In the original Star Wars films, becoming a Jedi was not a matter of birthright or convenience. It was a long, painful journey — one marked by discipline, failure, and sacrifice. Luke Skywalker trained in isolation with Yoda, wrestled with self-doubt, and nearly succumbed to the dark side. Even Anakin, for all his natural power, couldn’t bypass the Order’s rigorous structure without consequence.

Fast forward to the sequels, and the transformation is jarring. Rey discovers her abilities and masters them in days. She spars with Kylo Ren and holds her own with minimal guidance. The lightsaber is no longer an earned weapon — it’s handed over like a reward in a video game.

This shift isn’t just narrative laziness. It reflects a deeper change in cultural values.

The Consumer Fantasy

Modern Star Wars has adopted the logic of the advert. The message is no longer “train, fail, grow” but “believe, act, win.” It mirrors the world of marketing, where transformation is sold as immediate and effortless. Buy this watch, and you’ll gain status. Use this product, and you’ll become desirable. Pick up this lightsaber, and you’re a Jedi.

Discipline is replaced with identity. The journey is erased — only the destination matters.

In the original trilogy, the Force was a mystery, something to be tuned into through humility and struggle. In the sequels, it behaves more like a downloadable upgrade. It’s there when the plot needs it, serving the protagonist rather than shaping them.

Why It Matters

This isn’t just about bad writing. It’s about what stories teach us.

The Jedi once represented the ideal of earned mastery — a hard, often lonely path that asked something of you. Their lightsabers weren’t props; they were symbols of restraint, responsibility, and hard-won control. When that’s reduced to a stylistic shortcut, the mythology loses its depth.

Worse, it trains the audience to expect growth without effort. Like the promise of consumer capitalism — that you can buy your way into a better life — modern Star Wars sells the illusion of transformation with none of the weight behind it.

The Force as Fast Fashion

The tragedy of the new Star Wars is not that it’s different, but that it’s familiar in all the wrong ways. It echoes a world where patience is obsolete, where effort is unfashionable, and where identity is a matter of branding.

Once, the Jedi path was a metaphor for becoming. Now, it’s just another product line. And the Force — once a quiet, demanding presence — has been reduced to a slogan: Just feel it.