When will Wordle die?
The charming little word game has captured hearts everywhere. But it has now gone through all the stages in the lifecycle of an internet phenomenon, and the rules state that it must die soon.
What the hell does ‘knoll’ mean? I was livid when Wordle threw that disgrace of a word as its daily selection. I screamed to myself (wrongly): “That’s not even a real f*****g word!” The game was new to me at the time — three or four days into it — and not guessing it felt like a catastrophe. Opening the internet, I saw thousands of people getting mad at ‘knoll’. It was cathartic. Equally, there were thousands of people getting mad at people getting mad at ‘knoll’. That, too, was cathartic in a different way.
For anyone who somehow doesn’t know what Wordle is, a quick explanation: it’s a no-frills, daily word game that gives you six attempts to guess a mystery five-letter word. With each failed attempt, coloured boxes reveal correctly guessed letters and placement. Once done, you share it on social media — this is part of the experience, if not the game itself — and other people share their scores and compare. It fosters community even as people are locked in at home. You can only play it once a day, and the word is the same for everyone in the world.
The game started a couple of months and has now gone through all the stages that exist in the lifecycle of an internet phenomenon. Which raises the obvious question: how soon before it dies and, within two days, everyone forgets it ever existed (except for a small corner of the internet that will no doubt form the resistance movement)?
Stage 1: I’m Afraid Of Americans
These mysterious green boxes began appearing on social media. At first, it was only the Americans posting them — it’s always them, isn’t it? Accompanying the boxes was a number — 199 or 234 or something, which I still don’t know the meaning of — and a fraction of six: “4/6”, “2/6”, etc. People would add little commentary; a cryptic message of self-celebration, or maybe a groan of dissatisfaction. It looked seductive. The disproportionate social and cultural capital Americans have means that most internet things, good or bad, usually start from there. The whole world subsequently picks it up. And literally, the whole world picked up Wordle. It soon became the favourite daily activity online.
There was an exotic weirdness to it at first. No one knew where it came from. There was no app on which you could play. No app, can you imagine? There are literally apps on which you get to pop pimples, but none for Wordle. No unlimited attempts or in-game purchases. Just one game a day, for an average of two to three minutes (even the option to share your score on social media didn’t exist at first). Quaintly, you had to go to a website in your browser to play. People don’t type out website addresses anymore, but here, you had to. And everyone just, for some inexplicable reason, did it. How could a simple word game change people’s internet habits? Wordle had an anachronistic charm to it; a hark back to the chaos of Old Internet, of forums and StumbleUpon and eccentric, buggy websites.
And one of the weirdest things about it was that the game came with an unwritten code: you don’t give away the day’s Wordle. No spoilers. Sure, there’s always the odd miscreant who believes they’re cleverer than they actually are, posting some ambiguous (but not really) sentence that might give it away. But somehow, by and large, people behaved themselves.
A New York Times article fortified the legend of Wordle. Josh Wardle, creator of the game — whose name sounds suspiciously like the game itself; I wonder what that’s about? — apparently made it for his partner, for her to enjoy. It was never meant to be anything more than a sweet little gesture of love. All else was a happy accident.
Stage II: F—k You I Won’t Do What You Tell Me
As the game picked up steam — it went from 90 players in November, to 300,000 in December, to 2 million in early January — the anti-Wordle movement too began to strengthen. It’s the first rule of the internet: for every action, there is an inordinately excessive overreaction. The internet, as with most places where wayward delinquents hang out every day, consists of two warring factions at any given point of time.
The first rule of the internet: for every action, there is an inordinately excessive overreaction.
It’s a high school but both sides are losers. There’s the in group, which builds a community around an ephemeral phenomenon — in this case, Wordle — and there’s the out group, the contrarians, whose designated role is to scoff and ridicule, and who themselves find kindred souls in their pursuit of nihilism. Soon enough, a sizable chunk of internetters sickened by the Wordle buzz were imploring everyone to play the game quietly (or not at all). There’s no need to post your scores, they insisted condescendingly. Don’t be a nuisance, they begged. You are the worst, they attacked. All to no avail. They still try now and then. And then they get yelled at, pounced on, and called ‘Uncle’ by everyone. Which makes them double down harder. It’s all lots of fun.
Stage III: Money For Nothing And The Clicks For Free
Around the same time, latecomers to Wordle — such as me — were scrambling to catch up. The opportunists, smart enough to sniff out the possibility of a scam, made Wordle clone apps that you had to buy on the mobile stores. They made a quick buck before being scrubbed off the internet. Lots of free Wordle copycats appeared too; you can even set your own word now and ask your friends to play your Wordle.
Soon enough, the memes and templates followed. It’s a tall claim, but I genuinely believe not a single one of them has been funny. Nevertheless, the supposed comedy is a sign of how firmly Wordle is etched into everyone’s active thought processes. Long after it’s gone, the game will be part of pop culture folklore.
Stage IV: I’ll Just Sit And Grin / The Money Will Roll Right In
Last week, the New York Times acquired Wordle, to beef up their own subscriber-only games section, for a sum in the “low seven figures”, which basically means a million dollars. Wordle had peaked, and Wardle had the good sense to cash out before the inevitable crash. But how far away is it?
The NYT has said that they’ll keep the game free “initially”, which of course means it won’t be free for long at all. Was this Josh Wardle’s milkshake duck moment — that thing where someone you thought was cool turns out to be terrible? Well, no. Not even a little. But it still led to an amusing tantrum online.
Bizarre accusations of gatekeeping and accessibility were directed at NYT as people could not fathom the possibility that they may have to pay a tiny amount to play a game they love. Everyone was “very happy for Wardle but…” they still offered ludicrous alternatives, like banner ads that pay way less than a million dollars or a crowdfunded Patreon or something. “I’ll pay him directly but I won’t pay NYT,” they claimed (falsely). Suppose I’m Josh Wardle, and my two options are: take a million dollars for a small game I made on a lark from one of the biggest media companies in the world, or rely on the complete generosity of the famously reliable faceless people of the internet, who’ll probably get bored in another week or two. Hmmm, I wonder which one I’d choose.
Stage V: This Is The End, Beautiful Friend
Once the game goes behind a paywall, it’ll lose its universal underdog appeal. A big chunk will no doubt take their business to the Times, and continue playing, maybe discovering other games that the NYT offers. It won’t be anywhere close to the several million that play right now. Others will moan about it and be completely insufferable for two days. There will be multiple op-eds lamenting the end. Then they’ll forget. They’ll find something new. A small part of the internet will carry on playing with the same religious zeal as when they first started, hopelessly addicted to the buzz. The game will continue to save lives.
What’s surprising is that the Wordle craze has already lasted far longer than it had any right to. On average, an internet trend survives for no more than three days, in three distinct parts. There’s the buzz; then the aggressive counterreaction; that’s followed by a staunch defence by the original gang. Quickly, people stop caring. Somehow, this curious game has lasted several months without dipping in popularity. But it’s coming. We all know that. It’s time to start looking for something new now, something fresh.
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