Sometimes, it takes a little dirt under your fingernails—or in this case, on your bathroom tiles—to recognize when life has quietly spiraled into unnecessary excess. Over the years, I’ve come to a surprising conclusion: many of us are systematically scamming ourselves, trading our time, money, and even joy for cleanliness and convenience that we neither need nor benefit from.
Let’s rewind and explore some evidence I’ve gathered during nearly two decades of observation—evidence that suggests we’ve been duped into a lifestyle that constantly cleans, consumes, and wastes.
The Underground Laundromat Phenomenon
Back in 1997, four newly minted tech workers (myself included) shared a house as we launched our post-university lives. It didn’t take long to notice that one roommate seemed to have turned his corner of the house into a 24/7 laundromat. The washer and dryer never rested, and he frequently stormed up and down the stairs like a man on a mission, hauling laundry baskets as if a stain on a t-shirt meant social ruin.
Meanwhile, the rest of us—similar in age, lifestyle, and hygiene—were perfectly content with doing laundry once every week or two. Sometimes we even shared loads. No one smelled. No one was judged. Life carried on.
That was my first real clue: much of what we consider “necessary” in our household routines isn’t actually rooted in need. It’s often driven by habits, social programming, or an inflated idea of what it means to be clean.
Scrubbing Away Sunshine
Flash forward to the early 2000s, when I rented a room in Boulder, Colorado. My new landlady, Carrie, had implemented a strict “chore wheel.” Every Sunday morning, the housemates were expected to clean.
On paper, this sounded fair and responsible. In practice, it meant I was spending some of the best daylight hours of my week scrubbing a bathroom I had already cleaned the previous Sunday. I found myself spraying the same tiles, wiping the same counters, and wondering: is anything actually different than last week?
It was busywork disguised as cleanliness. I wasn’t cleaning a dirty space—I was simply repeating a ritual, chasing an illusion of control. And in doing so, I was missing out on hikes, fresh air, and real life outside.
When Cleanliness Costs You Thousands
By 2013, the conversations had moved online. One woman told me she spent $5,200 a year on a housekeeper so she could avoid five hours of weekly cleaning. That’s $100 per week to avoid touching a mop or dust rag.
Another commenter revealed his family of five did 30 loads of laundry per week. Not for a daycare, not for a medical ward—just for themselves. A towel used after a single shower was considered dirty and worthy of its own spin cycle.
Not only was this unnecessary, but the costs were also staggering: $300 per month in electricity alone. That’s $3,600 per year—basically the cost of a decent used car or a big chunk of a retirement account—spun away in rinse cycles.
Are We Obsessed With “Clean,” or Just Conditioned?
There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a clean home. But somewhere along the way, “clean” has shifted from a reasonable standard of hygiene to a never-ending performance of domestic perfection. And we’re not just paying with money—we’re paying with our lives.
Think about what you’re trading:
- Time you could spend with your kids, walking outside, building something, reading, or doing literally anything else that brings joy.
- Money that could otherwise grow your freedom, reduce your stress, or be invested in your future.
- Mental energy constantly spent managing tasks that provide little return on investment.
A Simpler Way to Clean—and Live
What if we reframed the way we think about household chores? What if, instead of compulsively reacting to a speck of dust, we stopped and asked: “Is this really necessary right now?”
Here are a few ideas to start questioning the narrative:
- Laundry once a week is enough. Unless you’re working in a coal mine, your clothes probably don’t need to be washed every time you wear them.
- Bathrooms don’t need to sparkle daily. A quick wipe here and there beats a full scrub every week for no visible difference.
- Declutter your space, not your bank account. The less you own, the less you need to clean—and the less mental clutter you carry.
- Make chores functional, not theatrical. Clean because it improves your life, not because you think someone might judge your baseboards.
- Batch and simplify. Don’t do a little every day—do a lot once a week and be done with it. Free your weekdays from the tyranny of constant tidying.
Reclaiming Your Time, Rebuilding Your Wallet
The scam isn’t that cleaning is bad—it’s that we’ve accepted a standard of over-cleaning that serves no one except cleaning product companies and utility providers. We’ve been sold the idea that sparkling surfaces equal virtue, that spotless towels equal self-worth.
But if you’re reading this, you’re probably aiming for something greater: financial independence, intentional living, freedom from the hamster wheel.
And the truth is, you can’t buy your way to that kind of life—but you can definitely scrub your way out of it if you’re not careful.
So next time you reach for the detergent or hire out the housework, pause and ask: Is this really cleaning my house—or just emptying my wallet?
Sometimes the best way to clean up your finances is to stop cleaning quite so much.
