Netflix: The Rant
I used to be a Netflix nut. Like, as early as a few weeks ago.
At one point, I’d created an online list of 60 films from which the innovative e-tailer would draw. There were no lines, no valuable space devoted to roughed-up VHS tapes, no coffin-sized boxes of Goobers to dodge at the front counter.
At Netflix, I liked the fact that my options were unlimited. I could watch as many movies – good movies – as I desired.
Or so I thought.
Neflix has acknowledged that it uses a nice customer service model called “throttling” – or delaying the return of DVDs to frequent renters to accommodate those who rent less frequently. In other words, they’re shrugging off their most satisfied customers who actually get value out of the service.
Instead, they want to reward the absent-minded renters. You know, people who use their DVDs as coffee coasters, forget they have them in their possession, and end up watching two movies a month for $17.99. Nice.
To me, it’s insulting. I was one of their best customers. Not necessarily in terms of profits, but word-of-mouth – a phenomenon that can turn a cool pair of sneakers into a national sensation.
Netflix doesn’t care about that. CEO Reed Hastings obviously has never read Malcom Gladwell’s “The Tipping Point.” Or “The Idiot’s Guide to Customer Service.” If he had, he would understand the value of a satisfied customer and his increasingly potent reach in a digital society.
A single satisfied customer emails, calls, text messages, blogs and convinces his 86-year-old grandfather that he no longer has to leave the sofa to rent movies.
I no longer tell anyone about Netflix, unless I’m ranting. I quit earlier this month.
First, a little background. I joined Netflix in November 2004. I initially paid $14.99 for three movies out at a time. (Once they raised my rate to $17.99 per month, I dropped to the two-at-a-time plan.)
I joined them after walking into Hollywood Video one day and asking whether they had any of the following films in their store:
A Man Escaped
Blow Out
Klute
M
The Man Who Laughs
They had none. “You can check online,” a manager said, unapologetically. Um, I’ll do that. Of course, the store had 77 copies of “Daredevil” crowding a wall. But it wasn’t worth asking whether they could carry a single copy of “Klute.”
I had joined Hollywood Video as the lesser of two Dr. Evils. Blockbuster manages to be even worse. (In my opinion, Blockbuster stocks twice as much trash, with fewer classics and more space devoted to Goobers than documentaries.)
I found all of the above films at Netflix. And many more. I ended up discovering all sorts of interesting films, including America’s first true epic blockbuster, “The Birth of a Nation.”
Through Netflix, I became obsessed with returning each movie the morning after having watched it. A day later, I would get a fresh disc – tucked inside the familiar red envelope – in the mailbox. Life was bueno.
I would watch five to 10 films a month. In fact, I had watched 114 movies between November 2004 and January 2006. That equates to an average of 7.6 per month. Traditional retailers charge about $4 per movie. So I was getting an average value of $33 for my monthly subscription rate of $15 to $18.
To Netflix, I may as well have been a threat to national security.
But keeping up with the rentals requires dedication. You have to really love film to get the best value. And you have to return them quickly.
Or you end up losing. Most people lose. That’s why Netflix is still in business.
Blockbuster had made a fortune tapping into our own harried, absent-minded lives: It charged you for hanging onto “Armaggedon Day” for 16 days – a practice that led to a public relations headlock, sweeping rental policy changes and, to some extent, the sharp ascent of Netflix.
Now, Reed Hastings is The Man Who Laughs. And he’s laughing at me. I had actually noticed over the past two months that my rental returns had slowed considerably. Three to four days would pass after I had returned a DVD. I fired off a couple of choice emails, which swirled off into cyberspace without a response from Netflix.
It’s not a problem anymore. I cut ties with Netflix, which continues to thump its digital chest of “unlimited” rentals that are, as it turns out, limited. We’re getting throttled.
Ask yourself: Are you still getting value out of Netflix? I don’t know where I’m going for my next movie, but the place won’t rhyme with “Lockfuster.”
