I watched the notifications flood in last week like digital leaves swirling in an autumn storm. Target slashing AirPods to $220. Walmart offering iPad blueprints at $274. Best Buy dangling MacBooks like shiny bait. Another Cyber Monday circus had come to town, and the faithful crowded around Apple’s glowing altar once more. As someone who’s covered this industry since the iPod was a revelation, not a relic, I felt that familiar mix of awe and nausea. Year after year, we reenact this ritual with religious fervor, congratulating ourselves for 'saving' $50 on devices that cost pennies to make. But what we call a deal is really Silicon Valley’s most brilliant psychological trap.

Consider the cognitive dissonance on display here. Apple spends billions crafting an image of supreme exclusivity, their product launches treated like papal inaugurations. Then comes Thanksgiving week, when the same sacred objects get tossed into the bargain bin beside discounted turkeys. That $1,000 iPad Pro becomes $900 overnight. Those premium AirPods suddenly shed 12% of their worth like snake skin. We’re meant to ignore that this temporary generosity exposes the artificial margins behind the magic curtain. The emperor of Cupertino isn’t just naked, he’s running a seasonal strip tease.

Yet we queue up anyway, credit cards trembling with anticipation. Why? Because Apple perfected what I call the Upgrade Illusion. Their products really do last longer than competitors, I’ll admit that freely. My 2018 MacBook Air still runs like a champ, a testament to build quality. But those annual iOS updates come with invisible strings attached. Slowdowns materialize like frost on glass. Battery health percentages bleed red warnings. The very software meant to extend your device’s life becomes its silent executioner. We applaud the five years of support while ignoring the forced march toward obsolescence.

The right to repair battle reveals this hypocrisy in brutal detail. Look at the footnotes of those alluring Cyber Monday deals. 'Not user repairable,' whispers the iPad Pro listing. 'No headphone jack,' mocks the AirPod description. Apple lobbies against legislation that would let us fix our own devices while touting environmental pledges. It’s like a chef selling you a 'self destructing steak' that expires unless you return to their restaurant for sauces. The discounted iPad you bought yesterday is designed to become tomorrow’s landfill contribution.

Meanwhile, the human costs hide in plain sight. Students take out high interest loans to 'invest' in MacBooks for school, convinced it’s an academic necessity. Parents drain emergency funds so little Timmy doesn’t feel left out without AirPods. I’ve interviewed teachers who report classrooms dividing into Apple haves and Android have nots, the AirPods dangling from ears like feudal crests. This isn’t commerce anymore, it’s tribal warfare fought with credit scores.

But here’s what fascinates me most. None of this is inevitable. We survived millennia without FaceID and touch bars. I remember editing video on 'inferior' Windows laptops that cost a third of MacBook Pros without melting down. The true breakthrough isn’t Apple’s tech, but their marketing alchemy that turned functional tools into social merit badges. Those Cyber Monday discounts aren’t kindness, they’re customer acquisition costs. Every $50 loss on AirPods today buys a decade of captive iTunes and iCloud revenue tomorrow.

Will this cycle ever break? Perhaps when repair shops outnumber Apple Stores, or when regulators stop bowing to lobbyists. Maybe when consumers realize that no discount justifies planned obsolescence. But today, the dance continues. The emails keep coming. The carts get loaded. And in Cupertino, an executive checks another record quarterly profit, wondering how we still fall for the oldest trick in tech. The price cut giveth, and the ecosystem taketh away.