For years, iPhone users suspected Apple deliberately slowed older phones to drive new purchases. In December 2017, Geekbench developer John Poole proved iPhone 6 and 7 models were being throttled via iOS updates. Apple admitted to the practice, claiming it was to prevent unexpected shutdowns from aging batteries. The company paid $500M to settle a US class action, $113M to 30+ states for consumer fraud, and $14.4M in Canada. France fined Apple for 'planned obsolescence' — the first such ruling against a tech giant.
“Apple is intentionally slowing down older iPhones with software updates to force people to buy new ones. This is planned obsolescence.”
From “crazy” to confirmed
The Claim Is Made
This is the moment they called it crazy.
For nearly a decade, millions of iPhone users noticed the same frustrating pattern: their phones grew slower with each iOS update, forcing them to choose between living with a sluggish device or buying a new one. What felt like a deliberate trap turned out to be exactly that—and Apple's response would reshape how tech companies face accountability for planned obsolescence.
The suspicion wasn't baseless conspiracy thinking. Users observed that iPhones 6, 6s, and 7 models noticeably lagged after major software updates. Online forums filled with complaints from people forced to decide between paying $800 for a new device or tolerating a phone that could barely open apps. When they complained to Apple, the company had a simple answer: user error, or at least user expectation management. The company suggested the slowdowns were normal as devices aged and storage filled up. There was no deliberate throttling, Apple implied. Just physics and time.
Then, in December 2017, Geekbench developer John Poole published data that punctured that narrative. Using his company's benchmarking software, Poole documented a clear pattern: iPhones with older batteries performed significantly slower than the same models with new batteries, but only after iOS updates that introduced performance management features. The data was irrefutable. Apple wasn't accidentally slowing phones—the company had built throttling directly into the operating system.
Apple's admission came quickly, but the framing mattered. Yes, the company acknowledged the practice, but claimed it was a safety feature. Aging lithium-ion batteries couldn't deliver the power older iPhones demanded, the company explained. Without throttling, phones would shut down unexpectedly. The company had chosen to slow devices rather than let them die randomly. The motivation was consumer protection, not planned obsolescence—or so the argument went.
The settlement that followed told a different story. In 2020, Apple agreed to pay $500 million to resolve a US . The company also paid $113 million to 30 US states for consumer fraud, acknowledging that it had deliberately withheld information about the throttling from users. Most significantly, France's competition authority issued a first-of-its-kind ruling against a tech giant for planned obsolescence, fining Apple millions more. Canada added another $14.4 million in penalties.
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Confirmed: They Were Right
The truth comes out. Officially documented.
Confirmed: They Were Right
The truth comes out. Officially documented.
What made this case historic wasn't just that a major tech company got caught. It was that the "batterygate" scandal, as it became known, occurred in an era when companies are supposed to be transparent about their practices. Apple didn't hide the throttling code—it was there in the software. But the company had hidden its purpose and effects from users. People couldn't make informed choices about their devices because they didn't have accurate information.
The real damage may be less obvious than the $627 million in settlements. Millions of people bought new phones they didn't need. But the broader harm is to the relationship between companies and consumers. When a device maker can hide important information about how a product works, users lose agency. The batterygate scandal proved that consumer suspicions about tech companies—even when dismissed as paranoid—sometimes reflect genuine wrongdoing. It's a reminder that corporate assurances aren't evidence. Proof is.
