I’ve heard the rallying cries, the demands for peace, requests for justice, and I know the one thing that can bring us together: a rambling, self-aggrandizing think piece about Wordle.

Wordle is one of the few things we can agree on at the moment, and, despite its triviality, might be what some of us are holding onto for a better tomorrow. By writing this piece, I’ll not only appeal to the lowest common denominator that people can relate to, but I’ll posit myself as a hero amongst the writers and academics—look at me, writing something substantial about this trend! I’ll turn nothing into absolutely something.

I’ll start with an anecdotal lede—a story about my Wordle thought process that my friends so dearly cherish when I explain to them—then go into statistics and memes about how everyone plays. I’ll throw in one of my tweets in there, slipping it into the fold of the slew of funny tweets I’ll select, then mumble about how perfect this era in time is for something like Wordle to flourish.

I have to throw in some buzzwords that make eyes glaze over—“pandemic winter,” “lockdown ennui,” and “cultural zeitgeist” should do the trick. A paragraph or two about how this game could have never thrived during the Trump Administration—he’d be manufacturing his scores on Twitter and pretending he got it right the first time every day—yes, mention Trump tweets, this is perfect—and how the sleepy Biden era paired with Omicron lockdowns was an optimal place for a new craze to emerge. Yes, this is what can bring us together!

I’m already brimming with excitement at the reaction this insufferable piece will have when it comes out. I’ll use my journalistic toolbox—my verified Twitter account with 4,523 followers and a bio touting where my “words” have been published (@tnyshouts), not even a big deal—to craft a perfect tweet promoting my work.

“for (the @newyorker/@slate/@vox/@i_D), i wrote about wordle & how it’s the only thing we can agree on <link>”

No capitalization—I need this piece to seem blasé, like I wrote it during one sleepy morning, turns of phrase pouring out of me as easily as an overflowing cup, when in reality I’ve overthought every sentence and am convinced of the piece’s greatness and swift rise to the top of Twitter chatter. Four hours later—I was out getting groceries or something, no big deal that I’ve just submitted my literary and philosophical ideas to the world—I’ll post a screenshot of my favorite part of the piece, with an eye-catching sentence highlighted.

“In this way, Wordle not only postulates itself as a quick mind game—which, as psychology tells us is beneficial to mental strengthening and self-esteem depending on our correctness—a daily morning check-in between family members, but a way for globalization to rapidly ensue—albeit a perfunctory one, as if its creator, Josh Wardle, was unaware the peace and community—if only for a moment—five letters could bring.”

A long-winded sentence with several words I discovered when searching for synonyms, one that while lengthy, says really nothing at all? Pretentiously asserting Wordle as some harbinger of world peace, making it seem more important than it is, while hypothesizing a function Wardle would absolutely rebuke? It’s fucking perfect.

Can I email this to Putin or something?


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