GMA's 'Deals and Steals' Is Just a 3AM Infomercial for People Who Trust Morning TV
Look, I get it. You wake up at the ungodly hour of 7 AM, your brain is still half-mush from whatever existential dread kept you up the night before, and you’re trying to choke down your burnt toast while pretending you’re a functional adult. You flip on *Good Morning America* because, I don’t know, you’ve got a weird nostalgic attachment to seeing Michael Strahan’s giant, gleaming skull in high definition. And then it happens. The sweet, dulcet tones of some perky lifestyle correspondent start whispering about a "revolutionary" vegetable chopper that can slice a tomato so thin it becomes a metaphor for your fragile mortality.
And just like that, you’re three clicks away from buying a $40 dumbwaiter for your kitchen counter that you will use exactly once before it becomes a permanent dust-collection monument to your own impulsive stupidity.
Welcome to the grift that is *GMA*’s "Deals and Steals."
For the uninitiated, this is the segment where ABC, a multi-billion-dollar corporation, shills discounted air fryers, "miracle" cleaning putty, and $20 throw pillows to an audience of sleep-deprived parents and retirees who still think Facebook is a reliable news source. It’s hosted by the human embodiment of a Target ad, Tory Johnson, who appears on screen with the energy of a golden retriever who just discovered a tennis ball made of pure commission.
But let’s be real: this isn’t a public service. It’s a prime-time (well, morning-time) assault on your wallet, disguised as a friendly favor. It’s the Home Shopping Network with a better tan and a corporate news logo slapped on it, designed to make you feel like you’re part of an exclusive club because you saved 40% on a portable blender that you’ll never actually pack for a trip because you don’t go anywhere except your car and your couch.
Let’s break down the scam, shall we?
**The "Exclusivity" Illusion**
The most offensive part of "Deals and Steals" is the manufactured scarcity. Tory will look dead into the camera with the earnestness of a televangelist and say, "This is our best-selling item, and because you're watching *GMA*, we got them to drop the price from $129 to just $39.99 for the next 24 hours ONLY!"
Oh, wow! A 24-hour window? What a privilege! It’s almost like... they can just do that anytime? It’s almost like the MSRP on these products is inflated by 300% so they can slash it and make you feel like you’re getting a deal (hence the name, genius) when in reality, you’re paying roughly what that piece of Chinese-manufactured plastic is actually worth. That $100 "anti-aging" LED mask costs $8 to make. You’re not stealing from them; they’re stealing from you—a concept that apparently requires a higher security clearance than the Pentagon to understand.
**The "Stuff You Didn't Know You Needed" Problem**
I swear, the criteria for being on this segment is that the product has to solve a problem that doesn't exist. Do I need a USB-powered mug warmer that keeps my coffee at a scalding 180 degrees for hours? No, because I drink my coffee like a normal person, in about four minutes, before it turns into lukewarm sadness. Do I need a "salad spinner that also dries your herbs"? Bitch, I don't even wash my lettuce. I buy the pre-bagged mix and pray to the food safety gods that I don't get E. coli.
They hawk these absurd gadgets—like a "bacon press" that is literally just a heavy flat piece of metal, or a "storage system" for your grocery bags that turns your pantry into a chaotic origami nightmare—and they present them with the gravity of a medical breakthrough. "This is a game-changer!" they exclaim, holding up a silicone lid that stretches over a can of beans. A game-changer? The game is my budget, Tory, and you’re changing it straight into the red.
**The "Woke" Washing**
And let's not forget the shameless pandering. They'll have a segment about "Black-owned businesses" or "small women-owned brands," which is great in theory, until you realize it's just another Tuesday for the corporate machine. They trot out a founder who looks like they haven't slept in three years, and you can literally see the desperation in their eyes because they know their entire inventory is about to get nuked by 500,000 Karens who buy everything in sight. It’s not charity; it’s capitalism with a rainbow sticker on it. They’re not supporting the community; they’re using the community’s struggle to sell a $60 candle that smells like "Midwest Basement." And you, the viewer, get to pat yourself on the back for being "woke" while your package arrives from Amazon on a literal slave-wage transport system.
**The Return Policy Roulette**
Here’s the real kicker: the return policy. Oh, they’ll tell you it’s backed by a "happiness guarantee." But try returning that "Chill Pillow" (a pillow that is literally just a pillow with a cooling gel pad, retail price $89, on sale for $49) after you realize it smells like a chemical plant and gave you a migraine. You’ll be emailing some support address that auto-replies with a PDF explaining that the "happiness guarantee" only covers "unopened items in original packaging," because, you know, who wants to actually use the thing they bought?
You end up keeping the useless junk because the effort to return it costs more than the $30 you saved. That’s called the "sunk cost fallacy," and it’s the bedrock of the entire consumer electronics industry.
**The Real Audience**
Let’s be honest
Final Thoughts
As a veteran of countless consumer-holiday roundups, I can tell you the real value here isn't the fleeting thrill of a discount code, but the strategic curation—Deals and Steals consistently filters out the gimmicks to surface the few genuinely useful items that justify their place in your home. My takeaway is that you should treat these drops less like a fire sale and more like a seasonal edit of your own life, asking not "is it cheap?" but "will I still use this in November?" The smart play is to skip the impulse gadgets and zero in on the high-quality basics—the kind of kitchen tools and organizational fixes that quietly pay for themselves in daily utility long after the segment ends.