When the living room gets a built-in mind

In recent weeks a pattern has emerged that feels deceptively small and quietly seismic: owners of LG smart televisions have discovered a Microsoft-branded ‘Copilot’ app arriving on their screens as part of routine updates — and there’s no way to uninstall it.

The outrage is less about a single app and more about what the episode reveals. An AI assistant — a posture of constant readiness to listen, suggest and surface content — is being embedded into a device that sits in the most intimate room of many homes. Consumers report annoyance, annoyance turning to alarm, when they realize they cannot remove the software even if they never asked for it.

Beyond bloatware: why ‘can’t remove’ matters

Preinstalled software is hardly new. Phone makers, router vendors and smart-TV manufacturers have long bundled apps, many of which can be disabled or removed. What is different now is that the bundled software is an AI: a system designed to observe patterns, make recommendations and in many implementations, collect interaction data to improve itself.

There are three reasons irremovable AI feels qualitatively different:

• Agency: Users expect to choose the digital agents they invite into their lives. An assistant that cannot be removed takes agency away — it turns a user’s device into a channel for software the user did not select.
• Data flow: AI assistants typically require telemetry and interaction data to function and to refine their models. When an assistant is forced onto a device and cannot be uninstalled, the paths that data can flow along become harder for users to audit or control.
• Normalization: Embedding an assistant by default normalizes a model of interaction in which devices proactively nudge, recommend and shape attention. When that normalization is compelled rather than chosen, it raises cultural questions about the pace and direction of AI pervasiveness.

Consumer reaction: annoyance, distrust, and a sense of betrayal

Across forums and social media, owners describe a common script: a routine update, a new app icon appearing on the home screen, and then the discovery that ‘remove’ or ‘uninstall’ is grayed out. For many, the response is simple irritation. For others, it is a deeper reaction — a sense that a piece of their environment has been rewritten without consent.

Some users worry about privacy and data collection. Others worry about creeping platform politics: if an assistant subtly prioritizes certain content, ad partners, or services, the living room ceases to be a neutral place to watch a show and becomes a mediated surface shaped by corporate interests.

Business logic meets user rights

From the perspective of vendors, there are clear incentives to preinstall AI assistants. Partnerships between device manufacturers and software providers can create recurring revenue streams, bolster ecosystems and increase engagement. An assistant that channels users to particular streaming services, storefronts or features is valuable.

But incentives collide with an expectation that devices are under user control. The trust relationship between a consumer and a maker is fragile; it depends on clarity about what the device does, what it sends back, and what can be turned off. Preinstalling irremovable software strains that relationship.

Privacy, telemetry and the invisible ledger

A key worry is about telemetry — the data that helps AI learn. Even when an assistant claims to operate locally, many systems rely on cloud connectivity for model updates, query processing or personalization. Users want to know what is collected, who sees it, and for how long it is retained. They also want a simple way to say ‘no.’

Transparency tools exist, but their effectiveness depends on willingness. A bundled, irremovable app often comes with terms and settings that are easy to overlook, and changing them can be complicated. The result is an invisible ledger of interactions and signals flowing to parties the consumer didn’t explicitly invite.

Design, consent and the ethics of push

There is a design ethic here: the difference between default-on and default-off is moral as well as technical. Designers and product strategists have power to nudge — to make choices that become invisible defaults. In matters of AI, where the agent can influence attention and decision-making, that power is consequential.

Consent should not be a buried checkbox appended after an update. The ethical path would be clear, upfront choices that respect user context: prominent opt-in prompts, well-labeled privacy controls, and the ability to remove or disable assistants with the same ease as any other app.

Regulatory contours and the precedent of unbundling

History offers several comparisons. Regulators pushed back when dominant platforms used default settings to entrench marketplaces or when operating systems preferred their own services. Those interventions reshaped markets and clarified what choices consumers should have.

AI assistants may be a new front for these debates. If a device’s firmware makes it effectively impossible to remove a piece of software, regulators may ask whether this is anticompetitive, whether it undermines user rights, or whether more explicit disclosure and opt-out mechanisms are required. Policy is catching up but the speed of deployment often outpaces it.

What this moment asks of companies and communities

There are several responsibilities that emerge from this incident.

• Transparency: When an AI is added to a device, companies should clearly state what the assistant does, what data it uses, and how to disable it.
• User control: Disabling or uninstalling an unwanted assistant should be as easy as could be expected; firmware should not lock users into software they do not want.
• Respect for contexts: Bedrooms, family rooms and spaces where children are present carry different expectations; defaults should err on the side of privacy and consent.
• Accountability: Partnerships that embed services should carry accountability for the combined user experience, not diffuse responsibility across brand names.

The cultural dimension: how assistants change attention

AI assistants are interfaces not just for search or control, but for attention. When software suggests what to watch, narrates options, or surfaces ‘helpful’ prompts, it becomes an actor in cultural consumption. The curation choices of that actor — how it ranks, what it promotes and what it hides — shape taste over time.

Embedding an assistant without the user’s consent accelerates that cultural shaping in ways the public didn’t sign up for. The living room’s role as a private communal space is altered; attention architecture ceases to be a neutral background and becomes a product feature.

A path forward: frameworks for principled integration

There are constructive paths forward for device makers and platform partners who want to ship AI responsibly:

1. Default to minimalism: ship devices without persistent, always-on assistants unless users opt in.
2. Provide simple revocation: users should be able to uninstall or fully disable bundled services via the device UI.
3. Offer clear, accessible privacy dashboards: explain data flows in plain language and enable easy data deletion.
4. Separate partnership disclosures from legalese: a short, readable notice about co-branded features and their implications should be presented upon first-run updates.
5. Design with contextual sensitivity: recognize different expectations for shared screens versus personal devices.

Conclusion: a small update, a large lesson

The appearance of an irremovable AI assistant on televisions is a small technical event with outsized symbolic weight. It crystallizes tensions simmering beneath the rush to bring intelligence into every surface: who decides which intelligence matters, who collects the signals it learns from, and what rights users retain over the devices they buy.

If the conversation that follows focuses on industry revenue streams or technical workarounds, it will miss the point. The deeper question is about consent and the norms we accept when machines become partners in our daily lives. When we hand over the remote to an assistant without asking, we have given up more than a menu button — we’ve ceded part of the space where we decide what, and who, shapes our attention.

The remedy is not to vilify a single app or company, but to insist that the baseline of our device ecosystems respect user sovereignty: clear choices, reversible decisions, and the dignity of an opt-in future.