If I Could Uninvent One Thing, It Would Be the Snooze Button

If I Could Uninvent One Thing, It Would Be the Snooze Button

If I were granted one whimsical but powerful wish—to uninvent a single invention—I would not target nuclear weapons, social media algorithms, or even the cursed printer that jams only when one is in a hurry. I would go for something far smaller, far subtler, and far more treacherous: the snooze button.
Yes, that tiny, innocent-looking button perched on alarm clocks and mobile phones across the world. The one that promises mercy but delivers betrayal.
The snooze button, in theory, was invented out of compassion. “Five more minutes,” it whispers, like a well-meaning friend who doesn’t know when to stop talking. It pretends to understand our fatigue, our late nights, our ageing bones, and our romantic relationship with sleep. In reality, it is a master illusionist—offering comfort while quietly stealing time, discipline, and resolve.
The first alarm rings with honesty. It tells us the truth: It is time. The snooze button, however, negotiates with that truth. It encourages procrastination at the very start of the day, teaching us—before we have even brushed our teeth—that delay is acceptable and decisions can be deferred. It is, perhaps, the earliest lesson in self-sabotage we learn each morning.
Philosophers have long spoken about intention and action. The Bhagavad Gita speaks of karma—right action at the right time. Stoics insisted that we begin the day with purpose. Even our grandparents, without quoting philosophy, lived by a simple rule: when you wake up, you wake up. The snooze button mocks all of them.
Scientifically too, it plays foul. Interrupted sleep confuses the brain, leaving us groggy rather than refreshed. Emotionally, it creates guilt—those stolen minutes never feel as good as promised. Practically, it turns calm mornings into rushed chaos: missed prayers, cold tea, forgotten spectacles, and a day that begins already out of breath.
And yet, we keep forgiving it.
Perhaps the snooze button survives because it mirrors a deeper human tendency—the desire to postpone the difficult, the uncomfortable, the necessary. We snooze conversations, responsibilities, apologies, dreams. The button is not the problem; it is the symbol.
If I could uninvent it, mornings would be sterner but truer. We would wake up annoyed, yes—but also decisive. The day would begin with a small victory: getting up when we said we would. And sometimes, that is all the motivation a long day needs.
So if ever a museum of uninvented things comes into existence, I know what my first exhibit would be. A small rectangular button, labelled simply:
“Here lies the Snooze Button—beloved by millions, trusted by none, and responsible for more late mornings than it ever cared to admit.”
And honestly, the world might just wake up a little better without it.