Across offices, clinics, schools, and small businesses everywhere, the same question keeps echoing: “Why are we replacing computers that still work?”
You can almost picture it. A business owner stares at a desk full of perfectly functional machines, all running Windows 10… and now all now labeled “unsupported.” They still boot fast. They still handle spreadsheets and scheduling just fine. But suddenly they’re a “risk?” Suddenly, the machines they invested thousands in are obsolete by policy.
And just like that… poof. Millions of working computers have become tomorrow’s trash.
Microsoft’s Windows 10 cutoff has officially arrived, and the aftermath looks worse than many feared: unnecessary spending, wasted hardware, and a trillion-dollar company cashing in while preaching sustainability.
Not an upgrade. A shakedown.
Let’s be clear. This was not a natural upgrade cycle. It was forced.
Microsoft drew a line, called it “security,” and left businesses scrambling to either buy new computers or pay for Extended Security Updates (ESU), a subscription that keeps Windows 10 patched for three more years.
For those who didn’t upgrade or buy ESU, who can blame them? Some can’t afford thousands in replacement costs. Others are simply tired of the treadmill. And plenty are just rolling the dice, hoping for the best, because “secure” now seems to mean “absurdly expensive.”
This isn’t modernization. It’s monetization.
A green mask over a gray landfill
Microsoft’s 2025 Environmental Sustainability Report beams with self-congratulation. Phrases like “carbon negative by 2030” and “zero waste datacenters” read like gospel in a glossy brochure.
But those words ring hollow when the same company’s policies are sending mountains of usable machines to landfills. You don’t get to talk about circular economies while designing software that excludes perfectly good hardware. That’s not sustainability. That’s corporate theater.
While Microsoft touts 88 percent datacenter waste diversion, tens of millions of office computers are being diverted into dumpsters instead.
The history that led here
To understand why this moment matters, look at the numbers. Consumer advocate Nathan Proctor, a leader in the Right to Repair movement, analyzed how many systems were still in use when Microsoft ended support for its operating systems:
- Windows 8: 3.7 percent remained active
- Windows 8.1: 2.2 percent remained active
- Windows 10: 42.8 percent are active
That’s not a slope. That’s a cliff.
Nearly half the world’s PCs were told they weren’t good enough for Windows 11. Not because they couldn’t run it, but because their processors lacked a chip Microsoft decided was now mandatory.
Older CPUs suddenly became “unsafe,” even though they worked fine the day before. And since most users can’t swap CPUs without replacing the whole system, that line in the sand became a sales trigger.
The e-waste mountain
Advocacy groups estimate the fallout could total 1.6 billion pounds of electronic waste. To visualize that, imagine filling every Publix grocery store in Florida, floor to ceiling, with dead computers. Then multiply it by 500.
That’s the kind of waste this one corporate decision could unleash.
And because recycling electronics is costly and inconsistent, most of that material won’t be recovered. Only about 17 percent of global e-waste gets properly recycled each year. The rest gets shredded, burned, or shipped overseas to informal dumps where workers salvage copper by hand, breathing toxic fumes in the process.
So much for “zero waste.”
Following the money
Now, let’s talk about the real incentive.
The ESU program costs about $61 per device for the first year, then roughly doubles each year after. Multiply that by the tens of millions of machines still running Windows 10, and the numbers get wild fast.
Even a conservative estimate, let’s say, 20 million PCs enrolled in ESU, equals over a billion dollars in “Year One” alone. Add Year Two and Year Three price hikes, plus the hardware sales from companies forced to replace PCs, and the profits climb into multi-billion-dollar territory.
And to keep the noise down, Microsoft offers IT providers discounted ESU pricing so they can resell it at a markup. It’s a commission system that lets partners share in their profits. In any other industry, that might look suspiciously like hush money.
“We’re not staying quiet.”
Our own firm, Geek3, hasn’t taken part in these profits. We actually paid thousands out of pocket to keep certain medical clients compliant under HIPAA. Mostly to buy them a little more time. We didn’t do it because we like Microsoft’s plan. We did it because patient safety matters, and those clinics can’t risk an unsupported system.
But it’s hard not to feel exploited. Microsoft gets to charge for the privilege of not abandoning customers it already sold licenses to. That’s not service. That’s ransom with a smile.
The ones who hurt the most
Large enterprises can plan ahead. They budget for renewal cycles, bulk hardware purchases, and dedicated IT teams.
Small offices, family practices, and nonprofits don’t have that luxury. For them, every forced upgrade is a budget shock. A small clinic with 20 PCs could face $10,000 or more just to stay compliant, or double that if they replace systems outright.
And while Microsoft rakes in revenue, these smaller players cut elsewhere: delaying hires, skipping donations, or putting off new equipment that actually improves care or service.
This isn’t innovation. It’s wealth transfer disguised as modernization.
Do you see a common thread here?
The security myth
Microsoft insists this is about security. TPM 2.0 chips, new encryption standards, and stricter boot verification all sound noble. But if safety were truly the priority, they’d offer security updates freely for older hardware, or provide a “lite” version of Windows 11 to these systems.
