Did Amazon Get Rich at the Expense of Workers or Customers?

Ten years ago, I could order a book online and wait two weeks for it to arrive, paying full cover price plus shipping that sometimes cost more than the item itself. Today, I tap a screen and the same book lands on my doorstep the next morning, often cheaper than what my local bookstore charges. That convenience feels like progress, yet when I read about warehouse workers collapsing from heat or drivers urinating in bottles to meet delivery quotas, I wonder what we traded for those savings and that speed.

Amazon built a trillion-dollar empire by making shopping absurdly easy and affordable, but the company achieved this transformation by squeezing value from two groups: the employees who fulfill our orders and the customers who grew dependent on its platform. Understanding where Amazon extracted its wealth matters because the company reshaped how we all buy things and work, and its model now defines expectations across the entire economy.

I first used Amazon in high school to buy textbooks my rural bookstore could not stock. Back then, the company sold mostly books and a few electronics, and Prime membership was a new experiment promising free two-day shipping. By the time I started college in 2019, Amazon sold nearly everything, owned cloud computing infrastructure that powered half the internet, and employed over a million people in warehouses, delivery vans, and corporate offices. The company grew by promising customers lower prices and faster delivery than any competitor, which required building a massive logistics network of fulfillment centers, sorting facilities, and last-mile delivery routes. To operate that network profitably while undercutting competitors on price, Amazon needed to minimize labor costs and maximize efficiency at every step, which meant closely monitoring workers and setting productivity targets that pushed human limits.

Amazon clearly extracted wealth from its workforce by designing jobs around machines rather than people. My roommate worked a holiday season at a fulfillment center in Pennsylvania, and she described twelve-hour shifts spent walking miles of concrete floors, scanning items every eleven seconds to meet a rate enforced by software that tracked her every movement. Workers received written warnings if their speed dropped, and bathroom breaks counted against productivity metrics, which explained why some employees avoided drinking water or relieving themselves during shifts. The company paid above minimum wage, often fifteen or sixteen dollars an hour, but the physical toll and relentless pace meant many workers lasted only months before their bodies gave out or they quit from exhaustion. Amazon defended these conditions by pointing to wages and benefits, yet high pay loses meaning when the work breaks people faster than they can save money, and when the company fights unionization efforts that might give workers a voice in improving conditions.

At the same time, Amazon built customer dependence that allowed it to extract value in subtler ways. I realized this during my sophomore year when I needed batteries for a calculator before an exam. Instead of walking ten minutes to the campus store, I checked Amazon first, found them cheaper, but could not get them in time, so I paid twice the price at the store while resenting the inconvenience. Amazon trained me to expect instant gratification and low prices, which made alternatives feel like a penalty even when they were perfectly reasonable. The company also collects data on every search, click, and purchase I make, using that information to steer me toward products where Amazon earns higher margins or to develop competing products that undercut the independent sellers on its platform. I think I am getting deals, but Amazon shapes what I see and buy in ways that prioritize its profit, and I barely notice because the experience feels so smooth and personalized.

Some argue that Amazon simply perfected capitalism by giving customers what they want at prices they can afford, and that workers accept these jobs voluntarily knowing the conditions. My economics professor made this point last semester, noting that Amazon faces competition for labor and that workers can leave if they find the terms unacceptable. There is some truth here. Amazon did not invent low wages or difficult working conditions, and plenty of retail and warehouse jobs offer similar or worse situations. The company also created employment in regions where good jobs were scarce, and many workers appreciate the wages and health insurance even if the work is hard. Yet this perspective ignores the power imbalance involved. When Amazon dominates e-commerce and drives competitors out of business, workers have fewer alternatives, and customers have fewer choices, which gives the company leverage to set terms that favor itself over both groups.

Amazon got rich by extracting value from workers and customers simultaneously, creating a system where each group's sacrifices funded benefits for the other while the company captured the surplus. Workers endured punishing conditions so customers could enjoy low prices and fast delivery, and customers accepted subtle manipulation and data harvesting because the service felt so convenient and cheap. I still use Amazon because opting out is difficult when the company controls so much of online shopping and when my budget is tight, but I now recognize that my cheap textbooks and next-day socks came at a cost someone else paid with their knees and their dignity. The question is not whether Amazon created value, because it clearly did, but whether the distribution of that value was fair, and whether we as a society want to permit business models that demand such lopsided sacrifices. I do not have a simple answer, but I think more of us should ask it.

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