The Hidden Hand. They Say it’s Free But It’s not. Mental Judos Which are Used to Play with your Psyche

Have your ever witnessed buying something unplanned and then regretting later? How the brands play with you? Let’s explore from the story of Emma. She starts checking her work emails and ends up buying unnecessary things.

It was an ordinary day. Or at least, it seemed that way. Emma had just finished her morning coffee and sat down at her desk, ready to tackle the day’s to-do list. Emails, meetings, and the usual grind of work in her cozy apartment in the city. She opened her laptop and went online to make her usual rounds through social media, email, and news sites. She scrolled, liked a few posts, and noticed an ad pop up in her feed for a new jacket from one of her favorite clothing brands. The jacket was trendy, vibrant, and had that perfect mix of casual yet polished.
Before she could even process it, the “Shop Now” button beckoned her like a siren song. She hovered over it, her mind momentarily frozen. Was she even in the market for a jacket? No. Had she planned to buy one this month? Absolutely not. But that jacket—it was as if it was calling her name. She clicked.
And just like that, she had spent $120. She didn’t even feel it.

It had started subtly, this pattern of impulse buying. Brands didn’t just market products anymore—they marketed feelings, desires, and identities. They didn't want to sell you a jacket; they wanted to sell you the version of yourself who wore it. The version that looked confident, stylish, and successful. Emma wasn’t just buying a jacket—she was buying a glimpse of a future where she had it all together.
But the hidden hand wasn’t just in the ads. It had infiltrated everything from her emails to the apps on her phone. Companies, brands, and advertisers had long known that human psychology was the key to unlocking an endless revenue stream. They had spent years mastering the science of persuasion, using everything from color psychology to social proof to get people like Emma to open their wallets without a second thought.
Take that jacket ad, for instance. It wasn’t random. It was meticulously crafted. The colors on the website were warm and inviting—orange, yellow, and soft neutrals—colors proven to evoke a sense of happiness and calm, subtly nudging the viewer towards positive associations. The product description wasn’t just about fabric or size; it was about how the jacket would make Emma feel. “Effortless style, perfect for any occasion.” It wasn’t just a jacket—it was freedom, possibility, and confidence, all rolled into one.
Emma clicked again and again, spiraling into a trance.

The truth was that Emma wasn’t alone. Everyone was being targeted, whether they realized it or not. And it wasn’t just through ads. No, the real trick was in the way companies built entire ecosystems designed to subtly shift consumer behavior.
Take the example of subscription services. Emma had signed up for a free trial of a streaming service a few months ago. The first month was free, and she remembered thinking, "Why not? I’m not losing anything." The service worked its way into her life so seamlessly that when the trial ended, she barely noticed when the $9.99 per month charge began. Every time she logged in, she was presented with “personalized” recommendations. Shows she would like, based on what she had watched previously. And there was always something new and exciting, right on the homepage, making sure that the platform remained fresh and appealing.
It wasn’t just the ease of use that kept her hooked. It was the psychological tactic known as “loss aversion.” If Emma canceled her subscription, she’d lose access to all that content—hours and hours of entertainment. The fear of missing out, or FOMO, was a powerful force. The idea of losing something she had become accustomed to made her hesitate. And so, she stayed. And stayed. Months later, she hadn’t even realized she was still paying.
Then, there was the whole world of “microtransactions”—the small, seemingly insignificant charges that added up over time. Emma was an avid gamer, and she’d started playing a free-to-play mobile game a few months back. The game was fun, engaging, and, more importantly, free—at least at first. But once she had progressed enough in the game, the familiar in-app purchases began to appear. Small things at first—$1.99 for a new character skin, $2.99 for a boost that would help her advance faster. It was easy. It was convenient. And most of all, it felt harmless.
What Emma didn’t realize was that the game was designed to trigger her brain’s reward system. Every time she made a small purchase, she got a dopamine hit, the “feel-good” chemical. It was like gambling, but more insidious—because it was disguised as entertainment. The game creators had perfected the art of variable reinforcement schedules, meaning that the rewards were unpredictable, keeping Emma hooked. She didn't know how much she'd end up spending. She just knew she wanted to keep playing.
It wasn’t until she checked her credit card statement one day and saw that she’d spent nearly $100 on in-game purchases that she realized how much she had been manipulated.

Then, there were the endless emails. Emma’s inbox was a battleground, with each brand trying to outdo the other in its attempt to catch her attention. Subject lines like “Limited Time Offer,” “Just For You,” and “You Won’t Believe This Deal” were strategically crafted to trigger a sense of urgency and exclusivity.
She opened one email from a beauty brand, promising 20% off on a new line of skincare products. She didn’t even need the products. She was already stocked up with moisturizers and serums. But the email invoked a sense of scarcity—“only a few left in stock,” it said. Scarcity is a well-known psychological principle; when people believe something is rare or limited, they become more inclined to act quickly. It played on Emma’s subconscious fear of missing out.
Before she could think twice, she found herself scrolling through the website, adding products to her cart. The items were, as always, “on sale,” but the prices were higher than she would have paid for similar items elsewhere. It wasn’t about the price—it was about the perception of value. They had trained her to associate the brand with luxury, exclusivity, and self-care. A perfect storm of psychological tactics, designed to make Emma feel like she deserved these products, as though they were an investment in herself.
She clicked "buy now" without hesitation.

But Emma wasn’t just a passive participant. She had been trained, like everyone else, to be constantly aware of the next deal, the next opportunity.
Social media influencers, too, played a huge role in this ecosystem. Influencers—young, attractive, and relatable—were the modern-day pitchmen. Brands knew that Emma trusted her favorite influencer’s opinion more than any ad. That’s why these influencers were paid to endorse products in such an organic way. A YouTube video, a sponsored Instagram post, or even a casual “mention” in a TikTok dance. The products seemed like a natural part of their lives. The brands had become embedded in the influencer’s identity, and by extension, in the identity of their followers.
Emma wasn’t just buying products from the influencers she followed; she was buying into a lifestyle. A perception of who she could be, if only she wore the right clothes, used the right skincare, and drove the right car.

The brands had honed their craft to an art form. They knew exactly what they were doing, and they did it with surgical precision. It wasn’t about the product—it was about the experience. The feeling. The promise of something better, something more.
And Emma? She was just one of many, pulled in by the invisible strings of psychological manipulation. Every click, every purchase, was a small sacrifice. A small dent in her bank account, made without a second thought. It was never about the money; it was about the idea that with every purchase, she was becoming someone better. Someone more confident, more fulfilled.
At least, that’s what they wanted her to believe.

And so the cycle continued. Brands used psychology, technology, and the intricacies of human behavior to take money from Emma’s pocket without her even realizing it. But perhaps, in the end, it wasn’t just about the money—it was about something much deeper: the control they had over her choices, her desires, and, ultimately, her identity.
They had learned how to make her spend. They had learned how to make her want.
And as she clicked “purchase” again, Emma didn’t even question whether it was worth it. It never crossed her mind.
Because she had been trained to believe that it was.