The Case for Giveaways
The Case for Giveaways
A day in my life as an inept lawyer
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Dear Bolu,
You must pardon my flamboyant appearance in your presence today, Your Honour. Seeing as this is the culmination of an ongoing legal battle of momentous consequence, I sought only to dress the part—that of a lawyer of unquestionable competence. However, with my black robe, woollen wig, and many other conspicuous adornments, most of which I got at the flea market—or in more colloquial terms, I bent down to select—I concede that I’m a tad bit overdressed for the occasion. In retrospect, a pair of jeans and a T-shirt would have sufficed in place of this clownery that now ungraciously mocks your court. Again, my apologies, Your Honour. Without further ado, I shall get on with the day’s business. Allow me, if I may, to make a case for the hitherto accused party and my defendant, Giveaway.
My Lord—or Lady, if you are thus inclined—it is imperative to begin with a description of the accused. How can two parties have a meaningful debate if they have differing opinions on the definition of the debated subject? How can I convince a man that tomatoes are fruits if he does not know what fruits are? Or a woman of the equivalence of the angles of incidence and reflection if she knows neither of those terms? So it matters that the beginning of any necessary argument is composed of an elucidation of the relevant terms and terminologies associated with the argument. If a shared understanding and accord can be reached in that regard, then it becomes easier to convince and be convinced of the other party’s opinions. Communication, after all, is as vital to the successful propagation of an idea as the idea itself. Ah, I digress. Now to the nature of the accused.
The Giveaway is a social engagement between two parties wherein one party, hereafter referred to as the giver, promises rewards for the fulfilment of specific tasks by another party, hereafter referred to as the receiver. The giver clearly defines the terms of this engagement in a contract of sorts, one that is open to the public and doesn’t require either party’s signature. It’s not a binding contract and can’t be tabled before the law as evidence of a wrong, misdeed, or violation of any ethical tenet. Once the contract is out in the world, receivers who find it acceptable go on to fulfil the conditions stipulated therein in hopes that they’d receive the reward. They do this only with the backing of faith, of course—faith that the giver will be compelled by his word and dignity to deliver the reward as stated in the contract. Usually, the giver keeps their word, but it does happen on occasion that they renege on the agreement. What follows is an assault by many prospective receivers on their reputation. They are called out in a rapid flurry of tweets and retweets, and dragged to the top of muddy trend tables. Such is the consequence of not fulfilling your end of the bargain as a giver.
I feel it necessary to emphasize that to construe a giveaway as such, the receiver must be required to perform some task or the other. The said task could range from challenging to petty in terms of difficulty. It could, for example, be answering a football-related question, sharing a raunchy photograph or following a social media account. Also, the reward could be anything from a free psychic reading to some sum of money or concert tickets. I would have loved to present the court with samples of these giveaway contracts, but this God-forsaken country has made it impossible. The nationwide power outage has crippled me, not so much in the physical sense as I can stand in your gracious presence, but in my ability to conveniently perform my daily routines. Hence, I’ve been unable to print out copies of these contracts or power my phone well enough to share screenshots of them. The power outage also explains my rough appearance, as I’ve been unable to press my otherwise lovely clothes. Oh, it be hard times, my Lord. Hard times indeed.
Away from these extraneous details of my unfortunate circumstances, lest my opposite number be quick and correct to decry my mutterings as subterfuge intended to garner the court’s sympathy to my client’s case, allow me, if I may, to move forward with my argument. There is some stigma associated with giveaways which often discourages us from associating with them. I’m not sure how this stigma has come to be, I can only guess, but it exists, more with specific giveaways than others. We are reluctant to participate in them, and we tend to view people who do in an unfavourable light.
What discourages us from participating in a giveaway? I’ll give it a shot. One, we may not need the reward stipulated in the contract. So what if he’s handing out MacBooks to the winners? I don’t need that right now as I own one that works just fine, and it’s the most recent model. That explains some of our reluctance to participate in giveaways, but it’s insufficient because when the reward is something we truly desire, we still choose not to participate. Second, we consider it closely similar to—if not the same as begging. Yes, begging, and we view other people who participate in it as beggars. We see the giveaway engagement as a “pick-me” affair, where individuals of little or no means congregate in hopes of winning a prize they cannot possibly obtain via other means. Oh, Daymola is participating in this Giveaway to win a carton of juice boxes. He must be so poor that he can’t afford it. We hate to be seen as people who can’t afford certain things, so we decline to participate and laugh derisively at people who do. Third, we see giveaways as the lazy-man way to achieve a goal, and we feel it will leave us morally bankrupt. We have some pride. We have some self-respect. Instead, we’ll work hard to have enough to buy a first-class ticket to Skypea than obtain it as the reward from a giveaway. And we see people who don’t mind the Giveaway as undignified.
