When the modern home refrigerator was invented in 1913, it had a simple yet revolutionary job: to keep our food cool and fresh for longer. No one could have thought this cooling box would one day become an in-home hoarding for advertisements.
It’s 2026, fridges, too, have screens now. And what usually follows the screens are advertisements. Samsung’s smart fridges, which can go for as high as 4 lakhs, may soon start showing ads on their screens. The conglomerate started its pilot program for some users in the United States, claiming that showing “promotions and curated advertisements” to users will “enhance everyday value for customers.” How that might happen, we are unsure.
It’s not just fridges either. It seems like advertisements are everywhere – omnipresent, inescapable, and superimposing. Whether you are scrolling through reels, X threads, YouTube, or even LinkedIn, it’s become interwoven into the very fabric of the online ecosystem.
On average, Indians spend over 7 hours on the internet, as per Meltwater’s Global Digital Report 2025. Roughly 20-25% of content on the Internet is ads, according to estimates by PPAI Media. This means one spends about 105 minutes a day at least, watching ads on their phones alone. This does not even account for integrated or undisclosed ads, paid content, outdoor advertisements, radio ads, etc.
This “ad invasion” isn’t simply numbers, either. Many users report feeling a sense of “ad fatigue.” Everything feels like an ad, even if it isn’t technically one – most reels, posts, and tweets feel like they have an ulterior motive of selling you something or subtly pitching a product.
Our phones, which once felt like a portal to a whole new virtual world, now feel like yet another megaphone for advertisements. This is what Canadian writer Cory Doctorow calls enshittification. Enshittification is a process of online platforms declining in quality over time. Developers or companies create high-quality platforms and products and offer them to the public virtually for free. They then gradually degrade the quality or put up paywalls, making the user experience worse. This has been the strategy or course that most social media platforms took – they offered their apps and services for free, then gradually introduced ads, which then multiplied over time. Sometimes they also took the route of paid apps or premium subscriptions, although these have been relatively unpopular compared to in-app ads.
You may ask, how is that a beneficial strategy? How would making the user experience bad help with user retention, and subsequently with profit-making for the platform?
The answer to this lies in the psychology of the consumer in a post-truth world. At its core, advertising is all about attracting people, about making your product or service desirable. It started with simply picking an object to market and picking a group to market it to – xyz is good because it does abc for you. Nowadays, however, that kind of almost rustic advertisement has virtually disappeared.
In a landscape of endless options, one may assume that an app or service that offers a poor user experience would drive people away instantly. However, many apps, specifically social media apps, have successfully been able to cement habits during their “free” phase. Many of these apps work on the rather simple principle of FOMO – fear of missing out. People are on these apps because everyone is there. It is through social media that one gets their news, gossip, updates, and information first. Not being on these apps creates a perhaps unfounded feeling that you are missing out on things.
Further, consumers now crave constant stimulation thanks to the digital ecosystem. Amid such fragmented realities, platforms weaponise FOMO via timed ads or “just one more scroll.” Retention climbs because the brain prioritises closure over comfort, funnelling more eyeballs and ad impressions than a seamless UX ever could. Online culture is another world altogether; there is a separate language, culture, and ecosystem on the internet that someone who doesn’t engage with it could not understand so clearly.
Moreover, platforms like YouTube layer unskippable ads and pop-ups to create a “sunk cost” effect – after enduring interruptions, users feel more inclined to complete the session rather than abandon it midway — “I have already sat through the ads, might as well watch the video.” This mirrors loss aversion, where the pain of quitting outweighs temporary annoyance, keeping daily active users steady even as satisfaction dips.
From advertisement as interruption to advertisement as infrastructure, the shift is evident. It’s not accidental excess but structural design. Not only has the gradual change affected commerce, but also how consumers experience and consume non-advertisment content online. Advertising doesn’t sit outside the content anymore; it is no longer the occasional annoyance, but it has become embedded well within the content itself. Sponsored posts mimic organic content as a deliberate strategy. Ads are designed to be as indistinguishable as possible from entertainment or journalism. Even language has evolved to incorporate this change – “collaboration,” “partnership,” “sponsorship”, and similar semantic loopholes blur the line between organic content and advertisements.
India’s digital marketing industry is a major sector, valued at $5.15 billion in 2024 and expected to grow at a high compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of over 30%, reaching USD 20–55 billion by 2032–2035. So, ads are not going anywhere. In fact, they are bound to infiltrate even more facets of our lives. It is almost a “colonisation of space” – and not just digital space, but physical as well.
Going back to the beginning, while it is now not far-fetched to imagine your refrigerators soon showing you ads, other physical, public spaces, such as metros, have already become riddled with advertisements. It is not uncommon to see entire trains covered in ads, doubling as moving billboards. Airports, malls, and even residential elevators have also become a canvas for branding. Urban spaces then no longer remain places of residence or commerce, but monetised spaces that capture our attention for marketing.
