If it’s not rising prices, it’s shrinkflation—a word that sounds made up until you realize it’s part of everyday life. The other day, I couldn’t figure out why the calories on a packaged food item no longer matched my tracking app. Turns out the recipe hadn’t changed, but the package had gotten smaller.
These little moments are happening everywhere, and Canadians are feeling it. We are paying more, getting less, and trying to figure out where exactly all our money keeps disappearing to.
But amid all the obvious rising costs, there is another expense quietly draining our wallets. It’s one that feels far more justified in the moment: convenience.
The rising cost of making life easier
I have never been particularly good at paying what many now call the “convenience tax.” It’s the premium we pay to save time, reduce effort, or access something immediately.
To be clear, I am not talking about actual convenience fees charged by businesses. Rather, I mean the broader lifestyle cost attached to modern convenience: food delivery instead of pickup; groceries delivered instead of grabbing them yourself; or paying someone else to save you time because you are busy, tired, or simply cannot be bothered to leave the couch.
And honestly, I get it. Life is hectic and people are exhausted. Workdays bleed into evenings, children need attention, and sometimes the idea of getting into the car to pick up dinner feels emotionally impossible.
Convenience solves real problems, but it also comes with a cost that rarely feels significant in the moment—which is exactly what makes it dangerous.
When small decisions become expensive habits
I remember when we first moved to Canada in 2019, a $45 takeout dinner for our family of two (our daughter was still a baby) felt expensive. But looking back, those truly were the good old days.
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Today, once you factor in delivery fees, inflated app prices, service charges, taxes and tips, a casual weeknight meal can quickly cost far more than expected. But because the charges are split into smaller line items, the total rarely feels as painful as it should.
That’s how convenience spending works—not through one catastrophic financial decision, but through a series of small, emotionally justified ones that quietly compound over time.
The same thing happens with grocery delivery. You pay a premium on the products themselves, then a delivery fee, then service charges, then a tip. Before long, the cost of avoiding a 30-minute grocery run starts looking surprisingly significant.
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I rationalize skipping these conveniences in my own slightly ridiculous way. I tell myself that picking things up in person is a way to get more steps in, and while the additional movement is probably marginal, the savings are absolutely not.
I once ran a small personal experiment over six months. Every time I considered placing a food or grocery delivery order through an app, I checked what the premium would have been, then transferred the difference into a savings account. I will not quote the final number because it honestly surprised me, but I can tell you this: it became a meaningful additional contribution toward my daughter’s RESP that year.
The ways we justify it
What makes convenience spending particularly interesting is how easily we rationalize it.
It feels earned, justified, and efficient.
I once heard someone justify food delivery by arguing the time saved was worth more than the extra cost based on their hourly wage at work. Never mind that these were 10 p.m. snack orders, not time they could realistically spend earning money, but I still give them an “A” for creative thinking.
