Ratpocalypse Now: A Field Guide to Friction
Imagine New York wakes to 100× more rats in the subway. Not one darting blur per platform—hundreds. They pour from the track gaps, skitter under benches, nose at shoes. The soundtrack shifts to squeaks and startled yelps. Overnight, a routine commute becomes a vigilance exercise: feet planted, bag off the floor, eyes scanning—heart rate up before the train even arrives. Behavior follows physiology. Disgust is a first-order stop signal—part of our “behavioral immune system.” Raise it and you raise the activation energy for every trip. Parents opt out (“we’ll Uber”), tourists post and avoid, late-night riders defect en masse. Even “tough it out” commuters start shaving trips: work from home one more day, stack errands to go once a week. Fewer riders mean dirtier stations and longer headways, which feeds the loop: more filth → more disgust → less use. Prevalence collapses not because trains stopped, but because friction multiplied.
Now twist the dial: the rats stop scurrying and start following. Heat signatures, CO₂ plumes, salt on shoes—whatever the cue, they vector toward ankles like iron filings to a magnet. That single mutation detonates a new class of friction: pursuit. Agency reverses—you’re no longer avoiding vermin; vermin are choosing you. Vigilance turns anticipatory; people tape cuffs, change footwear, avoid snacks, carry sprays. A reputational layer appears (“don’t sit near him—he attracts them”). Platforms become social minefields where your mere presence can summon the problem. Systems unravel fastest when hazards piggyback on users.
Flip the experiment. The city blitzes: platforms power-washed, bins sealed, baiting relentless, brighter lighting, benches redesigned, a faint clean scent in the air. Rats become rare again—maybe you see one in a month. Nothing else changes about the subway’s geometry or price. But because the disgust and pursuit taxes vanish, all the micro-decisions flip back to “sure, I’ll take the train.” Usage rebounds on friction reduction alone.
What changed were the forms of friction:
Sensory aversion: sights/smells/noise that spike disgust on contact.
Anticipatory vigilance: scanning, tensing, route-planning before every ride.
Time/complexity: detours, longer waits, extra gear (bags off floor, sprays).
Safety risk: bites, slips, startle injuries → insurance, rules, shutdowns.
Social blame: “magnet” stigma and avoidance dynamics.
Learned avoidance: one bad episode seeds months of opt-outs.
Loss of optionality: parents, late-night workers, tourists peel away first.
Attractive friction (the twist): the hazard follows the user, exporting costs to bystanders and amplifying avoidance.
Now, quietly map the metaphor. Cigarettes were the subway with rats that follow: plume, odor, ash—the problem didn’t just exist in the environment; it traveled with you, attached to hair, clothes, rooms, and other people’s airways. That pursuit dynamic multiplied disgust, blame, and policy friction. Reduced-risk formats (especially pouches) are the power-washed network: same destination for those already intent on traveling, but the externalities don’t chase you—or anyone else—around. Lower the activation energy, remove the pursuit, and you don’t invent desire; you let existing desire route through a cleaner corridor. Prevalence follows friction.