Advertisements move beyond products and into the environment as a part of the environment. Even moments of pause — waiting for a train, standing in a queue — are now opportunities for exposure. Cultural Critic Naomi Klein elucidated this in her book, No Logo: Taking Aim at the Brand Bullies, where she argued that corporations are no longer content with simply selling or branding their products; they now seek to embed themselves in popular culture.
Take Coca-Cola, for example. If you go to any store or restaurant and ask for a “cold drink”, chances are you will be served a Coca-Cola, unless you state otherwise. Recently, Crocs, an American apparel company famous for its sandals, launched a Coca-Cola collection, which had a lineup of its classic Crocs printed with the Coca-Cola logo. Rationally speaking, a beverage brand and a footwear brand do not really have anything in common for them to collaborate. However, this points out how Coca-Cola has become more than just a beverage, it has become a part of culture.
Coca-Cola has also embedded itself into popular global culture in more hidden ways as well. Starting in 1931, Coca-Cola commissioned illustrator Haddon Sundblom to create Santa Claus images for winter advertisements, when their sales usually dropped, given the cold weather. Before the 1930s, while images of a jolly, plump Santa dressed in red existed, it was not the standard or universal depiction. Santa used to be depicted in many different ways – in green or brown coats, as tall or gaunt or elf-like. What Coca-Cola’s campaign did was to concretise the image and establish an implicit, psychological connection between the brand and the feeling of Christmas.
Similarly, other beverage brands like Red Bull and Monster, too, managed to move beyond just products and establish themselves as part of culture – Red Bull as synonymous with sports, specifically racing culture, and Monster with alternative and gaming culture. If you are a gamer or an F1 fan, you might try a Monster or a Red Bull, not because of the drink itself but because of the culture surrounding the drink.
What was once a product or a brand became a shared ritual exchange, a cultural symbol, and a platform for identity-creation. Buying a product isn’t simply commerce anymore; it has evolved into a social ritual. Entire cityscapes now function as canvases for commercial messaging. Metro stations are renamed after corporations, public benches carry brand insignias, and even festivals and cultural events are often inseparable from their sponsors. The distinction between public and private space has blurred, with advertising quietly occupying areas that were once neutral or communal. What was once considered an intrusion is now accepted as infrastructure. This expansion then feels not only complete but normalised, almost invisible in its ubiquity.
If ubiquity is the visible face of modern advertisement, data is its invisible engine.
With the coming of a digital-first approach and algorithms, advertising has also moved beyond simple mass media messaging. It has evolved into hyper-personalised digital realities. The same brand may now advertise the same product in different ways to different niches. This way, advertisement becomes even more embedded in everyday culture. For example, it is not uncommon to see brands collaborate with niche meme pages and pay them to make a post that looks like a meme, but is actually an advertisement for their product.
Further, brands often take part in social media trends or comment on viral posts and reels. It not only increases visibility but also enables them to come off as an approachable and user-friendly brand. These strategies have been adopted by huge companies such as McDonald’s and Duolingo.
Thus, advertising is no longer standardised mass communication. It now consists of hyper-personalised, hyper-specific, and niche marketing strategies to capture the imagination of consumers at the most cognitive level.
The question then arises: Is escape possible?
In theory, yes. We can pay for subscriptions, ad-free services, or disengage from social media. But practically speaking, these methods of opting out are often obstructed by social and economic costs. Digital platforms are no longer optional; they are infrastructural. They mediate communication, work, entertainment, and information. To exit them entirely is to step outside contemporary life. The ad invasion persists not because it is unavoidable, but because the systems it inhabits are indispensable.
It is also worth acknowledging an undeniable, and perhaps uncomfortable truth: advertising is the fuel behind the modern internet. It is the reason why a large number of people can access digital services. We pay for these services not with money, but with our attention and time.
Search engines, social networks, email services, news platforms — many of the tools we rely on daily are subsidised by advertising revenue. Without it, users would likely face higher direct costs. A complex bargain is thus created: We accept advertising in exchange for access. We trade attention for convenience. We tolerate intrusion for affordability. The tipping point arrives when the cost of attention begins to outweigh the value in service, which is a characteristic of the ad invasion.
If complete elimination is realistic, what option are we left with? To make peace with constant and intrusive advertisements in all facets of our lives?
Not quite. Regulation remains the path of moderation. The first step in the fight for more consumer-friendly regulation is the protection of data and greater control over our information. Stricter disclosure norms and algorithmic transparency remain crucial pillars in ethical advertising practices.
While these require infrastructural interventions, consumer awareness can be brought about at the level of individual consumers in the meantime. Recognising sponsored content, questioning recommendations, and understanding platform incentives are forms of digital literacy that can rebalance power.
The fridge that now shows ads to you is not an anomaly. It is a metaphor. A reminder that no surface is too private, no moment too mundane, no device too domestic to escape monetisation.
The invasion is not coming. It is already here. And the real challenge is not how to avoid it — but how to live with it, without letting it define us.
Author: Disha Bharti