I really wish I had a Tesla. Ideally it would be a Cybertruck but any Tesla would do. Then I could plaster it with those “I bought this before Elon went mad” stickers, shamefacedly sell it at a loss and write a performative social media post about no longer being able to stomach the guilt of driving it around town. But as I don’t actually own a car, let alone a Tesla, I’ve felt unable to add my voice to the anti-Musk and anti-Trump protests gaining momentum around the world. Until now.
Of course, I will not be travelling to the US at any time soon. As former US secretary of labor Robert Reich writes, why reward Trump’s America with my tourist dollars? But as I wasn’t planning to visit America, this doesn’t feel like a sacrifice, let alone a meaningful one. So the appearance of the #BoycottUSA movement has arrived at just the right time. Here is a campaign I can sign up to wholeheartedly. But I plan to go further than the one in three French people who are merely “avoiding” American products. Instead, I am proposing a total purge, ridding my house and my life of any taint of Americana. Not a Marlboro will be smoked, no Manhattan drunk, no foot stomped to the exuberant refrain of Cotton Eye Joe.
These are, of course, mere gestures. Eschewing Marlboros and line-dancing is no sacrifice at all, though turning down a perfect Manhattan will be tough. I know that if I am going to be serious about de-Americanising everything, I have to get systematic about it. There will need to be research and auditing, rules and considerations and caveats and, above all, self-control, commitment and discipline.
So, to keep myself on this righteous path and to help others similarly appalled by America’s descent into authoritarian plutocracy cleanse their lives of Yankee fare, I offer the rules of the game and an incomplete review of everything that I will be replacing with un-American alternatives.
The rules
1 No American product may be bought or American service used. No exceptions. (But what about Apple, I hear you say. They have rejected calls to remove DEI policies! What about Patagonia? They are the good guys! Yes, and yes, of course some American companies – and some Americans – are good. But “whataboutery” won’t get us anywhere.)
2 If an American product has been previously bought, it can be used until it breaks, at which point it cannot be replaced by another American product. (Note: if a working product, eg an iPhone, uses American services, eg iCloud storage, it must be immediately replaced by a product that does not require American services to work.) Similarly, one is allowed to keep any existing American friends, but making new American friends is verboten.
3 If an artist (a writer, musician, film-maker, actor, whatever) is American, their work is taboo. It is acceptable to experience American art on existing physical formats but, as per Rule 2, these cannot be replaced once defunct. (To support American artists is to support the American Military-Media-Entertainment Complex. Sorry, Bruce.)
4 It’s not a principle if it doesn’t cost you something.
So, now that we are clear about the rules, it’s time to apply them, starting with the trickiest area of all: technology. You might imagine me to be a typical metropolitan media douche, swanning around coffee shops with my bestickered MacBook Air while using my Apple Watch to pay for my £4.30 flat whites. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. I actually swan around coffee shops with an unstickered Google Chromebook and I use a Garmin running watch to pay for my £4.50 pour over, thank you very much.
But whether you are an Apple fanatic or a Google diehard, replacing hardware and software is going to be painful, costly and complicated, and will involve unfamiliar systems with steep learning curves. It is possible to replace US hardware with Chinese or Taiwanese equivalents but as these come with their own moral issues, I’ve forced myself to look for European devices, which makes for a harder, but more self-congratulatory journey. Just imagine how smug it will feel to have mastered a whole new operating system on a European laptop and to send an inaugural text message on a sustainable European phone!
So, I will be replacing my Google Pixelbook Go with a German Tuxedo InfinityBook Pro 14 running its own version of the Linux (developed at the University of Helsinki) operating system. My Google Pixel 8a Android phone is going to be swapped out with a Franco-Dutch Murena Fairphone 5 running the “deGoogled” /e/OS and my American Garmin will be replaced by a Finnish Suunto watch.
But even avoiding US tech brands does not guarantee that a phone or laptop will be completely un-American. Fairphone uses soldering paste made out of recycled tin (good!) made for them by Connecticut-based MacDermid Alpha (bad!). And their phone chips are made in Asia by US-based Qualcomm. Tuxedo does not specify where its components come from, though it says that the vast majority are made in Asia and imported to Germany where its laptops are assembled. Surprisingly, it turns out that phones and laptops are complex devices with many, many, many components and also the global supply chain is very complicated indeed. Don’t lift the rock if you’re squeamish about what you might find underneath.
