Friction: A Reading List on Why Inconvenience Can Be Meaningful
We prize convenience and efficiency, almost to a fault. Sometimes, though, we're missing out on surprise, serendipity, and anticipation when we avoid friction. Courtney E. Martin brings us five reads that examine the pros and cons of life's little hurdles.
Without getting too nostalgic about it, these readings will make you revisit the forgotten, sometimes wonderful feelings that go with friction. We donโt have to throw away our cell phones to bring spontaneity back into our lives. We can be intentional and collective. In fact, we must be intentional and collective; itโs the only way to live expansive lives connected by slow and messy delight. And that is an aim far more worthy of our finite time than productivity, no matter what the false gods of Silicon Valley and late-stage capitalism say.
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set a month before the events of friction principle and a month after the events of tension theory.
The apartment is dim. A lamp glows in the corner of the living room, throwing soft gold over the chaos, solo cups, empty beer bottles, crumpled napkins. The tell tale signs of 'boys night' at Heeseung's apartment.
Sunghoon's on the couch, head tipped back, legs sprawled wide. His lips are parted slightly, a little flushed. His hair falls over his eyes, his phone clutched loosely in one handโscreen dark. He hasn't looked at it in fifteen minutes. Your last text is burned into his memory anyway.
You: go have fun, i don't wanna be at bOys nIghT๐
He sighs. Drunk, but not mindless. Slowed, but aware.
And all alone, Jake long gone goofing around somewhere with Jungwon.
There's movement to his left. He doesn't open his eyes at first. He assumes it's Heeseung coming back out, that's until he smells perfume. Not the kind he likes, this one's heavier and manufactured sweet.
"Rough night?" Yunjin's voice lilts, playful and syrupy. She plops down next to him without invitation, knees brushing his. "You've barely said a word all night."
"M'fine," he mumbles, voice thick.
"You don't look fine." Her fingers curl over the back of the couch behind him, close to his shoulder.
Sunghoon opens his eyes slowly. She's staring at him, her mouth curled into something that could pass as a smile if it weren't for the sharpness behind it.
"You miss your little girlfriend?" she asks, tilting her head. "You look like a kicked puppy."
He straightens slightly. "Why are you even here?"
"Mm." Yunjin lets the syllable hang. "Don't you get tired of it?"
He frowns. "What?"
"Pretending that's what you want. The innocence. The slowness. You could have so much more, you know."
"Plus I know her. And she's definitely not giving it up. Or is she?"
His face hardens a little, but his body stays relaxed โ maybe too relaxed to react properly. "She's exactly what I want."
She laughs. "Sure. For now."
Sunghoon doesn't answer. She leans in anyway, closing the space like she hasn't said anything wrong.
"You know Heeseung's out cold," she says softly. "And she's not here. Nobody's here. You don't have to pretend."
Her hand drops to his thighโbarely above his knee; like she's testing him.
Sunghoon shifts, his leg jerking slightly to the side. "Stop."
But she doesn't. She leans in closer, so her breath grazes his jaw. "I won't tell. Heeseung doesn't have to know."
"Yunjin." His tone is sharper now, his brow furrowed.
She swings a leg over him in one practiced move, suddenly straddling him. Her hands are on his chest, pushing under his jacket, nails trailing. "C'mon, Sunghoon," she whispers, hovering over him to perch on his thighsโstraddling him.
Her hands ghost over his chest, nails trailing down, inching lower. She adjusts her position, shifting her weight deliberately as she presses her hips against him.
But there's nothing, no response. No sharp inhale, no movement, no tension in his jaw. Just an empty daze in his half-lidded eyes. His body doesn't stir under her touchโdoesn't respond at all.
Still, she keeps going. More pressure. Bolder now. She leans down, pressing her lips to his neck, letting them drag over his skin, hands moving to his waistband with intent.
But there's nothing to work with.
He's soft. His body unresponsive, untouched by the friction or the proximity. It's not arousalโit's absence. A deadweight of intoxication or the fact that his body simply isn't moved by herโkeeping him utterly unreachable.
