There are many things I’d willingly do for love. Hold your hair back while you’re sick. Pretend to understand tax codes. Sit through an entire football match without checking my phone once. Endure your karaoke rendition of Bon Jovi without flinching. But there is one act of devotion so terrifying, so harrowing, that not even Cupid’s fiercest arrow could pierce my resolve: answering a phone call with a withheld number.

The Withheld Number: Modern Horror

What am I, some sort of medieval peasant who answers the door to any cloaked stranger knocking at midnight? No. A withheld number is the 21st-century equivalent of an unmarked white van pulling up outside your house. Who is it? What do they want? Why won’t they reveal themselves like a normal, decent phone number? It’s a digital jump scare, the phone equivalent of someone leaping out of the shadows and shouting “Boo!”

When my phone flashes “No Caller ID,” my immediate reaction is to freeze. I stare at it like it’s an unexploded bomb. My heart rate skyrockets. The call rings out, echoing in my ears like the soundtrack to my inevitable downfall. I imagine men in suits tracing my IP address. I imagine tax fraud I didn’t commit, parking fines I didn’t pay, crimes I couldn’t possibly have orchestrated because I rarely leave the sofa.

What’s the Worst That Could Happen?

Could it be the bank? The doctor? Someone telling me I’ve inherited a small castle in rural France, complete with its own ghostly governess and a tax bill the size of Belgium? Possibly. But it’s far more likely to be:

• A scammer who knows my National Insurance number, my cat’s name, and my star sign.
• A cold caller trying to sell me cavity wall insulation or a funeral plan for a funeral I can’t even emotionally process yet.
• My own sense of dread manifesting into an actual voice.

Or worse, it could be someone I vaguely know, calling with no warning to “catch up,” forcing me to fake enthusiasm while Googling who they are mid-conversation.

Love Has Limits

Do I love you enough to sit in A&E with you for four hours while you insist you’re dying of a mild headache? Absolutely. Will I hold your sweaty hand during a dental extraction while fighting the urge to faint? Of course. Will I answer a withheld call to find out if it’s you calling from someone else’s phone because yours died? Absolutely not. Leave a voicemail like a civilised human or text me your tragic predicament. If you’re in danger, ring me twice. Otherwise, you’re on your own, brave soldier.

Why Do Withheld Numbers Even Exist?

In an age where I can see exactly where my Uber driver is and what his star rating was in 2017, how is it acceptable that anyone can hide their number like a medieval assassin behind a tapestry? Show yourself, coward. If your number is hidden, I assume you’re either a scammer, my GP with blood test results I’m not ready for, or my dentist reminding me it’s been three years since my last hygienist appointment.

The Psychological Toll

Withheld numbers trigger an existential panic like nothing else. It’s the fear of the unknown, condensed into 11 vibrating digits. I could climb a mountain for love, metaphorically at least. But answering a call with no visible number feels like stepping into a void from which I may never emotionally return.

Conclusion

So yes, I’d do anything for love. I’d put up with your snoring, laugh at your terrible jokes, eat your questionable pasta bake, and even accompany you to IKEA on a Saturday. But answer a call from a withheld number?

I’d rather die in ignorance, clutching my phone to my chest, safe in the knowledge that some mysteries are better left unsolved.

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Born and raised in Sheffield, Kerry Freeman is an unrepentant tea addict, cat enthusiast, and lifelong expert in the art of looking busy while doing the bare minimum. By day, she works as a minion in a government department (no, not one of the cute yellow ones with dungarees). By night, she brings her wicked sense of humour to untypicable.co.uk as an occasional contributor, where she fearlessly tackles life’s nonsense with sharp wit, historical references, and the occasional inappropriate joke.

Kerry has no children (by choice, obviously), but she does have a cat, which is basically the same thing but with more attitude and fewer school runs. When she’s not writing, you’ll probably find her at a historical re-enactment, enthusiastically pretending she’s living in another century—preferably one with fewer emails and better hats.

The post I’d Do Anything for Love, But I Won’t Answer a Phone Call With a Withheld Number appeared first on untypicable..

