Love Story for Sale: Wordle and the New York Times
“I think people kind of appreciate that there’s this thing online that’s just fun. It’s not trying to do anything shady with your data or your eyeballs. It’s just a game that’s fun.”
—Josh Wardle, creator of Wordle
On Jan. 3, 2022, the New York Times published a piece by Daniel Victor titled “Wordle is a Love Story.” It’s truly worth the read if you’re into irony and foreshadowing. Because twenty-eight days later, the Times proved that McCartney/Lennon were full of shit when the newspaper bought Wordle, the daily word game that has given a whole lot of us new purpose, for the menial price of something “in the low seven figures,” the Times was quoted saying in its own story.
If you don’t yet know that love story, it goes like this: Boy meets girl. Boy and girl fall in love. Boy and girl have fun with word puzzles. Boy creates a word puzzle just for him and the girl. It’s a great, fun little game. Boy and Girl share it with family in their WhatsApp thread. The family likes playing it as much as Girl does. The Boy, fortunate in love and game development, decides to share it with the world online. The game, Wordle—a play on Boy’s last name, Wardle—gets real popular real fast.
It's free. It’s fun. It’s open to a gazillion laypersons’ interpretations of how to strategically guess that first word. Or more to the point, those first five letters. The best first five letters were scientifically broken down by neat dorks. It’s a little like Wheel of Fortune without the ball gowns. But better. And best played in bed first thing in the morning.
A big draw to the game for me was its backstory. How very 2022. What partner would want a mixtape/Spotify playlist when they could get their very own word puzzle? It was simple. It was fun. It was accessible. It was charming. And that’s all it needed to be.
Part of the charm was that it was one word for all of us. You get one shot at it a day giving us all something to look forward to in moderation. Anyone with access to the internet could play. Wordle was connective tissue in an otherwise disconnected world.
And so, of course, some highroller with deep pockets had to come in corporatize our good time. It’s like we were all kids playing Dungeons & Dragons in the basement, then our parents came home and told us dragons aren’t real and dungeons are for German sex deviants only.
Oh, make no mistake, I’m still enough of an American Capitalist to respect and celebrate Josh Wardle’s ability to make bank on his invention. I’m just disappointed that it happened so quickly. But, c’mon, what did I expect?
Any good idea, no matter how innocent and intended for kicks and giggles, is chum in the waters for Big Business. The way the companies buy each other up and devour the little guys to turn an even bigger profit and bigger name for itself on the NYSE is the most American thing they can do.
In its story about it buying Wordle, the NYT rationalizes the purchase by saying, “The Times remains focused on becoming the essential subscription for every English-speaking person seeking to understand and engage with the world. New York Times Games are a key part of that strategy.”
Frankly, it’s impressive Amazon didn’t grab it first. Or Meta, or Alphabet, or some hedge fund like the ones that bought the Chicago Tribune or The Second City. I admit, Wordle is in better hands with the Times than with any of those monsters. Still, how long until Wordle slips behind the paywall? How long until the Times offers up options for play—length of words, levels of difficulty, exclusive access to subscribers? All that takes the charm out of the original game. I’m all for evolution over here, but not at the expense of charm. Never.
Again, good for Josh Wardle. He made a game to please his partner, then a few million bucks to please his retirement plans. Kudos. Truly. And maybe nothing will change. Maybe the Times will maintain the charm—the connective tissue we’ve come to love every day. Maybe. But that’s not where I’d put my money. Because there is not an instance where a big company purchased a little thing and maintained all the charm that made it attractive to buy in the first place.
It’s the commoditization of our connectivity. The commoditization of our love stories. If there’s a five-letter word to name this commoditization, it’s UPSET. But MONEY would also be a good first guess.
