responsible for Netflix’s exorbitant profits.

Okay, so I’m probably one of several million people. Here’s how it happened: I bought into the Netflix idea – "free" movies-on-demand, no late fees, feel-good non-Blockbuster vibes (erase the middle man...sort of)– but I never got into the habit of watching enough movies or "Mad Men" episodes to match my monthly contribution.

It’s not like Netflix is duping me into this. Or that it’s novel for a business to turn a profit on services going unused (see: insurance, gift cards). I take full responsibility for my lazy media consumption. But I’ve tried to get to the bottom of my “Netflix Syndrome” for the of benefit all afflicted (Do you have it? Test yourself!) because the disease is only going to spread as more business ditch their box-stores and go exclusively online. Why am I paying without playing?

1. Out of sight, out of mind. Netflix never reminds me that it’s been a while since my last rental. They’re perfectly content to let that Japanese movie gather dust on my cable box (the one that I thought I should watch three months ago when I felt a fleeting urge to be more multicultural). Sayonara, ten dollars.

2. No late fees=no kick in the pants. The carbon copy late fee notices from my library strike fear in my stingy, WASPy heart. I return the offending items immediately. Likewise with the threat of penalties on late credit card bills. As much as late fees are an inconvenience, they DO prompt action…like watching more flicks.

3. An impersonal business creates a guiltless renter. With Netflix, there’s no exasperated video clerk to chide me about the dozen folks who wanted to rent Let the Right One In but couldn't because I hoarded it. Social guilt and its partner in crime - shaming - are nonexistent in an automated system that ships unlimited DVDs from distant warehouses.

4. Opting out is akin to quitting. Just like an e-newsletter, Netflix works on the "subscribe/unsubscribe" model. Opting in is easy, and it carries with it a heady feeling of inclusiveness and purpose. Look, world, I'm trying something new! To unsubscribe is to admit that I'm a failed value-pursuer and culture-consumer. I must forge on!

And thus we arrive at the root of the disease: Netflix subverts my guilt about hemorrhaging money, and oddly makes me feel guilty about stopping the bleeding.

Experiencing similar symptoms? Share your thoughts, commiserations, and diagnoses below. In the meantime, I'm saying goodbye to Netflix. I'm doing it right now. Really. Maybe.


(Photo originates from http://www.core77.com/blog/object_culture/netflix_origami_11074.asp)