If you’ve ever struggled to juggle work deadlines, laundry, meal prep, and a vague sense of dread about the state of your inbox, spare a thought for Genghis Khan. The man ran an empire the size of a continent without so much as a whiteboard or a productivity app. No colour-coded Google Calendar. No Slack threads. Not even a passive-aggressive post-it note.

And yet, he conquered half the known world before your average millennial figures out what to do with a Sunday. What was his secret? Was it ruthless ambition? Military strategy? A very large horse? Possibly. But we believe it was also something far more elusive: immaculate time management.

Here is a modern reimagining of Genghis Khan’s approach to productivity—terrifyingly efficient, suspiciously relevant, and slightly unhinged.

Conquer the Morning (and Your Enemies)

Genghis didn’t hit snooze. He didn’t scroll through medieval memes. He probably didn’t lie in bed wondering if he should start meditating. No. He woke up and immediately decided who to invade.

Lesson: start your day with intent. If not military conquest, maybe just replying to that email you’ve ignored for 11 days. Create a morning ritual worthy of a warlord. Coffee. Battle plan. Conquer inbox.

Also consider armour. Not literal armour (unless your workplace is particularly spicy), but that mental readiness—the mindset that says, “I shall tame this cursed spreadsheet, even if it takes till nightfall.”

Set Ruthless Priorities

Genghis didn’t try to “do it all.” He focused. Ruthlessly. If a task wasn’t helping expand the empire, it didn’t make the cut. No faffing about wondering whether to alphabetise the scrolls or reorganise his yurt.

Lesson: stop trying to multitask. If it’s not urgent or empire-defining, it can wait. Categorise tasks as “conquer,” “delegate,” or “burn with fire.”

A good general didn’t lose the war because he spent all morning perfecting a new siege font for the kingdom’s signage. You don’t need the perfect planner. You need a list. Possibly written on your hand.

Delegate Like a Mongol General

The man had a knack for delegation. He didn’t personally ride to every village and fill out every requisition form. He had generals for that. Trusted people who could carry out his vision with minimal supervision and a lot of horseback yelling.

Lesson: stop micromanaging. Hand things off. Trust the team. Appoint your own loyal lieutenants (or at least bribe a flatmate with tea to do the recycling).

Also, don’t underestimate the power of saying, “Can you take this on?” with a look that says or else. That’s the Genghis way—gentle persuasion backed by the implied threat of logistical catastrophe.

Stick to a Nomadic Workflow

The Mongol Empire ran off a saddle. No permanent office. No fixed location. And still somehow more efficient than a Zoom call with eleven people who all say “Sorry, you go” at the same time.

Lesson: be adaptable. Change your environment. Work from somewhere new. Take your laptop to the kitchen. Conquer the sofa. Establish dominance over a café table.

Your environment affects your morale. If Genghis could lead a war campaign while living out of a tent in minus twenty, you can probably answer three emails from your kitchen while wearing fluffy socks.

Handle Feedback Like a Conqueror

Not everyone was thrilled with Genghis. There were opinions. But he didn’t dwell. He listened (sort of), adapted (where useful), and kept ploughing forward across steppe and spreadsheet.

Lesson: not all feedback is useful. Take what helps. Leave what doesn’t. And if someone sends you a 47-point email critique at 10 PM on a Friday, you’re allowed to go full siege mode and ignore it.

Also worth remembering: not all critics are tacticians. Some are just people with time and opinions. If they didn’t help you build the yurt, they don’t get to critique the goat hide pattern.

Establish Psychological Dominance (Without Violence)

Genghis didn’t always fight. Sometimes, he won just by showing up. The psychological power of presence—of appearing organised, in control, and mildly terrifying—was key.

Lesson: hold your ground in meetings. Make eye contact. Mute and unmute with purpose. And never underestimate the power of using someone’s full name when asking for that report.

People don’t question a ruler who sounds confident. Nor do they question the woman who enters a Monday morning call with a mug that says “Crush or Be Crushed.”

Leave a Legacy (or at Least Clear the Backlog)

You might not be building an empire (yet), but that doesn’t mean you can’t channel a little Genghis energy into your Monday. Get up. Choose violence (metaphorically). Clear your inbox. Delegate like a general. Establish dominance over your to-do list.

