But wait! That's not all!

Products from cellphones to cars get more bells and whistles all the time. Who needs all these features?
By Jim Louderback

Fancy options can make gadgets costlier and harder to use.

The death of an appliance can be a life-changing event -- or so I discovered the other day when I had to replace my blender.

I didn't expect trouble; battering solids into liquids is a well-understood function. But once inside the appliance store, I was shocked by four shelves -- an entire department -- crammed with these gleaming devices. I immediately went into consumer shock. Gibbering quietly, I spent the next hour studying the text on the boxes before settling on the blender with the most buttons -- an unbelievable 16. And I can't tell them apart.

Quick: What's the difference between "purée" and "whip"? I don't know either. A blender needs just two settings: Wicked Fast and Margarita. By the looks of my machine, it can not only mix a milkshake but also decipher the Rosetta Stone, calculate the mass of Third World countries and, apparently, even take my pulse. (So a button implies.)

It's not just blenders either. Thanks to technology, we're drowning in a sea of overloaded products. Help! We're suffering from a terminal attack of feature-itis!

Our infatuation with Sharper Image-smart, James Bond-style implements isn't limited to high-tech gadgetry. Take our obsession with cup holders. There's an all-out war in the minivan market over cup-holder quantity. Leading the way: Toyota's Sienna XLE and the Dodge Caravan, each with 14 -- count 'em, 14! -- cup holders for a vehicle that seats seven. Plop a Big Gulp in each, and we're talking a roving soda SUPER-tanker here. (Suggested option: an on-board potty.)

Here's a statistic that really scares me: Autobytel surveyed potential car buyers and found almost one-third would buy a different car if dissatisfied with their chosen model's cup holders.

For further proof of the feature-itis epidemic, consider your cellphone. Chances are it's loaded down with games, a calendar, a stopwatch and an alarm clock. It might even have software like SMS, WAP and Bluetooth. Even with those add-ons, you'll soon lust after a color screen, integrated digital camera and music player. And for what? It's supposed to be a phone. You know, designed to let two people talk to each other over vast distances. You can buy a no-frills model for under $100, but we're willing to shell out thrice that for capabilities we can't even locate, let alone use.

Even our toilets aren't immune. Designers in Japan recently announced they're working on adding heat, lights, body fat calculator and speech to your plumbing. For those of you who ask, "Do we really need a talking toilet?" I must point out this could be the answer for couples who fight over putting the seat down.

The worst part? These useless features add unnecessary cost and complexity. A blender with one button -- Blend is far simpler to operate than one with 16 nebulous choices. And as more junk is ladled into products, the more likely it is that parts will fail, turning a techno-treasure into trash.

Why are we so enthralled by features? Paco Underhill, author of "Why We Buy: The Science of Shopping", says only some of us, mostly the ones with a Y chromosome (men!), are afflicted: "It's all just boy-toy stuff, and more of us are going into sports-car menopause." Feature-itis also may tie in to the American credo of "more is more," he adds: "More features say I'm knowledgeable, I can use them, and I'm sophisticated enough to appreciate them." Add our drive to one-up the competition: "If six cup holders are terrific, 27 must be really terrific."

Another factor is impulse buying. Between 60% and 70% of American purchasing decisions are made "at the point of sale with a very limited amount of information," Underhill points out. The more features something has, the better it is -- even if we end up using only the on-off switch.

How can we rid ourselves of this affliction? As with any problem, recognition is the first step to recovery: Admit to your irrational inclination to obtain overendowed products. Next, decide what, exactly, you need before you head to the mall, and don't be swayed. Do some research. "Consumer Reports", "PC Magazine" and "Car and Driver", for instance, offer great comparative info.

It actually works. Armed with research, I recently bought a new washing machine. The cheapest model was also the simplest: just Hot, Warm or Cold Wash. Exactly what I needed. The salesman tried to up-sell me. "This one has 12 cycles, five temperatures and a six-point balance system." Oooh ... six points?! I wavered but held firm, saving $500. I'm not completely cured, though. I bought a dryer the same day and got suckered into one with a "fluff" cycle. I still haven't figured out what it's for -- beyond, of course, fluffing up my ego.

Jim Louderback is editor in chief for Internet at Ziff Davis Media, publisher of PC Magazine, EWeek and ExtremeTech.com.