Despite what you've seen on Twitter, I am not the parent of an international footballer
And neither's Tina the bloody fibber.
I’m currently arguing with someone who’s made it their hobby to pretend to be the mother of an American football player.
That’s an association footballer from Washington, not a player of American football. It’s confusing I know.
Not half as confusing as pretending to be said hopeless lump’s mum so you can pick fights with irritated football fans, but that’s Twitter in 2023. Blame Elon Musk.
But I woke up this morning to a barrage of angry Tweets (now deleted) from someone (hastily blocked) play-acting as Weston McKennie’s mum. They decided months ago that they’d pretend on the internet to be the mother of a hopeless lump so they could get into fights with people who’d paid good money to have their afternoons ruined by a lump’s hopelessness.
It’s very, very odd. And it’s very, very widespread.
Not random people pretending to be the parents of objectively poor footballers - thankfully that’s still rare - but random people pretending to be businesses, or business owners. Sometime’s it’s for laughs, like the person who pretends to be a customer service agent on Facebook for his own amusement.
Sometimes it’s for nefarious reasons, to defraud or scam people. You really can’t trust that the person you think you’re talking to is the person you’re actually talking to.
So why, oh why, in the year 2023, do I still see businesses refusing to show reviews, or testimonials, or case studies on their websites?
Yes, a review widget might ruin the clean lines of the design you spent so much money on. Yes, maybe you’ll get a three star review that says you’re not all that. And yes, maybe your client’s logo is actually horrible and it clashes with your colour scheme.
But I’d trust a business that proudly shows off its three star ratings from real people with awful taste in logos far more than someone who says “trust me Andrew, I really am Weston McKennie’s mum.”
Something mint - this set of greetings cards that 100% commits to a tone of voice with no hedging
Deadpan cards. Maybe you’ve heard of them1. Maybe not. They make incredibly funny greetings cards in a very dry voice. It works because they commit. They don’t bottle it and bring in “a dash of this tone” or go along with writers who can’t do deadpan and claim the tone guidelines are too constrictive, or dilute a crystal clear brand voice by lampshading the joke with a cheery wink.
They’re called deadpan cards. They make deadpan cards. That’s it. Don’t expect to find some florid sensual poetry inside them.
Perfect for me. I’ve bought a load. One for a kid’s birthday, one for a mate, one for a wedding, and one just in case.
Should you ever wish to buy me a card, don’t.
If you decide to ignore that clear instruction, get a deadpan one.
As Ben Hampson reminded me, you will have heard of them if you subscribe to Nick Parker’s Tone Knob. Which you should.