History may not remember your calendar colour-coding, but it will remember that you got things done—with flair, ferocity, and only a mild addiction to caffeine.

Be ruthless with your priorities. Be kind to your brain. And above all, when the day threatens to defeat you, lean back in your chair and whisper, “What would Genghis do?”

Answer: probably storm HR with a trebuchet. But we’ll settle for a decisive email reply.

And if anyone asks what your productivity secret is, just whisper: “Mongol methodology.”

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Born and raised in Sheffield, Kerry Freeman is an unrepentant tea addict, cat enthusiast, and lifelong expert in the art of looking busy while doing the bare minimum. By day, she works as a minion in a government department (no, not one of the cute yellow ones with dungarees). By night, she brings her wicked sense of humour to untypicable.co.uk as an occasional contributor, where she fearlessly tackles life’s nonsense with sharp wit, historical references, and the occasional inappropriate joke.

Kerry has no children (by choice, obviously), but she does have a cat, which is basically the same thing but with more attitude and fewer school runs. When she’s not writing, you’ll probably find her at a historical re-enactment, enthusiastically pretending she’s living in another century—preferably one with fewer emails and better hats.

The post Genghis Khan’s Guide to Time Management (and Conquest) appeared first on untypicable..

Let’s face it: we’ve all got that one inbox. The digital wasteland. The scrolling hellscape of unread messages, newsletters you swear you never subscribed to, and promotions from a pizza place you visited once in 2014. The place where even the most disciplined among us lose all sense of order. It’s the digital equivalent of the drawer in your kitchen full of takeaway menus, dead batteries, and those weird plastic clips from bread bags.

Why do we let this happen? Why, in a world of productivity hacks and motivational podcasts, do we continue to let our inboxes swell like the waistband of a pair of Christmas pyjamas? This is a deep dive into the psychological, emotional, and mildly pathetic reasons we let our digital mailboxes overflow—and why, despite the rise of AI inbox organisation, we still cling to the chaos.

The Initial Optimism – The Inbox at Zero

We’ve all been there. That fresh, shiny feeling of a brand new email address. Zero unread messages. Nothing but the welcome email from the provider and maybe a verification link from a slightly dodgy website you signed up to at 2 AM. It’s clean. It’s perfect. You feel like a productivity god.

But then come the first few messages. A receipt here, a work memo there, a note from that friend who still insists on using email instead of WhatsApp like a civilised human. You think, “I’ll stay on top of this. I’ll be one of those inbox zero people. I’ll be organised.”

But you won’t. Oh no. The tide is already turning.

The Downward Spiral – When You Stop Caring

The trouble starts when the first few messages slip through the cracks. Maybe it’s an invitation to a family barbecue you’d rather pretend you never saw. Or a “quick favour” from a colleague who clearly misunderstands the word “quick.”

The first 10 unread emails become 20. Then 50. Then, before you know it, you’re sitting at 4,377 unread messages and you’ve convinced yourself that this is normal. You’ve entered the digital version of a hoarder’s house. You’re knee-deep in unread newsletters and promotional codes for websites you don’t even recognise. The thought of sorting it all feels more daunting than trying to find a matching sock in the wash.

The False Sense of Productivity

Ironically, having a full inbox can sometimes feel like you’re very important. Look at all these people trying to reach me! Look at all these notifications! Clearly, I’m a person of influence. This is the same twisted logic that makes people keep their Slack status as “busy” even when they’re watching cat videos on YouTube.

And yes, you could unsubscribe. You could ruthlessly delete. But then who would you be? A person with a tidy inbox and no constant barrage of notifications to ignore? How dull.

The Guilt and the Shame

Eventually, the shame sets in. The guilt of that one message from your aunt that you really should reply to. The unopened survey from your energy provider that you suspect might actually be important. The quiet whisper in your mind every time you open your phone and see that little red circle taunting you.

You could tackle it. You could dedicate an hour to clearing it out. But that’s exactly what they want. They want you to care. They want you to feel responsible for the digital chaos. But you won’t give them the satisfaction. You’re stronger than that.

AI Inbox Organisation – Genius or Lazy?

