A major part of my humor relies on the audience’s knowledge that I’m CLEARLY joking. For example (WARNING: I’m about to explain an already “meh” joke, so strap in), if a friend’s ex were dating another guy, I might suggest that the friend beats on his chest and roars like a gorilla to prove he’s the alpha. Now, chances are, no human is this weird, and if you know me, you know that I’m not this weird. That, combined with my facial expressions and voice, serves to get the joke across. Over text, however, it’s a bit more of a reach. I don’t have my presence, my face, or my voice to back me up. All I have is that little blue speech bubble.
Initially, a lot of people had trouble understanding my humor, but as a writer, I adapted fairly quickly. Luckily, I already knew how to be funny in a written medium from experience, so I used things like capital letters, ellipses, and an established texting voice to get jokes across. It also helped that my audience is more or less the same as in person, just in a different context. I’m still talking to my friends and family when I text, I’m just not there. Today, I would say that most of my humor actually comes out in texts, since it allows me to send weird reaction gifs/pictures, cocky emojis, secret texts in awkward situations, and screenshots of other people being weird.
My dad, though, is a far different story. He has trouble with even the most simple text message because he keeps buying technology that he doesn’t understand, expecting me and my sisters to help, but we usually can’t, either. He had a blackberry when we had flip phones, and now that we have iphones, he has an android. Unfortunately, this, along with numerous other factors result in texts like “o k. Lov u. Take later?” Sometimes, texts from my dad have to be treated like heavily coded messages, and my siblings, mom, and I have to use each other as ciphers.