You are staring at a progress bar that has stalled at 94%, and for reasons you cannot entirely articulate, this feels like a personal failure. You are currently standing in the aisle of a pharmacy or perhaps scrolling through a digital checkout, holding a product that you have used for the last .
Tier Progress to Platinum
94%
6% remaining to unlock “Essential Rewards”
You don’t love it. In fact, the last three times you used it, you noticed a slight waxiness, a smell that reminds you of a sterile hospital corridor, and a nagging sense that your skin isn’t actually getting better; it’s just staying the same. But the app on your phone is pulsing with a soft, neon notification. You have 340 points. At 400 points, you get a “Platinum Tier” gift set for free.
To walk away now, to try that other brand-the one with the minimal packaging and the glowing reviews from people who seem suspiciously happy-would be to “lose” those 340 points. It would be a waste. You aren’t buying the product anymore; you are buying the completion of the bar. You are staying in a relationship with a plastic bottle because you’ve already invested so much time in the paperwork.
The Ghost of Lost Money
Charlotte experienced this exact paralysis last Tuesday. She was looking at a new moisturizer, something she’d researched for three days, but her finger stayed glued to the “Reorder” button of her current brand. She had 340 points toward a freebie. She didn’t even want the freebie-it was a travel-sized bottle of a toner she never uses-but the thought of those points evaporating felt like losing money out of her purse.
She clicked reorder. She chose the familiar lukewarm jar over the potential of something better, captive to a number that only exists in a server in a warehouse in a different time zone.
The systemic architecture of contemporary retail seeks to mitigate the volatility of consumer choice through the manufacture of artificial switching costs. Essentially, it’s a hostage situation where the kidnapper keeps offering you lukewarm muffins. We call this “loyalty,” but that is a linguistic sleight of hand.
The $20 Bill Test
What if the “savings” are actually a surcharge on your freedom to choose?
I spent the morning cleaning out a pair of old jeans I haven’t worn since the world was different, and I found a $20 bill in the pocket. That $20 is pure, unadulterated joy because it has no conditions. I can spend it on a sandwich, a book, or a ridiculous ceramic frog. It doesn’t tell me where to go or what to buy.
Compare that to your 340 points. Those points are “money” that can only be spent in one building, on one category of goods, within a specific timeframe. They aren’t a reward for your past purchases; they are a fence built to prevent your future ones.
Insight from the Frontlines
Nora P.K., a conflict resolution mediator who has spent over untangling the bitter knots of human divorce, once told me during a particularly grueling session:
“People don’t stay in bad situations because the present is good; they stay because they’re afraid of the paperwork involved in leaving.”
We see this in mediation all the time. Couples will fight over a toaster not because they want the toaster, but because the toaster represents a “point” they earned during the marriage that they aren’t ready to let the other person “win.” We do the same thing with our brands. We stay because the cost of leaving-the loss of the points, the loss of the “Gold Member” status-feels higher than the cost of continuing to use a mediocre product.
The Leash in the Jar
This is the “Sunk Cost Fallacy” dressed up in a colorful UI. The points feel like an asset, but they function as a tether. When a brand has to rely on a digital leash to keep you coming back, it is an admission that the product itself might not be enough to do the job.
If you look at the ingredients of the cream Charlotte just reordered, you’ll find water as the first ingredient, followed by a list of petroleum derivatives and synthetic fillers that require a degree in chemistry to pronounce. It sits on the surface of the skin, creating a temporary shine that mimics health but delivers very little actual nourishment. But because she’s “Gold Tier,” she keeps buying it. She is paying for the privilege of being tracked.
The Quality Alternative
True retention shouldn’t require a ledger. It should happen because the product is so fundamentally different from the status quo that the idea of switching feels like a downgrade in quality, not a loss of points. For instance, consider the shift from water-based synthetic creams to something like a high-quality
When you use a product where the fatty-acid profile actually mirrors human skin, the “loyalty” isn’t something the brand has to manufacture through an app. The loyalty comes from your skin finally feeling like it’s being fed rather than just being coated in plastic.
The Radical Act of Quality
In the world of natural skincare, specifically with brands like Taluna, the retention model is inverted. There are no “Gold Tier” traps. Instead, there is the simple, radical fact of 100% New Zealand grass-fed tallow, processed to be odourless and handcrafted in an ISO-certified facility.
When the product actually works-when it absorbs deeply because it’s biologically compatible with your cells-the “points” become irrelevant. You don’t stay because you have 340 points; you stay because your face doesn’t feel tight for the first time in a decade.
We have been conditioned to believe that “value” is a game of accumulation. We collect miles, stamps, and digital stars, ignoring the fact that the price of the product has been inflated to cover the cost of the “free” gift we’re chasing. It’s a closed loop designed to keep us from looking at the horizon.
I’ve made this mistake myself. I once stayed with a specific airline for longer than I should have, taking inconvenient layovers and paying $140 more per flight, just because I wanted to keep my “Elite” status.
I was a mediator who couldn’t even mediate my own relationship with a frequent flyer program. I was terrified of losing the “free” lounge access-a lounge that usually just served stale crackers and lukewarm coffee. I was paying thousands of dollars in “loyalty tax” for twenty cents worth of crackers.
The Moment of Realignment
When we finally break the leash, it feels like that $20 bill in the jeans. It’s the freedom to realize that 340 points are worth exactly zero dollars if they are forcing you to buy something that doesn’t serve you. The moment you stop caring about the progress bar is the moment you regain your power as a consumer.
You start looking at ingredient lists instead of reward tiers. You start looking for small-batch quality, like a tallow balm made with intention, rather than mass-produced fillers designed for a shelf-life of five years.
We have to ask ourselves: If the product were truly life-changing, would they need to gamify the purchase? If the nourishment was real, would we need a digital badge to feel good about the transaction?
The next time you are tempted to click “reorder” just to hit that next tier, take a second to look at what you’re actually holding. If it’s a jar of water and petroleum that you’re only buying to protect a digital number, put it down. The points aren’t yours. They belong to the company, and they are using them to rent space in your head.
True loyalty is a quiet thing. It doesn’t need an app. It doesn’t need a push notification. It is the simple, repeated act of choosing something because it is good, because it is pure, and because it works. That is the only reward worth having.
I’m going to take my $20 and buy something that doesn’t come with a tracking number or a points balance. Maybe that ceramic frog. Or maybe just a jar of something real, something that doesn’t need to bribe me to stay.
Because the moment you realize the leash is made of paper, you can just walk away. And the air out here, away from the “Platinum Tier” expectations, feels a lot more like freedom. It turns out, 340 points weigh a lot more than they’re worth.
The jar on your shelf is not a trophy of your devotion but a brick in a wall you helped to build.