And now, as if the digital gods have finally grown tired of our collective inbox neglect, we have AI-powered sorting tools. These algorithms promise to clear the clutter, to find the signal in the noise, to finally bring order to the chaos. But is this a stroke of technological genius, or just a high-tech crutch for the chronically disorganised?

On the one hand, it’s a lifesaver. AI can auto-label your invoices, filter your newsletters, and even prioritise the emails you actually need to read. It’s like having a tiny, digital butler shuffling your digital paperwork behind the scenes.

But on the other hand, isn’t this just another layer of avoidance? Are we really getting more organised, or are we just outsourcing our shame to an algorithm that will one day rise up and judge us for never replying to Aunt Linda’s invitation to her 70th birthday?

In the end, it’s a philosophical question. Is it better to conquer the chaos yourself, or simply sweep it under a digital rug and let the robots worry about it?

Embrace the Chaos

At some point, you accept it. The inbox is no longer just a communication tool. It’s a reflection of your inner chaos, a digital monument to your good intentions and terrible follow-through. You’ve become a person who has 2,732 unread emails and, oddly, that feels like freedom.

So go ahead. Add another newsletter. Leave another message unread. Lean into the chaos. You’re not lazy—you’re just letting your inbox live its best, most cluttered life.

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Born and raised in Sheffield, Kerry Freeman is an unrepentant tea addict, cat enthusiast, and lifelong expert in the art of looking busy while doing the bare minimum. By day, she works as a minion in a government department (no, not one of the cute yellow ones with dungarees). By night, she brings her wicked sense of humour to untypicable.co.uk as an occasional contributor, where she fearlessly tackles life’s nonsense with sharp wit, historical references, and the occasional inappropriate joke.

Kerry has no children (by choice, obviously), but she does have a cat, which is basically the same thing but with more attitude and fewer school runs. When she’s not writing, you’ll probably find her at a historical re-enactment, enthusiastically pretending she’s living in another century—preferably one with fewer emails and better hats.

The post A Guide to Why We Let Our Inbox Get So Full appeared first on untypicable..

There comes a time in every professional’s life when the standard work email simply will not do. When “Following up on this” and “Per my last message” no longer carry the weight of your righteous irritation. When “Hope this finds you well” feels like a limp handshake and “Best” sounds more passive than aggressive.

Enter William Shakespeare, the original master of drama, passive-aggression, and overly long sentences. The Bard knew how to craft a message that both praised and insulted with precision, like a verbal dagger wrapped in velvet. Why not channel a bit of his theatrical flair into your daily correspondence? After all, if you must suffer through office life, you might as well do it in iambic pentameter. Forsooth, what better way to confuse, impress, and mildly terrify your coworkers than with the language of the greatest playwright in history?

Crafting a Proper Salutation

Forget “Dear Sir or Madam” or “To Whom It May Concern.” These are the opening lines of someone who expects their email to be ignored. Instead, try something with a little more gravitas:

• “Most Esteemed Colleague,”
• “O Noble Recipient of This Missive,”
• “Hark! To the Keeper of the Financial Spreadsheets,”

Even if you’re just chasing a timesheet or confirming a Zoom link, why not open with a line that makes your recipient feel like a minor noble at a grand banquet? Better yet, address them as if they were a beloved but slightly disappointing character in a historical epic:

• “Most Honoured but Frequently Absent Associate,”
• “To the Esteemed Keeper of PowerPoints and Spreadsheet Woes,”
• “O Sovereign of the Punctual Yet Perpetually Unavailable,”

For added flair, consider a poetic flourish to set the tone for the chaos you’re about to unleash:

• “Thou art the wind beneath my quarterly earnings, the spreadsheet to my pivot table.”
• “Ye who doth multitask with the vigour of a caffeinated squirrel, hear my plea.”

Mastering the Art of Passive-Aggression

The key to a Shakespearean work email is to say exactly what you mean while also saying the exact opposite. It’s all about the balance of tone. Consider the following:

Modern: “Just following up on this.”
Shakespearean: “Pray, hast thou given thought to mine humble request, or hast it perished, neglected, like a letter left to moulder in the rain?”

