Coming to Grips With Your Inadequate Email Signature

Yeah, you read that right. Think about it: how many emails do you send per day here at Kenyon College? The answer is probably quite a few. Has it occurred to you that you, my friend, are representing yourself completely and utterly inadequately? It’s more likely than you think.

Let’s set the scene. It’s a Tuesday, and your group project is coming up at 2:40 on Thursday. The group member that shared the Google doc with you two weeks ago for no apparent reason shoots you an email about meeting one last time before the presentation. And suddenly, you notice that their email signature is longer than the actual email. That’s right—we got name, we got pronouns, we got that they’re a synoptic major (they list each discipline, for a total of seven), we got concentration and not one, but two minors, we got class year, we got hometown for some reason, we got a bulleted list of extracurriculars, we got P.O. box number… in fact, it seems that attached is their entire résumé. 

Suddenly, your first and last name signature seems horrifically mediocre by comparison. Never did it occur to you before this moment that on, you’re a complete and utter academic failure. So, as you grieve whatever semblance of competence you once felt you had, let’s walk you through the five stages of grief.

  1. Denial and isolation: This is where you shut out your friends and peers, particularly your group members for that project. For years now, you’ve thought you were enough. But no longer.
  2. Anger: How dare Janice Overachieverson make you feel this way? Who cares about their synoptic major? What even is that? Should you have done something that cool? Shit.
  3. Bargaining: Maybe if you declare one now, you’ll still have enough credits to graduate in 5 years. 
  4. Depression: Every professor who you have ever sent an email will never know you were in the Beekeeping Club. You’re doomed to a legacy of mediocrity.
  5. Acceptance: So you can explain your entire Kenyon career in one breath. So what? Relish in your overwhelming averageness. You, my friend, cannot compete.

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