Your Honour, allow me, if I may, to lay waste to these rationales that characterize our aversion to giveaways. The first point deserves no rebuttal, as we needn’t be compelled to participate in an event that’s of no benefit to us or one wherein we are incapable of fulfilling the requirements of the giveaway contract. If the reward is a bottle of groundnuts, we’d feel no motivation to enter the contest if we have a nut allergy. Suppose the criteria to win is a perfect rendition of Ben Mazué’s Des Nouvelles. In that case, we’d no sooner give up because we can’t speak french, and our voice is only slightly better than the unsynchronized chorus of an orchestra of crackling toads. To the second and third points, which are cases where we need the reward but are unwilling to participate in the Giveaway, I boldly proclaim that there is some hypocrisy involved. If the criterion required to emerge as a winner wouldn’t put us in the public eye, we’d be more willing to participate in it. So it’s not so much the moral dilemma that might accompany the participation that discourages us as it is people’s perception of our involvement with that act.
Furthermore, it can be argued that all of life’s rewards come in fulfilment of some giveaway contract of sorts. When we apply for jobs, we do so hoping that we’d get rewarded with the job. We do our best in the interviews. We seek the help of a French designer in tailoring our resume to fit the job description, as the French are notably stylish. This effort we put in to stand out in the application process could be likened, on some level, to what a giveaway participant does to win. But one is seen as expected, and the other is seen in a less favourable light. Oh, you say it does not make sense to compare job interviews with giveaways. Well, what’s the difference? Luck, perhaps. You often see words and phrases like, “10 lucky winners will be picked” in giveaway contracts. Well, luck is present in everything we do, even when it’s not explicitly stated, such as in job interviews. There is always some luck involved, no matter how much work we put in. So what if giveaways require a stroke of luck? Big deal! The only real difference I see between the two is that compared to job interviews, the work/effort required to win giveaways is often not commensurate with the reward. It’s as though the participants are not working hard enough for it. But does that matter? If the giver or convener of the Giveaway considers simple acts such as liking a tweet or following a page as worthy enough of a Twenty One Pilots merch, who are we to judge? Except you, Your Honour, who are we mortals to pass any judgement on the appropriateness of a reward for a task? As such, giveaway participants are not beggars or undeserving souls as we might construe them to be; they put in some effort to win the contest, and it’s okaay if they end up winning big.
As I bring my defence to a close, allow me, if I may, to make a point of one more thing. We are more averse to giveaways that promise monetary rewards than those with non-monetary rewards. Say I created a course on Udemy or Coursera, and I promise to give the course for free to any lucky fellow who follows me on 2go; you’d likely follow me if you are interested in the course and lack the means to pay for it. However, if instead, I promised the monetary equivalent of the course and the criteria for winning is the same, you’d be less likely to participate. We are more likely to participate in giveaways where the prize is free drinks for a week at MacLaren’s Pub, a high-slit dinner gown from the House of Edna Mode, or a football autographed by Ted Lasso than in those where the reward is their respective financial equivalent. Something about monetary giveaways pushes us away. And that is somewhat hypocritical, Your Honour. If we must disengage ourselves from monetary giveaways for some reason, then we must disengage ourselves from giveaways of all sorts. And I have already established that nothing “unspecial” about giveaways warrants the stigma associated with it, except our hypocrisy.
There you have it, Your Honour—my case for giveaways. Now, allow me, if I may, to retire my humble self from your court as I have just gotten news from home that power has been restored. I must make haste to plug in my devices and, as is now my religion, write a letter to my dear friend.
Fin.
P.S
This letter came in later than usual, and I apologise for that. I’m tempted to blame the delay on Daylight Savings Time, but that would largely be unfair and untrue. Besides, I don’t need saving as yet, at least not by time.
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Write you soon, merci!
- Wolemercy