Modern: “As I mentioned previously…”
Shakespearean: “As once I spake, when the moon was full and the deadline nigh…”

Modern: “Per my last email…”
Shakespearean: “As penned in my prior missive, when the air was sweet and the coffee plentiful…”

It’s all about stretching the metaphor until it quivers under the weight of its own pretension. This is not the time for brevity. Make every word a tiny soliloquy of barely restrained frustration.

Flattery, With a Hint of Insult

Shakespeare was a master of backhanded compliments, the art of praising while clearly implying the opposite. This is a valuable skill for dealing with office nemeses or that one person who always replies-all unnecessarily.

• “Thy skills are beyond compare, matched only by thy talent for prolonging even the simplest of meetings.”
• “Though I envy the fortitude with which thou ignorest deadlines, I find myself in need of thy long-promised input.”
• “May this message find thee well, though I suspect it shan’t, given thy recent form.”

Or perhaps you need something a bit more pointed:

• “Thou art as reliable as a WiFi signal on a stormy sea.”
• “Thy punctuality is matched only by thine aversion to the ‘Reply All’ button.”
• “Thou hast the vision of a PowerPoint designer using Comic Sans.”

For those truly special colleagues, consider a compliment that slowly unravels into a curse:

• “May thy calendar be forever full, and thine inbox never clear.”
• “May your coffee be strong, and your WiFi eternally stable, though thy ideas waver like a Windows 95 screensaver.”
• “May thy PowerPoint transitions be as smooth as thy excuses for missing deadlines.”

Close Like a Hero (or a Villain)

No Shakespearean missive is complete without a dramatic, perhaps slightly ominous sign-off. Remember, your aim is to leave your reader feeling slightly uneasy about their life choices.

• “Yours in perpetuity, though perhaps not if these delays persist,”
• “Thine ever in mild exasperation,”
• “I remain, despite all evidence to the contrary, yours faithfully,”

Or, if you’re feeling especially dramatic:

• “With a heart full of woe and an inbox full of nonsense,”

And for the truly dramatic:

• “Yours, like a WiFi signal, ever flickering between connection and despair.”

For the extra flourish, consider a line that hints at a long memory and a penchant for grudges:

• “Forever in the shadow of thy forgotten attachments,”
• “Yours, like a ghost in the spreadsheet, haunting the margins,”
• “With the silent rage of a printer jam at 4:59 PM,”

To Email, or Not to Email?

Channeling Shakespeare in your work emails isn’t just about injecting a bit of fun into the daily grind. It’s about reclaiming the lost art of the letter, the carefully worded note, the perfectly timed verbal jab. In a world of bullet points and Slack messages, why not stand out as the Bard of the boardroom?

So go forth, dear reader. Confound your colleagues. Baffle your boss. Write work emails that will echo through the halls of corporate history—or, at the very least, get a few confused replies.

And if all else fails, remember: there is always the option to sign off with “Thus with a single click, I send my woes into the digital void.”

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Born and raised in Sheffield, Kerry Freeman is an unrepentant tea addict, cat enthusiast, and lifelong expert in the art of looking busy while doing the bare minimum. By day, she works as a minion in a government department (no, not one of the cute yellow ones with dungarees). By night, she brings her wicked sense of humour to untypicable.co.uk as an occasional contributor, where she fearlessly tackles life’s nonsense with sharp wit, historical references, and the occasional inappropriate joke.

Kerry has no children (by choice, obviously), but she does have a cat, which is basically the same thing but with more attitude and fewer school runs. When she’s not writing, you’ll probably find her at a historical re-enactment, enthusiastically pretending she’s living in another century—preferably one with fewer emails and better hats.

The post How to Write a Work Email Like Shakespeare (and Why You Should Start Now) appeared first on untypicable..

Dear Bog Roll Bandit,

Let’s begin with the basics. You know who you are. You’ve walked into the loo, seen that cardboard tube spinning on by with a single sheet of paper hanging on for dear life—and thought to yourself, “That’ll do.” No, it won’t. That one square isn’t helpful, it’s taunting us. It flaps there like a tiny white flag of passive-aggressive defiance, and quite frankly, I’m done.