She tries again, more insistent this time, and he groansโnot with pleasure, but with discomfort. A sluggish frown creases his brows. His hands attempt to push her away, slow and loose, like his limbs aren't listening.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
Door flung open. Jake's voice through the silence like a crack of thunder.
Yunjin flinches. Sunghoon's head lolls sideways toward the sound, lips moving around Jake's name like a lifeline.
Jake doesn't wait. He crosses the room in three long strides and yanks her back, eyes blazing.
"You fucking psycho." "Get off him," he says, voice low, livid.
"He didn't say noโ"
"He's drunk, you freak," Jake snarls, stepping in front of Sunghoon. "Get the fuck out."
Yunjin looks between themโdefiant, defensiveโbut Jake's already pointing at the door.
"Now."
She storms out in a flurry of sharp perfume and sharper heels, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the frame. The air crackles in her absence, heavy with tension that only breaks when Jake exhales, dragging a hand down his face.
Sunghoon's still draped across the couch, boneless and blinking slowly like he's just registered Jake's presence for the first time. His head lolls toward him, a lazy grin spreading across his flushed face.
"Jakeee," he hums, reaching out with both arms.
Jake sighs but crouches again anyway, pulling Sunghoon up with practiced care, steadying the taller boy's weight against his chest. He smells like whiskey and cologne.
"You're so annoying when you're drunk," Jake mutters, wrapping an arm around his waist.
But Sunghoon just laughs, soft and breathy, pressing his face into the crook of Jake's neck. His lips brush there once, twice, then again with more intention. Not quite kisses, more like lazy nuzzles. Familiar, intimate and even possessive in a slow, syrupy way.
He mouths at Jake's jaw, then down his throat, mouthing a warm stripe over his collarbone. His hands slide beneath Jake's shirt, cold fingers against warm skin, touching aimlessly at first...but then one trails lower, settling with a firmer kind of intent.
Jake flinches.
He looks down, eyes widening slightly when he feels the change in Sunghoon's body against his thighโthe sudden tension, the unmistakable press of Sunghoonโs hardened cock.
"Seriously?" Jake breathes out, somewhere between disbelief and concern.
But Sunghoon's not listening. He shifts, trying to pull Jake closer, sliding one of Jake's hands down between their bodies. Not guiding or forcingโjust placing it there.
Jake swears under his breath, heart pounding harder now. Not because of what's happening, but because of what it means.
Sunghoon, drunk off his ass, completely unresponsive to someone else. But here, clinging to Jake like gravity itself depends on it, completely undone by the sound of his voice and the heat of his hands.
Jake looks at him, lips parted, stunned. And Sunghoon, eyes half-lidded and glassy, just presses another kiss to Jake's cheek and mumbles something soft; your name, like a prayer.
And then Sunghoon kisses him. A soft, slightly sloppy press of lipsโnothing filthy, nothing practiced. Just raw, messy and needy.
Jake blinks, a little stunned.
"Such a clingy drunk," he says softly, brushing a hand through Sunghoon's hair.
"I love her," Sunghoon murmurs again. "And you too."
Jake smiles faintly. "Yeah. I know."
And he lets him hold on, before guiding him out of Heeseungโs apartment.
The door clicks open. Jake's arm is looped around Sunghoon's waist, half-dragging, half-guiding him in through the entryway.
Sunghoon's still a mess in the most uncharacteristic way, cheeks flushed, hair mussed, black shirt rumpled where Jake's been gripping him. He stumbles once on the carpet and just laughs.
"I'm fiiine," he insists, drawling out the word like it's an inside joke.
Jake snorts. "You're not fine. You shouldnโt have drank five of Heeseung's jungle juice monstrosities."
Sunghoon grins. "They were sooooo good."
Jake doesn't respond. He's too busy trying to keep Sunghoon upright, nudging open Sunghoonโs bedroom door with his foot.
"Hi," your voice rings out, soft and bright.
You're fresh out of the shower, towel wrapped snug around your body, damp hair tucked behind your ears. You're standing by the dresser, lotion half-rubbed into your arm, blinking at the two of them like you weren't expecting company.
