The experience was extraordinary. They patiently answered all the questions I had, explained the system I didn’t understand, and made me feel like more than just another customer. When we later moved into our first house, my account attorney was my first port of call. Renewals came and went, and I didn’t question them. I wasn’t really buying insurance anymore; I was buying for sure.
Then one night I saw an ad for internet insurance. I almost ignored you. Why do I go to buy prices when I already trust the person looking for me? But curiosity got the better of me.
I ended up quoting online with no expectations other than to make sure I was in the right place. Instead, the premium came back about 30% less than what I was paying. I called my account representative the next day expecting them to match it. He couldn’t. In fact, he admitted that if he were in my situation, he would probably change. I did so.
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When honesty becomes autopilot
My first reaction was to look for someone to blame. I had heard enough about the ‘loyalty tax’—the frustrating fact that new customers are often offered better prices than existing ones. It seemed like an obvious explanation. In industries such as insurance, telecommunications, and subscriptions, the practice of offering attractive introductory rates before gradually increasing renewal prices is so common that it has a name: price gouging.
But the more I looked at it, the less it explained what was happening to me. This was not a case of my dealer punishing me for being honest. It was just the difference between a brick-and-mortar provider and an online one—a perfect reflection of two different business models. The most interesting question was not why the industry did this, but why I reached that explanation so quickly when the real story is so close to home.
No one tricked me into renewing, and no one hid a better price from me. It had probably been there for years. I never asked, and when I finally did, nothing about my situation had changed without my attention.
What I could mistake for honesty was really being on autopilot.
Knowing is not the same as doing
Behavioral economists describe this tendency as status quo bias. We naturally like what we’re already doing because change feels like work, even when the evidence suggests it would be better if we changed.
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That explanation touched me because I could not hide in ignorance. I negotiate almost everything. I genuinely enjoy getting the price, and friends often joke that I can write a letter saying I don’t pay full price. However, I had been overpaying for years.
It made me wonder where the other blind spot was hiding. I suspect I can save money in many places, the same way I used to price match and now I rarely bother.
The irony is not that I don’t know better, it’s that I do.
The second lesson
I thought that experience was a turning point. Then a few months ago, a friend of mine told me that he recently updated his car insurance, removed the excess, and significantly reduced his monthly payment.
I had to go home and review my policy again. I didn’t.
My reaction was honestly amazing. I had already done it right once, and doing it again felt like a chore, which bothered me more than overpaying ever had.
Every time I finally call a telecom provider or negotiate a bill, the conversation is always easier than I thought. But the next time, my mind tells me the same story: ‘I don’t have to worry.’ Maybe that’s the real cost. Not the money itself, but the emotional conflict we attach to making a decision.
The cost of living is on autopilot
The Competition Bureau of Canada once surveyed Canadians who had recently changed or renegotiated their phone, banking, and insurance plans, and found that they saved about $1,860 a year, combined, by doing so.