Nope. Instead, they’ve put a price tag on peace of mind. Pay or be vulnerable.
That’s not security. That’s leverage.
The sustainability contradiction
Let’s revisit that 2025 Microsoft Sustainability Report.
Microsoft proudly highlights recycled aluminum in its Surface laptops, timber-steel datacenter construction, and global water replenishment projects. These are commendable initiatives, but they pale in comparison to the environmental cost of forced obsolescence.
Every new computer requires mining, manufacturing, and shipping. Since we’re talking in their own ‘green lingo,’ producing a single desktop PC emits an estimated 600 to 900 pounds of CO₂. Multiply that by the hundreds of millions of systems now considered “too old,” and Microsoft’s sustainability math collapses instantly.
You can’t offset that with a few solar panels and PR copy.
A tale of two realities
In Silicon Valley, Microsoft is a hero leading the planet toward a green, AI-powered future. In the real world, small businesses are piling perfectly good computers in storage closets, unsure whether to toss them or risk using them unpatched.
One version makes headlines. The other fills landfills.
The silence of oversight
Where are the regulators? Where are the environmental agencies that normally scrutinize large-scale waste?
So far, the silence is deafening.
Maybe it’s because tech money runs deep in politics. Maybe environmental organizations rely too heavily on corporate donations to pick this fight. Either way, silence benefits the same players who profit most from the chaos.
Not planned obsolescence. Manufactured obsolescence.
The truth is, these machines were built to last. Windows 10 runs smoothly on computers from a decade ago. Many of those systems are used daily in accounting offices, front desks, and warehouses without issue.
Yet overnight, policy (not performance) decided their fate.
This isn’t natural progress. It’s deliberate expiration.
The ripple effect
The harm extends beyond waste and cost. When older systems fall out of support, critical software tied to them, such as medical imaging, lab interfaces, and legacy accounting tools, often breaks during upgrades. That means downtime, data migration costs, and new licensing fees.
And when small organizations delay upgrades, they risk compliance fines or cyber insurance penalties.
** Microsoft created the problem and then positioned itself as the only paid solution.**
There were better options
Microsoft could have taken a leadership stance:
- Free extended security updates for small businesses and public institutions.
- A “Windows 11 Lite” edition for older hardware.
- A responsible phase-out timeline aligned with recycling infrastructure capacity.
- A refurbishment program that resells older PCs with secure builds preinstalled.
Any of those would have matched their sustainability promises. Instead, they chose the path that maximizes revenue while externalizing the environmental cost.
Counting the weight
Let’s go back to that 1.6 billion pounds again.
That’s roughly 133,000 elephants worth of electronics.
Enough metal and plastic to build several skyscrapers.
Or enough to repave I-75 from Gainesville to Tampa.
The only thing heavier than that waste is the irony of calling it “green progress.”
Why business owners are angry
If you run a small business, you’ve felt this before. The printer that stopped working after an update. The software subscription that quietly doubled. The new phone that “required” a new charger.
This Windows 10 cutoff is that same story on a global scale. It’s why so many business owners are angry, exhausted, and skeptical every time a vendor says, “It’s for your protection.”
They see through it. And they’re right to!
A turning point for accountability
This moment should be a wake-up call for the industry. If Microsoft can do this, others will follow.
Apple already controls repairability with proprietary parts. Google sunsets devices on schedule. Intuit abandons its software for a subscription model. The playbook is clear: design obsolescence, sell the fix, rebrand it as innovation.
But small businesses, schools, and clinics can’t keep footing the bill for corporate strategy. Policymakers need to step in with right-to-repair laws and extended support mandates. Environmental agencies need to treat digital obsolescence as a form of waste production. And customers, businesses and consumers alike, need to start saying no to forced churn.
The real legacy of Windows 11
In the long run, Windows 11 might not be remembered for its design or features. It’s already looking that way. It might be remembered as the moment people realized how fragile the trust between tech giants and their customers had become.
For Microsoft, that’s a dangerous legacy to leave behind.
The truth behind the slogans
Microsoft’s own sustainability mantra talks about “empowering every person and organization on the planet to achieve more.”
What they forgot to mention is that “achieving more” now requires buying more, wasting more, and trusting less.
The slogan sounds inspiring on stage. It looks different when you’re staring at a pallet of discarded computers behind your office.
Where we go from here
At Geek3, we’ll keep fighting for our clients’ right to use what they own for as long as possible. We’ll keep paying attention to policies that masquerade as progress. And we’ll keep calling out the contradictions that big tech would rather hide behind glossy sustainability reports.
This isn’t about hating Microsoft. It’s about holding them accountable for the environmental and financial fallout of decisions made in boardrooms that never see the real-world impact.
So let’s say it plainly:
The Windows 10 cutoff isn’t just a milestone. It’s corruption. Proof that when a trillion-dollar company wants your money, it simply changes the rules.
The deadline has passed. The invoices have been paid. The computers are, or soon will be, in dumpsters. And Microsoft gets to count the profits while the rest of us count the cost.