Sunghoon stops dead in the doorway. His eyes go wide.
"Oooooooouuuuuu," he howls, dragging the word out like a cartoon character. "Y/N in her towelllll."
Jake closes his eyes. "Here we go."
Sunghoon wiggles out of Jake's grasp, swaying a little as he stumbles toward you with all the awe of a man witnessing a miracle.
"Waitโno wait," he slurs, grinning crookedly. "Hold on. You look like a dreeeeam."
"Sunghoon," you say carefully, lips quirking, "how much did you drink?"
"A lot," Jake says at the same time that Sunghoon points at you dramatically. "Not enough."
You giggle, surprised and delighted by how silly he's being. You've never seen him like thisโall loose limbs and rosy cheeks, his usual sharp edges melted down to something warm and dopey.
"C'mere," he says, reaching for you. "Let's take this off."
And then his fingers find the knot of your towel.
"Hoon!" you squeal, laughing as you stumble back and hold the towel tighter, but heโs determined.
You squeal again, backing up more. "Heyโwaitโ!"
But he's already undoing it, and the towel slips to the floor with a whisper, leaving you bare and blinking up at him, caught somewhere between shock and laughter.
"Oh my God," you whisper, face heating. "You actuallyโ!"
Sunghoon hums like he's reached nirvana. "So soft," he marvels, hands coming up to cradle your waist, skimming over your arms and shoulders, then back down to your hips.
You're still laughing, heart thudding a little too fast. Sunghoon turns in Jake's arms, swaying again.
"I didn't let them," he mumbles suddenly.
Jake freezes.
"What?" you ask gently.
Sunghoon doesn't look at you. He's looking at the floor now, fingers twitching at the hem of his shirt.
"There were people...at the party. Someone tried to...y'know. Touch me. But I didn't let them." He whispers the last part like a little secret.
Your smile slips just a bit.
Jake cuts in quickly, tugging Sunghoon toward the bed. "He's exaggerating. It's fine now. He just got overwhelmed, that's all."
But you're already walking over, placing a soft hand on Sunghoon's cheek. His eyes flutter closed at the touch like he's been starved for it all night.
"You okay?" you whisper.
He nods. "Now that you're here."
And then, like the switch never flipped, he perks back up. "Waitโcan you do that lotion thing again? You smell like vanilla clouds."
Jake groans, letting his head fall back against the wall.
Friction cannot be reduced, it can only be redistributed
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
Notwithstanding the pretensions of certain well-paid economists, political economy is not a "physics of human behavior," through which human interactions and outcomes can be quantized and precisely captured through mathematical models.
For one thing, in physics, it's possible to reduce friction, whereas in political economy, friction isn't something you reduce, it's something you redistribute, typically downward, to people with less political power than you.
Think about your job. If you are on a salary, your boss has to pay you even when there's no work to be done, which means that during times where there's no income, your boss still has to pay your wages, meaning that a long slow patch could kill the business.
But if your boss can eliminate or reduce your wages when there's no work, the friction of figuring out how to keep your boss's business a going concern is shifted to you.
Take the "tipped minimum wage," which is the minimum that a restaurateur can pay a server. The federal tipped minimum wage is $2.15/hour, which is substantially less than you can survive on. If your boss fucks up and can't fill the tables in his restaurant, he has to pay you $7.25/hour (the federal minimum wage). But if you get just one table in eight hours, where you bust your hump and earn a $41 tip, your boss gets to keep $40.90 of that money and pay you the grand sum of $58.
That certainly relieves some of your boss's friction โ but now you have to endure the friction of figuring out how to survive on $58. Maybe you don't fix your car and instead spend an extra hour at the start and end of your shift on a city bus. That's a lot of friction, but it's your friction. Same for the time you spend lining up at the food bank, the sleepless nights you endure because you can't see a dentist about your rotten tooth, the diabetes test-strips you do without.
