There was a time when creating a password was simple.
Password: susan
Done.
Nobody yelled at you.
Nobody told you it was “weak.”
Nobody demanded a capital letter, a number, a symbol and apparently proof that you were worthy of accessing your own account.
Then somewhere along the way, the internet decided Susan wasn’t good enough.
Fine.
Susan1
Look at me getting all technologically advanced.
Then came the capital-letter requirement.
Then a number.
Then a special character.
So suddenly we were creating things like:
Susan1964!
And for approximately six glorious minutes, THAT was considered a strong password.
Not anymore.
Now you try to create a password and the website starts negotiating with you.
Must contain at least 12 characters.
Okay.
Must contain one uppercase letter.
Fine.
Must contain one lowercase letter.
Obviously.
Must contain a number.
Getting a little demanding, but okay.
Must contain a special character.
How special?
Would you like an exclamation mark, or should I locate an ampersand and a small drawing of a goat?
So you finally create:
WinstonLovesCookies27!
Nope.
Password cannot contain a common word.
EXCUSE ME.
So now we’re making passwords that look like someone dropped a Scrabble board down the basement stairs.
Qz7!Br#92Lp@X
Excellent.
Completely secure.
Including from me.
And then comes my favourite:
Please confirm your password.
I DON’T KNOW IT.
I CREATED IT FOUR SECONDS AGO AND IT’S ALREADY GONE.
So you click Forgot Password.
They email you a code.
You leave the password screen to check your email.
You find the code.
You come back.
Your session has expired.
This is how perfectly reasonable people end up yelling at an iPad.
Eventually you reset the password.
And then comes the final insult:
Your new password cannot be the same as one of your previous 12 passwords.
TWELVE?!
I don’t remember what I ate for lunch yesterday. You think I’m maintaining a historical archive of my banking passwords?
So you invent another one.
This time you’re smart.
You write it down somewhere safe.
And we all know what happens when someone our age puts something “somewhere safe.”
It is never seen again.
Six months later, you’ll find it inside a Christmas card from 2019.
And don’t even get me started on websites that make you change your password every few months.
Your password has expired.
Expired?
It’s a password, not yogurt.
Apparently my password has a shorter shelf life than the mustard in my refrigerator.
And now we have two-factor authentication.
You enter the password.
Then they text your phone.
Then you enter the code.
Then they ask:
Is this really you?
YES.
IT’S ME.
I’M THE ONE WHO HAS BEEN TRYING TO GET INTO THIS ACCOUNT FOR THE LAST 17 MINUTES.
At this point, I don’t even know what I’m logging into anymore.
I could be checking my hydro bill.
I could be accessing NORAD.
All I know is I’m exhausted.
And somewhere out there is a 25-year-old casually saying:
“Just use a password manager.”
Oh good.
Another password.
❄️ Arctic Blonde Society
Where we remember when the biggest security question was:
“What’s your mother’s maiden name?”
And we actually knew the answer.