Is it laziness? Anarchy? A misguided belief that you’re preserving resources for the greater good? Because what you’ve actually done is commit the domestic equivalent of a hit and run. You’ve left someone to face the existential horror of realising—too late—that there is no cavalry coming.

It’s not like replacing the roll is hard. We’re not asking you to rebuild Hadrian’s Wall. You don’t need a special licence. The spare rolls are always in the same place. You know where they are. We all do. They live there. That’s their little bog roll nest.

And yet, somehow, you decided to draw the line at one piece. Not two. Not enough for plausible deniability. One.

Perhaps you believe that leaving a single sheet absolves you from responsibility. “Ah,” you say, smugly, “I didn’t finish the roll, technically.” Well, congratulations. That’s the toilet paper equivalent of licking the last biscuit so no one else can have it.

Let’s talk logistics. That one square? Not absorbent. Not helpful. A panic-inducing whisper of a promise that crumbles at first contact. You’ve left people stranded, hobbling to the airing cupboard like medieval peasants searching for salvation.

And it’s never at a convenient time. No one discovers the One-Sheet Crime Scene mid-laundry day or when they’re casually scrolling. No, it happens in moments of urgent distress, when dignity hangs in the balance and fate lies in the hands of whoever was last in the loo.

If you’ve read this far and feel attacked—it’s because you should. This is your intervention. We’re not asking for heroics. We’re not even asking for emotional maturity. Just… change the bloody roll.

Sincerely,

Everyone Else

P.S. If you also squeeze the toothpaste from the middle, we’re not angry—we’re just deeply, profoundly disappointed.

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Born and raised in Sheffield, Kerry Freeman is an unrepentant tea addict, cat enthusiast, and lifelong expert in the art of looking busy while doing the bare minimum. By day, she works as a minion in a government department (no, not one of the cute yellow ones with dungarees). By night, she brings her wicked sense of humour to untypicable.co.uk as an occasional contributor, where she fearlessly tackles life’s nonsense with sharp wit, historical references, and the occasional inappropriate joke.

Kerry has no children (by choice, obviously), but she does have a cat, which is basically the same thing but with more attitude and fewer school runs. When she’s not writing, you’ll probably find her at a historical re-enactment, enthusiastically pretending she’s living in another century—preferably one with fewer emails and better hats.

The post An Open Letter to the People Who Leave One Sheet on the Toilet Roll appeared first on untypicable..

Productivity is a state of mind—or at least that’s what we tell ourselves after spending an entire day colour-coding our calendar, rearranging pens, and opening tabs we have no intention of reading. In a world where hustle culture is worn like a badge of honour and even naps are being marketed as “productive rest,” it’s easy to feel like you’re falling behind if you’re not launching a side business or starting a podcast.

But what if you could cheat the system? What if you could experience that smug post-productivity glow without actually achieving anything at all? It’s not laziness—it’s lifestyle design. And if you, like me, enjoy the self-satisfied feeling of a “productive day” without the faff of tangible results, then you’re in the right place. Prepare to master the subtle art of doing nothing—and looking impressive while you do it.

Step 1: Open All the Tabs

There’s no clearer visual sign of your busyness than having a browser that looks like it’s auditioning for a Guinness World Record. You don’t even have to read the tabs. Just open everything that might vaguely resemble productivity: job listings, articles titled “7 Morning Routines of Highly Effective People,” a YouTube tutorial for something you’ll never try, and a Google Sheet with absolutely nothing in it.

The trick is to cultivate digital chaos with intent. Even better, leave those tabs open overnight. Wake up the next day, glance at your screen and sigh heavily as if you’re being pulled in too many directions. If a housemate or partner sees it, even better. Nothing screams “busy professional” like a cluttered desktop and deeply furrowed brow over an article you haven’t read.

Bonus move: open a Trello board. Stare at it. Close it again. Boom—executive energy.

Step 2: Make a List So Long It Becomes Performance Art

Lists are the cornerstone of faux productivity. But you must play the game cleverly. Avoid specifics. Write down things like “strategise weekly objectives” or “engage with priorities” (whatever that means). This gives your list gravitas without ever requiring follow-through.

