I’ll admit something upfront: I have a little weakness for online courses. Every time a shiny new course promises to teach me how to “master X skill in just 4 weeks,” I feel that familiar itch to click “enroll.” Sometimes it’s been money well spent. Other times, I’ve stared at my bank account and thought, Did I really just pay $200 to watch videos I could’ve found on YouTube for free?
That’s the tricky part with online learning. It exists in this strange in-between space: full of possibility, but also full of potential regret. Which brings us to the big question—can an online course ever truly be considered a waste of money? The short answer is yes, but it’s not always that simple.
Why People Turn to Online Courses in the First Place
Think about why online learning exploded in the first place. It isn’t just about convenience. It’s about access. You can live in a small town with no universities nearby and still learn data science from a professor in California. You can work full time, raise kids, and still fit in a course on graphic design at midnight.
But beyond logistics, there’s also hope tied up in these decisions. Many of us buy courses not just to gain skills but to rewrite parts of our lives. That $500 coding bootcamp? It’s not just about learning Python. It’s about the possibility of leaving a dead-end job and stepping into a career that feels exciting.
Hope is powerful. It can also cloud judgment. When you’re desperate for change, it’s easy to assume this course will be the magic key.
When an Online Course Feels Like a Waste
I’ve been there—the disappointment that comes when you finally log into a course and realize the content is shallow, the instructor barely shows up, or the lessons are recycled from a blog post.
There are a few common situations where people walk away thinking they wasted their money:
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Overpriced content you could find for free. Paying $200 for a Canva design tutorial, only to realize YouTube has hundreds of similar videos.
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Lack of practical application. Courses that explain theory but leave you hanging when it comes to hands-on practice.
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Unrealistic promises. “Land a six-figure job in six months” is a bold claim that often doesn’t pan out.
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Zero accountability. Without deadlines or peer interaction, some learners simply never finish, and half-completed courses collect digital dust.
And of course, there’s the internal voice of guilt that kicks in: Maybe it’s not the course—it’s me. Maybe I wasted money because I couldn’t commit. That self-blame makes the sting sharper.
But Was It Truly a Waste?
Here’s where the answer gets murky. I once bought a $97 course on productivity. I didn’t finish it. At first, I felt dumb. Then, months later, I remembered one little idea from it: the “two-minute rule” (if something takes less than two minutes, just do it now). That tiny principle alone has probably saved me hours over the past year.
So was that course a waste? By strict accounting standards—sure, maybe. I didn’t complete it, I didn’t get the “certificate,” I didn’t implement 90% of what I learned. But that one small takeaway stuck, and in practice, it’s been valuable.
Sometimes the worth of an online course doesn’t show up right away. A sentence in Module 3 might come back to you six months later when you’re in a new job. Or a skill you casually learned might unexpectedly impress a client. The return isn’t always immediate or measurable.
The Role of Expectations
If there’s one factor that determines whether an online course feels like a waste, it’s expectations.
People sign up with wildly different hopes. Some expect a structured, near-college experience. Others just want quick tips. When the reality doesn’t match the vision, disappointment follows.
Take coding, for example. Someone who thinks a $300 course will make them job-ready in three weeks is almost destined to feel let down. But someone who buys the same course simply to get a taste of programming may walk away thrilled.
That’s not to say that false marketing doesn’t exist—it definitely does. But even without scams, the mismatch between personal expectations and course design is where much of the frustration lives.
How Much Responsibility Falls on the Learner?
This is the uncomfortable part. Not every “waste of money” is the course creator’s fault.
Plenty of people (myself included) buy courses on a whim, ride the wave of excitement for a week, and then stop showing up. Life gets busy. Motivation dips. The course doesn’t come with the same social pressure as an in-person class, so it’s easy to drift.
It may sound harsh, but buying a course doesn’t guarantee transformation. Effort does. That doesn’t excuse poorly designed courses, but it does mean the learner’s commitment matters just as much.
I’ve noticed something funny: people rarely complain about wasting money on a gym membership in quite the same way, even if they only go once in January. Somehow, with courses, the blame feels heavier—maybe because knowledge feels more abstract than muscles.
Stories of Value in Unexpected Places
A friend of mine bought a $49 watercolor painting course. She’s not an artist, she doesn’t plan to sell paintings, and after two weeks, she barely touched her brushes again. By most measures, that’s wasted money.
But here’s the twist: those two weeks brought her genuine joy during a rough patch. She spent evenings painting while listening to music, and it gave her a sense of calm she hadn’t felt in years. When she looks back, she doesn’t call it a waste at all.
That story reminds me of something: value doesn’t always have to be professional or financial. Sometimes it’s emotional. Sometimes it’s just a spark of curiosity.
So, When Is It a Waste?
If I had to pin it down, an online course crosses into “waste of money” territory when three conditions overlap:
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The course is poorly structured or misleadingly marketed.
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The learner’s goals were never aligned with what the course actually offered.
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There’s no lasting benefit—no skill, no insight, not even a moment of enjoyment.
That’s a harsher set of criteria than people usually apply. Often, we call something a waste just because we didn’t finish it. But unfinished doesn’t automatically mean useless.
How to Avoid That Sinking Feeling
If you want to steer clear of buyer’s remorse, there are a few things that help:
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Check reviews—real ones. Not just testimonials on the sales page, but Reddit threads or independent blogs where people share unfiltered opinions.
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Look for substance. Does the syllabus show depth? Are there assignments, projects, or community components?
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Be honest about your commitment. If you know you’re not likely to spend more than 20 minutes a week, don’t buy a 200-hour monster course.
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Match the course to your stage. Beginners sometimes jump into advanced content and feel overwhelmed; advanced learners sometimes overpay for beginner material.
The Bigger Question: What Do We Mean by “Waste”?
Here’s a thought experiment. Imagine you spend $100 on a dinner out. You enjoy the meal, but it’s gone the next day. Was that a waste? Most people would say no—it gave you a nice experience.
But with online courses, we often frame them strictly in terms of productivity or career outcomes. If they don’t transform us, we call them wasteful. Maybe that’s too narrow a definition.
Of course, if you’re struggling financially and banking on a course to land you a job, then yes—wasting money hurts in a real way. But if you’re measuring value more broadly, even a small takeaway, a burst of inspiration, or a few evenings of engagement can shift it out of the “waste” category.
My Own Honest Takeaway
If I’m brutally honest, about half of the courses I’ve bought over the past five years remain unfinished. But I can’t bring myself to label them all wasted.
Some planted seeds I didn’t expect. Some gave me skills I didn’t even realize I’d use later. And yes, a few were flat-out duds that I regret. That’s part of the gamble.
So, is an online course ever a waste of money? Absolutely—it can be. But more often, it’s complicated. The value isn’t always immediate, obvious, or even measurable. Sometimes, it’s hidden in a single sentence you remember a year later. Sometimes, it’s in the quiet joy of trying something new, even if you never master it.
And if you’re like me, maybe the lesson isn’t about the courses at all—it’s about being more intentional before hitting that “enroll” button, and kinder to yourself afterward if things don’t go as planned.