The cultural language around technology purchases hasn’t caught up to the legal reality. We still say “I bought a movie on Amazon,” “my Kindle library,” “I own this game.” Almost none of those statements are accurate. What you actually purchased in those cases was a revocable license to access content under terms the seller can change. The transition from ownership to licensing has been gradual enough that most consumers haven’t noticed how comprehensive it’s become.
Software licenses replaced software ownership
The shift began with software, where the change was made explicit early. The end-user license agreement (EULA) for almost every commercial software product establishes that the buyer is licensing the right to use the software, not buying the software itself. That means the company can revoke the license under conditions specified in the EULA, can stop supporting it, can change its functionality through updates, and can decide it no longer runs on a current operating system. None of that would be possible if the user actually owned the software the way they own a book.
Streaming and digital media extended the pattern
Music, movies, books, and games followed software into the licensing model. Songs purchased on iTunes that get pulled from licensing deals can disappear from libraries. Kindle books have been remotely deleted from devices in well-publicized incidents (the irony of Amazon removing 1984 from Kindles in 2009 is now legendary). PlayStation Studios pulled previously purchased Discovery content from libraries when its licensing deal lapsed. In each case, the consumer had paid for the content, displayed it as “owned” in their library, and then watched it disappear without recourse.
Hardware has joined the trend
Even physical hardware has increasingly become licensed-software-with-a-shell. Tractors that won’t accept third-party repairs because John Deere has restricted access to diagnostic tools. Printers that brick if non-OEM ink cartridges are detected. Smart speakers that stop working when the manufacturer ends server-side support. Cars whose features are gated behind subscriptions even though the hardware to provide them is already in the vehicle. The product on the shelf increasingly contains a software contract that determines what the buyer can actually do with their physical possession.
Right-to-own and right-to-repair as pushback
The right-to-repair movement and broader right-to-own conversations have started to push back against this trend, with some success. Some U.S. states have passed laws requiring manufacturers to make repair information available. The EU has moved toward stronger durability standards. Some hardware companies — Framework laptops, Fairphone, certain audio brands — have built their entire identity around not pulling these tricks. But the dominant direction of the consumer technology industry remains toward more licensing, more subscription, and less ownership.
Bottom line
The honest framing of most modern technology purchases is “I’m paying for ongoing access to this thing under terms the seller can change.” That’s a fundamentally different relationship than ownership, and one with implications most consumers haven’t fully internalized. Buying physical books, downloading DRM-free music, and favoring hardware from companies committed to right-to-own principles are the realistic ways to actually own things in 2026 — because the default has quietly become rental.
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