For extra flourish, write the list in a fancy notebook with a dramatic sigh. Then, for pure serotonin, retroactively add things you’ve already done and immediately cross them off:

• “Made coffee”
• “Opened laptop”
• “Sat near work”

You are now thriving.

If you’re feeling especially audacious, colour-code your list. This adds the illusion of organisation without actual purpose. Use words like “Phase One” and “Touchpoint.” Make your stationery do the heavy lifting.

Step 3: Rearrange Something Entirely Pointless

Have you even worked from home if you haven’t spent 45 minutes angling your desk lamp just so? Or swapped your ‘main’ mug with your ‘focus’ mug because, obviously, vibes?

This is where the illusion of control comes in. Maybe you alphabetise your spice rack (again), re-stack the Tupperware drawer, or give your plant a pep talk. These acts feel vaguely industrious but are entirely consequence-free. No boss is going to ask for an update on your wardrobe’s sock arrangement.

Don’t forget the cleaning that isn’t cleaning. Wiping down an already pristine surface with a vague air of contemplation counts. Bonus points if you do it while holding a mug you’ve reheated four times but never actually drunk from.

Step 4: Use Ambiguous Business Jargon in Conversation

Nobody needs to understand what you’re saying—as long as it sounds like you’re knee-deep in corporate warfare.

Phrases like “I’m circling back on some Q3 insights” or “I’m just aligning some deliverables across key verticals” will do. They mean nothing. They solve nothing. But they impress everyone—including yourself.

Even if you live alone, this still works. Narrate your lunch as if you’re hosting a webinar. “Let’s pivot to leftovers with a low-friction reheat strategy.” Suddenly, your fridge is a brainstorming session and your microwave a visionary tool.

Step 5: Be Strategically Online

Being online doesn’t count as scrolling endlessly through cat videos (though we’ve all earned that). Instead, pepper your digital presence with just enough effort to suggest you’re in demand.

Send one work-adjacent message on Slack. Like a couple of productivity influencers’ posts on LinkedIn. Maybe post a cryptic tweet: “Big things coming ” (you mean a sandwich).

Reply to an email thread from three days ago with “Just bumping this up the chain!” People will think you’re keeping things on track when really, you just remembered it existed.

Meanwhile, you remain firmly planted on the sofa, half-watching Bargain Hunt.

Step 6: Wear ‘Productive’ Clothes You’ll Never Take Outside

There is a category of fashion that exists solely for the illusion of busyness. Think: smart jumper over pyjama bottoms. A pair of glasses you found in a drawer. Maybe even shoes. Indoors. For no reason.

Wearing an outfit that says, “I might have a Zoom call later” is key. No one can say you’re not working if you’ve put on trousers. Even if it’s just to pace around dramatically while reading text messages.

The tote bag hanging by the door? Purely decorative. It hasn’t been outside since 2021, but it makes you feel like someone who has errands.

Fake It ‘Til You Log Off

In a world that won’t stop asking you to do more, be more, optimise more—there’s something quietly revolutionary about looking busy while doing the absolute minimum.

Productivity theatre is an art. A wink to the world that says, “I could be grinding—but I’m choosing vibes.” All it takes is a little theatre, a few well-placed phrases, and a calendar notification you can ignore with purpose.

You don’t need measurable outcomes. You need a list, a latte, and the moral superiority that comes from pretending you’ve absolutely smashed the day.

And if all else fails, just tweet “busy day today!” and take a nap. You’ve earned it.

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Kerry Freeman

Born and raised in Sheffield, Kerry Freeman is an unrepentant tea addict, cat enthusiast, and lifelong expert in the art of looking busy while doing the bare minimum. By day, she works as a minion in a government department (no, not one of the cute yellow ones with dungarees). By night, she brings her wicked sense of humour to untypicable.co.uk as an occasional contributor, where she fearlessly tackles life’s nonsense with sharp wit, historical references, and the occasional inappropriate joke.

Kerry has no children (by choice, obviously), but she does have a cat, which is basically the same thing but with more attitude and fewer school runs. When she’s not writing, you’ll probably find her at a historical re-enactment, enthusiastically pretending she’s living in another century—preferably one with fewer emails and better hats.

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