Every time I write yet another email, I can’t help but wonder: why are we still doing this? In a world full of shiny chat apps and AI-powered tools, why do we keep clinging to emails? Are they a relic, or just a habit we can’t shake—like the stubborn QWERTY keyboard?
Emails are far from perfect. For some, they’re a polite way to avoid real-time interaction—a sort of formal “bubble” where you can pretend to be too busy to reply immediately. For others, they’re little more than a digital wasteland of spam and notifications. And then there are those people who treat emails like emergency texts, demanding immediate attention with bold subject lines and exclamation marks. The result? Chaos.
What makes it ironic is that emails were created for asynchronous communication—a way to slow things down, to give people the luxury of time. Yet here we are, using emails like instant messages while muting chat apps because they’ve become overwhelming. It’s like speeding on a scenic route and crawling on the highway. No wonder everything feels upside down.
But this isn’t just about email. It’s about how we’ve managed to twist every tool out of shape. Chat apps? Muted, because we’re bombarded. Notifications? Ignored, because they’re endless. Emails? Repurposed for urgency, even though they’re designed for patience. We’re constantly mismatching tools and needs, as though we’re determined to create friction.
At least some tools try to help us. “Do Not Disturb” modes and apps like BeReal nudge us toward better habits, guiding us to slow down or focus without shouting at us. Email, though, offers no such guidance. It’s just there, neutral and blank, waiting to be misused. And maybe that’s part of its staying power: it doesn’t demand anything from us until we demand too much from it.
Part of the charm of email is its illusion of neutrality. It doesn’t buzz or flash. It waits, as if saying, “I’ll be here when you’re ready.” That illusion of formality—of distance—might be why it persists. It’s a polite tool, a buffer zone that lets us dodge the immediacy of other platforms. But is that neutrality real, or just an excuse to maintain control while secretly expecting fast responses?
There’s also something ritualistic about email. Drafting, sending, archiving—it’s a tidy little process in a world where most communication feels messy and chaotic. Maybe emails linger not because they’re efficient, but because they make us feel like we’re imposing some kind of order, however fragile, on the madness.
So why do we still use emails? Maybe it’s because they’re more than just a tool. They’re a ritual, a relic, and a false neutral zone that tricks us into thinking we’re in control. They remind us that not everything has to be immediate, loud, or attention-grabbing—even if we’ve started treating them that way.
But here’s the kicker: maybe the problem isn’t email at all. Maybe it’s us. We’re the ones speeding up what should be slow and muting what should be instant. We’re the ones piling urgency where it doesn’t belong. So, should we keep blaming email for our chaos, or should we finally admit that it’s just doing what we make it do? After all, even the most outdated tool works fine if you don’t try to use it as a hammer. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have about 47 unread emails waiting—none of which I plan to reply to today.