At one point, I’d created an online list of 60 films from which the innovative e-tailer would draw. There were no lines, no valuable space devoted to roughed-up VHS tapes, no coffin-sized boxes of Goobers to dodge at the front counter.
At Netflix, I liked the fact that my options were unlimited. I could watch as many movies – good movies – as I desired.
Or so I thought.
Neflix has acknowledged that it uses a nice customer service model called “throttling” – or delaying the return of DVDs to frequent renters to accommodate those who rent less frequently. In other words, they’re shrugging off their most satisfied customers who actually get value out of the service.
Instead, they want to reward the absent-minded renters. You know, people who use their DVDs as coffee coasters, forget they have them in their possession, and end up watching two movies a month for $17.99. Nice.
To me, it’s insulting. I was one of their best customers. Not necessarily in terms of profits, but word-of-mouth – a phenomenon that can turn a cool pair of sneakers into a national sensation.
Netflix doesn’t care about that. CEO Reed Hastings obviously has never read Malcom Gladwell’s “The Tipping Point.” Or “The Idiot’s Guide to Customer Service.” If he had, he would understand the value of a satisfied customer and his increasingly potent reach in a digital society.
A single satisfied customer emails, calls, text messages, blogs and convinces his 86-year-old grandfather that he no longer has to leave the sofa to rent movies.
I no longer tell anyone about Netflix, unless I’m ranting. I quit earlier this month.
First, a little background. I joined Netflix in November 2004. I initially paid $14.99 for three movies out at a time. (Once they raised my rate to $17.99 per month, I dropped to the two-at-a-time plan.)
I joined them after walking into Hollywood Video one day and asking whether they had any of the following films in their store:
A Man Escaped
Blow Out
Klute
M
The Man Who Laughs
They had none. “You can check online,” a manager said, unapologetically. Um, I’ll do that. Of course, the store had 77 copies of “Daredevil” crowding a wall. But it wasn’t worth asking whether they could carry a single copy of “Klute.”
I had joined Hollywood Video as the lesser of two Dr. Evils. Blockbuster manages to be even worse. (In my opinion, Blockbuster stocks twice as much trash, with fewer classics and more space devoted to Goobers than documentaries.)
I found all of the above films at Netflix. And many more. I ended up discovering all sorts of interesting films, including America’s first true epic blockbuster, “The Birth of a Nation.”
Through Netflix, I became obsessed with returning each movie the morning after having watched it. A day later, I would get a fresh disc – tucked inside the familiar red envelope – in the mailbox. Life was bueno.
I would watch five to 10 films a month. In fact, I had watched 114 movies between November 2004 and January 2006. That equates to an average of 7.6 per month. Traditional retailers charge about $4 per movie. So I was getting an average value of $33 for my monthly subscription rate of $15 to $18.
To Netflix, I may as well have been a threat to national security.
But keeping up with the rentals requires dedication. You have to really love film to get the best value. And you have to return them quickly.
Or you end up losing. Most people lose. That’s why Netflix is still in business.
Blockbuster had made a fortune tapping into our own harried, absent-minded lives: It charged you for hanging onto “Armaggedon Day” for 16 days – a practice that led to a public relations headlock, sweeping rental policy changes and, to some extent, the sharp ascent of Netflix.
Now, Reed Hastings is The Man Who Laughs. And he’s laughing at me. I had actually noticed over the past two months that my rental returns had slowed considerably. Three to four days would pass after I had returned a DVD. I fired off a couple of choice emails, which swirled off into cyberspace without a response from Netflix.
It’s not a problem anymore. I cut ties with Netflix, which continues to thump its digital chest of “unlimited” rentals that are, as it turns out, limited. We’re getting throttled.
Ask yourself: Are you still getting value out of Netflix? I don’t know where I’m going for my next movie, but the place won’t rhyme with “Lockfuster.”
posted by Corey at 1:16 PM
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