Episode 3 · Cognitive biases · Research notes
You have spent $10 million on a plane. It is 90% done when a rival ships a better, cheaper one. Do you finish yours? In the study that made this famous, 85% said yes, but strip away the money already spent and almost nobody would. That gap is the sunk cost fallacy, and it decides more of your life than you think.
The landmark study is Arkes and Blumer (1985), ten experiments on the psychology of sunk cost. Their centerpiece was the airplane: a firm has spent $10 million of a $10 million budget on a radar-blank plane, and at 90% done a rival markets one that is better and cheaper. Finish it? About 85% of people said yes. A matched group offered the very same doomed plane as a fresh decision, with no prior spend, chose to invest only about one in six times.
They also ran it in the real world. Theater-goers were randomly charged full price ($15) or a surprise discount ($13 or $8) for identical season tickets. Full-price buyers attended more plays early on, not because they liked theater more (the prices were random) but because skipping felt like wasting $15. The revealing detail: by the second half of the season, the difference had faded. The grip of a sunk cost weakens as the memory of paying recedes.
The dollar auction (Shubik, 1971) is a party game where a $1 bill is auctioned but the runner-up also pays and gets nothing, so it routinely sells for $3 to $5 as neither bidder can absorb the loss of quitting. Barry Staw's "knee deep in the big muddy" (1976) showed managers pour the most money into a failing project when they personally made the original call. Vietnam is the dark version, where each wave of sacrifice became the argument for more. And in everyday life: the dead-end job, the "we've been together five years," the stock held until it "gets back to even," the plate finished only because you paid for it.
For two decades the textbook story was that this trap is uniquely human (Arkes and Ayton, 1999): no clear cases in animals, and children seemed more rational than adults, so it looked like a learned "don't waste" rule that we overapply. Then Sweis et al. (2018), in Science, built matched foraging tasks for mice, rats, and humans, and all three clung harder the longer they had already waited. The striking detail: the sunk-cost pull only appeared after a decision had been committed, not before. The Concorde fallacy was named by biologists in 1976, and biology took it back.
It is not fully settled, and that is the honest part. A pigeon study found the effect only under narrow conditions, critics raised a possible statistical artifact and the original team ran new controls, and in 2025 the classic questionnaire experiments were reported as psychometrically unreliable (the same person's answers to different sunk-cost questions barely correlate). The trap is real, you have felt it, but it looks older than our species, it fades, and its true shape is being argued over right now.