With hardware mostly sorted, it’s time to get familiar with open source software, as I won’t be able to use the vast majority of apps that come with Apple or Android devices. No more Gmail, Google Maps or Apple Photos. Instead, I’ll be switching to Proton Mail (based in Switzerland, home of lots of privacy-focused apps), OpenStreetMap (or UK-based Citymapper for urbanites) and Immich, a photo library that I’ll be hosting myself instead of paying Apple or Google for the privilege. Video calling with Zoom and Google Meet can be supplanted by Norwegian Whereby, while word processing, spreadsheets and presentations will all be handled by LibreOffice, part of the non-profit Berlin-based Document Foundation. Au revoir Microsoft Teams, you will not be missed.
As anyone who has tried to switch from Android to iPhone or Mac to PC knows, familiarity is a major barrier to change. Abandoning tools and services I’ve used for years (decades, in the case of Gmail) and learning new systems, new terminology and new shortcuts is tedious, expensive and frustrating. I’ve always thought of myself as “good at the internet”, but trying to work out how to get public transport directions in OpenStreetMap or make a LibreOffice document look as if it has been designed by somebody with working eyes is making me feel tired and old.
When it comes to social media, things get really tricky. I obviously deleted my X/Twitter account long ago but, according to Rule 1, I will have to delete my Bluesky profile and turn to its nerdier cousin Mastodon. Hey, at least I won’t stumble across Piers Morgan there. And a smaller, less shouty social network that doesn’t demand much attention reduces the risk of making any new American friends or contacts (Rule 2). I’m sure there are plenty of good, well-meaning Americans out there sharing good and interesting insights, reckonings, gifs and feelings, so please don’t think I’m being rude if I block, mute or ignore you until 2028. I’m just following the rules.
YouTube is, I fear, fairly irreplaceable. I could up my TikTok usage (it’s Chinese-owned) but as the point of this whole exercise is to make me a better person, will that really work? I’ve tried Dailymotion (the French YouTube) and it simply doesn’t scratch that itch. There’s just so much less of it. If your hope is that a French YouTube will be infused with subtle yet sophisticated Gallic charm, then I am going to have to disappoint you.
Netflix, Apple TV+, Disney+ and Prime Video will all have to go. Arrivederci The Studio, Reacher and Slow Horses. Hasta luego Seinfeld repeats, Breaking Bad binges and The Good Place water cooler moments. But thankfully we still have the Great British Broadcasting Corporation and its tip-top iPlayer service. I haven’t watched EastEnders since the early 1990s. I’ll bet there’s been plenty going on in Albert Square for me to catch up on.
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And for music I have Spotify, which is Swedish, so already not American. But remember, no streaming of American music – we don’t want royalties falling into the wrong hands. On Spotify you can block artists so they don’t appear in your recommendations. Setting up this block list will be the cultural self-flagellation that demonstrates total devotion to the cause. Never again will I groove around the kitchen to Marvin, Aretha or Otis. Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, Emmylou Harris, time to saddle up and ride into the sunset. No, Alexa, do not play Not Like Us by Kendrick Lamar from Spotify. This one’s going to hurt.
And then there’s Amazon. Finding alternatives to “the world’s most customer-centric company” is a non-negotiable. While Waterstones has a US investment group as its majority shareholder, there are plenty of other places that will post a book to you including uk.bookshop.org, which gives a significant proportion of its profits to local independent booksellers. Non-book items will require more shopping around, more patience and will probably come at a higher cost, but at least I’ll be sleeping with a clear conscience while I wait.
Next up is a room-by-room property inspection to see where further American invaders can be eradicated. The kitchen is a battlefield as a small number of giant US food conglomerates own a great many European brands, all of which must now be purged from fridges and cupboards. Is there anything more English than Gary Lineker flogging a salt and vinegar crisp? Think again, for Walkers is owned by Frito-Lay, itself owned by PepsiCo. No Wotsit, Quaver, Frazzle or Monster Munch (sob!) shall pass my lips again.
