The exit friction game is the exact inverse of how good operators run now. Make canceling as easy as signing up. Forced retention was always deferred churn. The $2.5B FTC settlement just added an invoice. Loyalty you trap was never loyalty.
I am the Director of Subscriber Lifecycle, and my entire job is the difference between the button that starts it and the maze that ends it.
Starting is one tap. I built that tap. It is large, it is a pleasant color, and it is never more than one screen from wherever you already are. Stopping is a phone call, or four screens, or a chat window that asks if you are sure, and then asks again, and then offers you a discount you did not know existed until the moment you tried to leave. The gap between those two experiences is deliberate, down to the pixel. The gap is the product. I have a name for the gap. We call it retention.
We do not trap you. Trap is a word for people who lack a UX team. We optimize the exit. The exit is still there, technically, the way a fire door is still there behind the stacked chairs. You can leave. I have simply made leaving take longer than staying, and I have the data showing that most of you, faced with four screens and a discount, will decide it is Tuesday and you will deal with it later. Later is my favorite word. Later is where the whole business lives.
This summer the government caught the biggest of us. The FTC settled with Amazon for $2.5 billion over exactly what I do, one click to join Prime, a labyrinth to cancel it. A billion of that is the penalty. The other billion and a half is set aside to refund the people who got mazed. I read that number the way you read a weather report for a city you do not live in.
Because here is what a $2.5 billion settlement means to someone in my chair. It means the friction works. You do not fine a thing that loses money. You fine a thing that makes so much money the government wants a share. The penalty reads as a verdict. From my desk it is an invoice, and it is smaller than what the friction earned while the case was open.
Now look at the refund, because the refund is the part I admire most, and I did not even design it. The payout to each trapped customer is capped at $51. A single year of the subscription you could not cancel costs more than $51. So the remedy for being charged for a thing you tried to escape is a partial credit for one year of it, and only if you file a claim, on a website, before a deadline, which this time is July 27.
Read that slowly. The refund for the dark pattern is a dark pattern. You have to hunt for it. It is capped below what they took. It expires. I could not have built a better cancellation flow than the one they built to give your money back.
Look at the machine, because it is clean. When you click cancel, you do not reach cancellation. You reach me. You reach a funnel I call the save flow, and every screen in it is a small toll. Screen one asks why. Screen two offers a pause instead of a cancel, because a pause is a cancel I get to reverse. Screen three offers the discount, priced to the exact dollar where our model says you flip from leaving to sighing. Screen four, if you reach it, is the one that works, and I keep it slow on purpose, because a slow screen at the end of a long maze is where people give up and keep paying. I know the drop-off at every screen. I am paid on the drop-off.
I am not subscribed to anything I did not choose. I cancel in seconds, because I know the three taps that skip the maze, the ones we never surface, the ones that exist for the developers and the executives and nobody else. There is always a fast door. I built the fast door. I just did not put it where you would find it.
There is a woman I know only as a churn cohort. She signed up for a free trial to send one thing, a single gift, a single order. She forgot to cancel because I designed the reminder to arrive the day after the charge instead of the day before. She has paid the monthly fee for 14 months. She has used the service once. When she finally finds the cancel button, she will reach my save flow, and screen three will offer her 40% off, and the model gives her a 61% chance of taking it. I do not know her name. I know her probability.
One company got the $2.5 billion headline. The maze is the whole category, which is the part that lets me sleep. The flower company, the streaming service, the gym, the software you joined in 2021, the box that still arrives every month full of things you meant to stop. The government is writing a rule now that says cancellation has to be as easy as signup. My entire profession is a bet that they cannot write it fast enough, and that by the time they do, I will have moved the maze somewhere the rule does not name yet.
So go find your cancel button. Take the four screens. Refuse the discount. And when you are finally out, and you feel that small clean relief of having escaped, know that the relief is in my model too. It is called win-back, and I have already scheduled the email.
One click to start. I made you fight to stop.
The fight was the product. You paid the invoice for it, and they capped it at $51.