IS BITCOIN COMPATIBLE WITH A CONSUMER SOCIETY?
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It's not uncommon to hear that Bitcoin is the future. But what kind of future are we talking about, exactly? Would a society built around Bitcoin resemble the one we know today in any way? Or is this leaderless, borderless, and inflation-free monetary protocol merely a historical anomaly, a vestige of another paradigm, born by accident in an era that still rejects it without admitting it? The question seems almost trivial when asked bluntly: Is Bitcoin compatible with a society of overconsumption? The simple act of asking this question already reveals a clash between two worlds. On the one hand, a debt-fueled economy, fueled by the urgency to consume ever more, driven by speed, novelty, planned obsolescence, and the illusory promise of infinite growth on a finite planet. On the other, a deflationary currency, which rewards patience, values savings, artificially limits its own quantity, and invites, almost silently, to slow down, to wait, to reflect.
We live in a society where the norm has become excess. Everything is designed to be desired, bought, used, and then discarded. Technology is constantly being renewed not to truly improve human life, but to maintain the rapid rotation of the market cycle. Objects are no longer made to last. They are designed to die, often prematurely, so that the need immediately reappears. This logic is at the heart of the contemporary economic model, where growth is both a religion and a prison. To maintain the illusion of continued prosperity, money must circulate quickly, very quickly. Widespread indebtedness is not a bug in the system, but its fuel. States go into debt to finance their promises, companies go into debt to buy their survival, households go into debt to live beyond their means, and all together participate in a great headlong rush whose path no one really knows, except towards a limit that everyone fears but no one dares to name.
In this universe, Bitcoin is heresy. It offers neither inflation, nor easy access to credit, nor a printing press to save states or revive the economy when it falters. It is a currency that says no to excess. A currency that is content to be scarce, stable, and predictable. It is almost a philosophical affront to current logic. Where our world demands rapid consumption, Bitcoin encourages saving. Where the system pushes people to go into debt to own now what they cannot afford, Bitcoin teaches patience. Where advertising screams "Buy now, pay later," Bitcoin calmly responds: "Save now, buy when you can." This opposition is profound, almost ontological. It touches on our way of thinking about time, value, and the future. Bitcoin reintroduces the notion of limits in a world that had abolished them.
We must understand what this means in practice. In a world governed by a deflationary currency like Bitcoin, the temptation to postpone purchases is great. If what I own today will be worth more tomorrow, why spend it immediately? This dynamic runs counter to current consumerist logic, which is based on the opposite: purchasing power deteriorates over time, prices rise, so it's better to buy now. Consumerist urgency is a monetary construct. By establishing a currency whose value is constantly eroding, we encourage individuals to never keep their money. Money must circulate, turn over, change hands, and quickly. A deflationary currency, on the other hand, encourages accumulation, planning, and measured choice. It turns the consumer into a conscious actor, not an automaton with Pavlovian reflexes. It reverses the temporality of decision-making.
But then, how can this be reconciled with an economy that, without overconsumption, would collapse? If individuals consume less because they prefer to save their bitcoins, what happens to the businesses, jobs, and economic flows that depend on them? The main criticism leveled at Bitcoin from Keynesian circles lies in this fear: a currency that is too rigid, too scarce, too "passive" would lead to a permanent recession. The general fall in prices—what economists call deflation—would be a catastrophe. It would slow investment, kill growth, and freeze the economy. But is this fear well-founded? Or is it based on a biased conception, conditioned by a century of inflationary money and easy credit?
We must dare to challenge the preconceived notion that perpetual growth is a goal in itself. The idea that everything must grow constantly—profits, turnover, populations, yields—is a cultural construct, not a natural truth. The planet, however, does not grow. Resources are finite. Biological cycles are slow. Wisdom lies not in acceleration, but in balance. A society based on Bitcoin, precisely because it does not allow the illusion of infinite expansion, would force us to think differently. To focus on quality rather than quantity. To design durable, repairable, and transferable objects. To value craftsmanship, sobriety, and patience. It would be a return to a form of organic, local, human economy, and not to the obsession with always more.
We sometimes imagine that this would lead to stagnation, even regression. But this is a mistake in perspective. The end of overconsumption is not the end of creativity. On the contrary, it could liberate it. In a world where we are no longer slaves to marketing, where objects are not designed to die, where we can accumulate value in a currency that does not betray, the relationship to work, to production, to wealth would change profoundly. Innovation would still exist, but it would no longer be dictated by the imperatives of the fiscal quarter. Art would regain its slowness. Engineering would stop creating gadgets and return to the essentials. Technology would no longer be a toy, but a tool. Everything would not necessarily be slower, but everything would be more intentional.
We are already seeing the seeds of this transition appear. Some artisans accept payments in bitcoin. Families are saving for their children not in euros, but in satoshis. Companies are designing objects meant to last for decades, even generations. Communities are organizing around values of sovereignty, autonomy, and transmission. Minimalism is no longer an aesthetic stance, but a philosophy of life. And beneath the surface, everywhere, lies the imprint of Bitcoin, like a seed planted in hostile but fertile soil.
But this transition will not be smooth. It involves a radical change in mentality. It clashes with the interests of the lending, disposable, and debt industries. It calls into question the monetary sovereignty of states, the power of central banks, and the power of those who live off monetary inflation. Bitcoin is not neutral. It is subversive. It proposes another way of structuring society. And this way is incompatible with the current logic of overconsumption. No more than a campfire is compatible with a gas station. One is self-sufficient, the other depends on a constant supply. One requires patience, the other credit.
The consumer society is based on the constant promise of a better future, bought on credit, pushed ever further away. It produces frustrated, rushed, anxious individuals, addicted to novelty but never satisfied. It destroys connections, ecosystems, meaning. It anesthetizes consciences under layers of artificial dopamine. Bitcoin, on the other hand, promises nothing. It guarantees neither comfort, nor security, nor wealth. It simply offers a tool. An incorruptible, predictable, stable mathematical language. It's up to everyone to do what they want with it. But this tool, by its very existence, reveals the absurdity of the dominant system. It acts like a mirror. It shows that other paths are possible.
And this is perhaps its most radical power. Not to enrich us, but to make us think. Not to change the world for us, but to force us to see it as it is. There will be no gentle revolution. There will be no transition without pain. But there is still time to choose. To decide what kind of world we want to build. A world of eternal debt, artificial growth, plastic, and emptiness. Or a world of accepted limits, tangible values, patience, and responsibility.
Bitcoin is a building block in this new world. It's not a miracle solution. It's not a utopia. It's a disruptive tool. And like all powerful tools, it requires only one thing: that we learn how to use it. To use it well. Because its adoption or rejection depends on much more than the fate of a financial asset. Perhaps the very meaning of our civilization depends on it. Its ability to reinvent itself without betraying itself. To escape the spiral of overconsumption and reconnect with what we have lost: the taste for slowness, respect for scarcity, and the freedom of an unplanned future.
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