It’s funny because it’s true. We spend weeks—sometimes months—obsessing over the purchase. We watch the unboxing videos. We compare the liters, the watts, the presets. Finally, the cardboard box arrives. We place the sleek, basket-shaped deity on our countertop. We touch its digital screen.
Banzo argues that we don’t actually want the crispy french fries. What we want is certainty . We want control . We want to believe that the next purchase will be the one that organizes our life, saves us time, and makes us the person we swore we’d be in January.
This is where Sabina Banzo enters the chat. Ya tengo mi airfryer- -ahora que - Sabina Banzo...
You still have to decide what to do with it.
Sabina Banzo didn’t ruin the airfryer for us. She saved us from the next ten useless purchases. She gave us language for the post-achievement blues. It’s funny because it’s true
But then you have it. And the anxiety doesn’t vanish. Because the airfryer doesn’t cook for you. It doesn’t choose the menu. It doesn’t wash itself.
The void stares back. The airfryer sits there, powerful and mute, asking: “What is your purpose?” We compare the liters, the watts, the presets
And that, my friend, is the horror. The “ahora qué” is not about the appliance. It’s about the terrifying freedom of having the tool but lacking the direction. It’s about realizing that no object will ever rescue you from the need to make a choice.