I received an email today that was three words long. "Thanks for this." That's it. That was the entire message. Below it was a signature block that I can only describe as a novella. Twenty-three lines of text. Legal disclaimers in three languages. A quote from Marcus Aurelius. Five different phone numbers. A LinkedIn badge. A sustainability pledge. A link to their calendar. A separate link to schedule a "15-minute connection call." I'm not exaggerating when I say the signature had a table of contents.
These people fascinate me. What internal process leads someone to write "sounds good" and then attach seventeen lines about their commitment to inbox zero and their pronouns and their time zone preferences and a disclaimer about how their emails may contain confidential information that, if received in error, must be destroyed immediately? I received your "sounds good," Karen. I don't think state secrets are at stake.
The Taxonomy of Signature Maximalists:
The Legal Fortress Builder: This person's signature includes three paragraphs of legal text warning you that the email is confidential, privileged, and possibly classified. If you're not the intended recipient, you must delete it, burn your computer, and turn yourself in to local authorities. Their actual email says "See attached." The attachment is a meeting invite. The legal disclaimer suggests the meeting invite contains information that could topple governments.
The Credential Stacker: After their name comes a parade of abbreviations that reads like alphabet soup. MBA, PMP, CISA, CPA, CSM, SPHR, AWS-CCP, Six Sigma Green Belt, LinkedIn Learning Certificate in Excel Fundamentals. Their email is asking where the office printer is. I don't think your Green Belt certification is going to help you find the printer, but thank you for informing me that you have one.
The Quote Person: At the bottom of every email, a motivational quote. "The only way to do great work is to love what you do. - Steve Jobs." Their email is requesting that you submit your expense report by Friday. Steve Jobs did not have your expense report in mind when he said that. He was building computers. You're asking me to document my $14 lunch.
The Calendar Missionary: Three separate links to schedule time with them. A Calendly. A Cal.com. A direct Google Calendar link. "Book time with me!" their signature screams. Nobody wants to book time with you, Patricia. We're just trying to figure out who's bringing donuts to the morning meeting. I don't need to schedule a call to confirm my donut preferences.
The Environmental Warrior: "Please consider the environment before printing this email." Bold statement from someone whose signature alone would use half a ream of paper if anyone actually printed it. The email itself is one sentence. The signature requires carbon offsets. The irony is so thick you could insulate a building with it.
The Social Media Portfolio: Links to LinkedIn. Twitter. Instagram. Their personal blog. Their Spotify wrapped. Their Strava running stats. Brother, I asked if you could join the 3 PM call. I don't need to know your running pace. I don't care about your podcast. This is a work email about a conference call.
Why Does This Keep Happening?
I have theories. These people were told at some point that a professional email signature is important. They took this advice and ran with it until they reached the opposite end of professionalism. They crossed over into performance art. Every email is now a one-act play where the closing credits are longer than the show.
Here's my email signature: my name. That's it. Somehow I have managed to conduct business without legal disclaimers, inspirational quotes, or links to my workout tracking app. It's possible. It can be done. You don't have to transform every three-word email into a contractual document followed by your entire LinkedIn profile pasted in Times New Roman.
To the person who just sent me "OK" followed by a signature that includes their Myers-Briggs type, their Enneagram number, their astrological sign, and a QR code to their TED Talk: I saw it. I absorbed it. I'm writing about you now. I hope you're proud.