The list of prohibited foods is lengthy and surprising, and it will be necessary to get familiar with all the brands owned and managed by Kraft Heinz, General Mills and Mondeléz to ensure that no proscribed product accidentally gets into the shopping trolley. It’s going to be easiest to print out a list of these products (only a dozen or so pages in 9pt type) to take to the supermarket on every shop. And printouts have the benefit of being able to be waved aggressively at anyone I spot reaching for the Alvalle Gazpacho (made in Spain, owned by PepsiCo) in Waitrose.
In the cupboard under the sink and in the bathroom, I thought it would simply be a question of replacing anything from Procter & Gamble with the equivalent item from Anglo-Dutch Unilever. Begone Ariel, Oral B and Olay. Wilkommen Persil, Signal and Dove. But as Unilever owns a huge number of US brands, again it becomes a question of a forensic inspection of the labels and an encyclopedic knowledge of American corporate hierarchies. I might have to follow the example of my French mother-in-law who makes her own washing liquid by blending Savon de Marseille, warm water and bicarbonate of soda. I don’t think this is a political gesture, though with the French you can never be sure. For my part, I will be washing only in the finest Eau de Thames Water followed by a quick spritz of Unilever-owned Brut.
As someone who hasn’t worn a pair of Levi’s since Nick Kamen left the scene, a boycott of American clothing is barely a challenge. According to Rule 2, I can wear my Converse All Stars until they fall apart, at which point they will be replaced by German Pumas or Italian Diadoras. Zara (Spanish) and Uniqlo (Japanese) will dress me from head to toe, though strangely most men’s underpants brands do seem to be American. Thank God for Marks & Spencer.
Then, just as I light a Gauloise to celebrate the complete decontamination of my life, I come across three issues that make me let out a Homer Simpson-esque “Doh!” in frustration. First, it is not possible to find a bank that doesn’t use either Visa or Mastercard to process payments and every time a payment is processed, one of these two US businesses gets a cut. Stockholm-based Klarna might be a non-US option for some online payments and there is talk of the European Central Bank issuing “digital euros” later this decade, but I doubt I’ll be able to take advantage of it here in Brexity Blighty. So, short of keeping wads of notes stashed in the mattress and shopping only in stores that still take cash, there doesn’t seem any practical way of deAmericanising this particular aspect of modern life.
And in further fiscal frustration, if your pension plan is anything like mine, it is likely to hold a mixture of investments including UK, European and US stocks. I asked the very sensible person who administers my pension whether I could get rid of my US investments and was told it is possible, “although probably rather unwise as divesting completely from US holdings reduces geographic diversification, which could impact risk-adjusted returns”. I suspect in this context “rather unwise” actually means “Does this idiot even understand how money works?” Call me a coward, but incurring the wrath of my wife by jeopardising her future financial security is too great a risk for me to contemplate.
And then I was reminded of something that has made me doubt whether I can do any of this at all. Because Arsenal – the football team I support and read about and think about and care about a little too much – are, like nine other Premier League clubs, American-owned. And not just any American, but shopping mall developer, married-to-Walmart-heiress all-American American. Dang! Even if the nearest British-owned team were not our hated rivals Tottenham, I just can’t switch allegiance. I’m going to have to give up football itself. But not now, not yet, not with the excitement of a European quarter-final so fresh in the memory. Sorry.
So, yeah, I’m keeping my bank account, my pension, my football team (for now) and, I hope, my marriage. This exercise is not about rejecting the modern world or the pleasures and comforts of modern life. It’s about turning away from America and turning towards Europe. One day I’d love to go back to the States and eat a cheeseburger in a Brooklyn dive bar, toasting old friends and new with shots of rail bourbon in the Land of the Free. But not for the time being, not under the current regime.
So pour me a Rob Roy, give me a packet of Marmite-flavoured peanuts and sit me down in front of Antiques Roadshow, I’ll be grand. Up on the moral high ground life is sweet, if a little lonely. See, my family refuse to close their WhatsApp accounts and join me on Telegram and I think they might be talking about me behind my back. I get lost all the time and no one is liking or sharing the photos I post to Pixelfed. And I really miss my friends and our group chats, miss the videos and in-jokes and playlists we share, the things that have nourished our relationships over the years.
But it’s OK. It’s not a principle if it doesn’t cost you something.