There was a time when I thought walking to my own front door was a perfectly ordinary act. Innocuous. Graceful, even, if the wind was behind me and I’d remembered to zip my coat up. But that was before I installed a Ring doorbell—before my entire sense of movement, posture, and dignity was shattered by a grainy still image captured at the precise moment I looked like I was either drunkenly lunging for the letterbox or about to be raptured.
For the uninitiated, the Ring doorbell sends you notifications every time someone or something passes by. Very useful in principle. Except every one of these alerts comes with a frozen, pixelated snapshot from the video, as if it’s trying to ruin your self-esteem one frame at a time.
I’ve started to think the algorithm is sentient—not only choosing when to notify me, but carefully selecting the most unflattering still it can manage, pausing the footage at the exact millisecond when my face looks like I’ve just realised the crushing futility of existence mid-step.
How Does It Know?
It’s like being roasted by your own house.
I walk towards the door—normal posture, no crimes being committed. I’m holding a parcel. I’ve done nothing wrong. But by the time Ring has captured me, frozen me, and served me up as a push notification on my own phone, I look like:
- I’ve just sneezed while being tasered.
- I’m in the middle of a courtroom objection.
- Or I’m delivering a Shakespearean soliloquy to the wheelie bin.
Once, it caught me with one leg mid-air and both arms half-raised, like a confused scarecrow attempting yoga. Another time, I opened the front gate and the still image made me look like I was attacking my own fence. I had to show it to someone to confirm I was, in fact, just trying to carry a Sainsbury’s bag. They were not convinced.
The Unflattering Science of the Mid-Motion Freeze
Here’s the thing: the Ring doorbell doesn’t show you a flattering video preview like you might get on FaceTime, where you can smile and wave and mentally prepare for the horror of your own face. No. Ring goes full paparazzi on you. It waits until you’re mid-blink, mid-turn, mid-nose-scratch, then clicks the shutter like a cruel caricature artist with a personal grudge.
And it’s not just me. Friends, neighbours, delivery drivers—no one is safe. I once got a notification for “Motion Detected” and the image was of the postman bent down, but the still made it look like he was kneeling solemnly in grief. Another showed a neighbour with their mouth open mid-yawn, hands half-raised like they were surrendering to a local cat.
What’s more—Ring keeps these images. As if we’ll want to lovingly revisit that time we looked like a haunted Victorian child startled by the modern world.
This Is My Legacy Now
The worst part? These stills are how my phone now sees me. My daily relationship with my own front door is a cycle of:
- Doing something ordinary.
- Being filmed like I’m on an awkward hidden-camera show.
- Being notified of it via a thumbnail that makes me question whether I’ve ever stood like a human being.
It’s made me weirdly self-conscious. I now walk up to my own door as if I’m being judged on Strictly Come Doorbell. Slow, measured steps. No sudden movements. Smile, but not too much. Don’t blink. Don’t look at the camera. Keep your arms loose but not weirdly floppy.
Naturally, the result is that I look even more unhinged. The most recent still made me look like I was stalking my own letterbox, one eye open wider than the other like I’d just remembered I left the hob on.
Certainly! Here’s the additional section added to the article with James’ signature wit and exasperation:
The Evolution of Humiliation
Just when you thought the still image humiliation was the worst it could get, Ring upped the ante. Gone are the days of a single frozen frame of you mid-blink, mid-lurch, or mid-existential collapse—now we’re blessed with animated previews.
Yes. It moves now.
Now you can watch yourself walk, in glorious, stuttery, surveillance-chic motion. A two-second loop of shame featuring you awkwardly fumbling with your keys, sniffing audibly, tripping on the step, or doing that weird over-smiley wave you thought looked friendly but now comes across as mildly unhinged.
The GIF format adds a whole new layer of self-loathing:
- The loop always starts at the most damning moment.
- Your face never moves naturally—just a strange jerky bobblehead effect.
- It plays on repeat, so you’re not just cringing at yourself once—you’re cringing 20 times in 30 seconds while you decide whether to delete it or show a mate for a laugh.
Ring hasn’t made this better. It’s simply made it animated. Like a cartoon version of yourself caught mid-existential crisis.
It’s as if Ring asked:
“How can we preserve the emotional discomfort of a still photo, but make it loop, so the shame never ends?”
Mission accomplished.
Conclusion: It’s Me, I’m the Intruder
The truly existential bit comes when Ring notifies me with a message like:
“Someone is at your door.”
And it’s me.
But the image is so unsettling that for a split second, I don’t recognise myself.
“Who’s that?” I think. “Why is that person sneaking up the drive like a cursed AI model trying to pass as human?”
Then I realise:
It’s me, walking like a normal person.
Or at least, it was.
Until Ring got involved.
James Henshaw is a brooding Geordie export who swapped the industrial grit of Newcastle for the peculiar calm of Lincolnshire—though he’s yet to fully trust the flatness. With a mind as sharp as a stiletto and a penchant for science-tinged musings, James blends the surreal with the everyday, crafting blogs that feel like the lovechild of a physics textbook and a fever dream.
Equally at home dissecting the absurdities of modern life as he is explaining quantum theory with alarming metaphors, James writes with the wit of someone who knows too much and the irreverence of someone who doesn’t care. His posts are infused with a dark humour that dares you to laugh at the strange, the inexplicable, and the occasionally terrifying truths of the universe—whether it’s the unnerving accuracy of Alexa or the existential menace of wasps.
A figure of mystery with a slightly unsettling edge, James is the sort of bloke who’d explain the meaning of life over a pint, but only after a dramatic pause long enough to make you question your own existence. His wit cuts deep, his insights are sharp, and his ability to make the surreal feel strangely plausible keeps readers coming back for more.
Discover more from untypicable
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.