Of course, there's plenty of workers who don't even get the tipped minimum wage: in most of the country, "gig economy" workers aren't guaranteed any wages. If your boss โ the company that made your app โ fucked up by charging too much or skimping on ads or having piss-poor customer service, you can clock on for an eight-hour shift and get zero dollars, all the while being available to your boss, just in case they do get a customer. If you're a driver, you only get paid for the time when you're on a delivery or have a passenger, and you bear the expense of the rest of the hours you spend prowling the streets, waiting for a call-out. This allows gig companies to build up a giant workforce that can absorb orders when they come in, while shifting the friction of living on half-wages to the workers who only get paid on the way out to a delivery, but not on the way back.
Return to office? An exercise in pure friction-shifting. The friction your boss experiences from furiously fantasizing about how lazy you're being at home is swapped for the friction of your commute, the friction of having to reschedule deliveries that you weren't home to sign for, the friction of having to eat a packed lunch or waste your pay on overpriced, additive/grease/salt/sugar-laden quick-service food.
The airline that fires most of its customer service staff shifts operational frictions passengers, from the friction of arriving two hours early to see one of the few check-in clerks to the friction of waiting for three hours on hold to rebook a canceled flight or find a lost bag.
Southwest really takes the cake here. Remember a couple years ago when Southwest stranded one million passengers over Christmas week because its computers had all crashed? Turns out that the main thing SWA was doing with those computers was running a friction-shifting shell-game with its airplanes, pilots, flight attendants and passengers. SWA would sell tickets for more flights than it had planes, and then cancel the flights that had sold the fewest tickets:
That's quite a magnificent piece of friction-shifting. SWA is relieved of the friction of buying and maintaining a fleet of planes. The don't have to bear the friction of guessing which planes will and won't be full in advance. But SWA passengers get all the friction and more, when their flight is cancelled because other people โ whom they have no control over โ failed to buy enough tickets for it.
Southwest "reduced friction" for its shareholders at the expense of its employees and customers. Other businesses "reduce friction" for one favored group at the expense of another, like Google, whose Youtube Content ID system makes it trivial to file a copyright takedown notice but hard-to-impossible to get your work reinstated when you are falsely accused:
That's shifting friction from large rightsholders (who can get infringing work removed without a trial) to creators (who don't get a day in court before their work is censored).
Meanwhile, food delivery platforms shift friction onto restaurants, conscripting them into delivery services without their permission:
And onto drivers, who don't even rate the tipped minimum wage. For all that these companies come up with names for themselves like "Seamless," they are 100 percent seam, but those seams are shifted onto people without political or economic power.
The MBA mind-virus turns its victims into "optimization"-obsessed zombies, but what they mean by "optimization" is that you will optimize your life to their benefit. HP uses software locks to "optimize" its printer business, forcing you to buy ink at $10,000/gallon:
A better world is one in which the people optimize corporations and billionaires โ by cutting them down to size and shattering their power. It's a world in which amassing obscene amounts of money and market power creates friction, in the form of endless regulatory and tax scrutiny. It's a world where public transit has priority and private cars are taxed for slowing the rest of us down as we go about our days. It's a world where workers are frictionless: protected from noncompete agreements and baroque wage theft schemes like those used to impoverish service and gig workers. It's a world where bosses experience friction, in the form of obligations to the workers whose labor generates their wealth.
I really believe that โ politically speaking โ friction can't be destroyed, only redistributed. And I'm fine with that, really โ provided we're redistributing it upwards.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Friction without contact discovered as magnetic forces break a 300-year-old law
Researchers at the University of Konstanz have identified a completely new type of sliding friction. In this case, resistance to motion occurs without any physical contact, arising instead from the collective behavior of magnetic elements. Their findings show that friction does not always increase steadily with load, as described by Amontons' law -- one of the oldest and most widely accepted empirical laws in physics -- but can reach a clear peak when magnetic ordering inside the system becomes frustrated.
For over 300 years, Amontons' law has linked friction directly to how much force presses two surfaces together. This matches everyday experience, where heavier objects are harder to move than lighter ones. The usual explanation is that surfaces deform slightly under pressure, creating more microscopic contact points that increase resistance.
