[Hey friends and family, you’ll find a quick request at the bottom of this email!]
Have you ever been in a conversation where the other person wasn’t actually talking to you—but to an imaginary version of what they thought you represented?
Sometimes it’s subtle.
You ask a question, and they respond to a belief you never stated.
Other times, it’s cartoonish.
You say, “I’m not sure that’s true,” and suddenly, you’re a paid shill for Big Pharma, a secret Trump voter, or a closeted Marxist. Depends on the day.
It’s bewildering to suddenly be accused of representing something horrible that you have no real connection to at all.
There’s a name for it: The Strawman.
It’s a tactic where someone twists your words, replaces your argument with a weaker version, then defeats that weaker version and acts like they’ve defeated you.
It’s cheap. It’s lazy. And it’s everywhere.
This email is sponsored by the glass of room-temperature fernet on the table next to me. Let’s get to work.
“There are people out there who think we shouldn’t protect kids from pornography online. That’s crazy.”
— Senator Josh Hawley, April 2025, defending his online censorship bill
No one he was responding to said that.
Critics questioned the bill’s overreach. Its vague language. The precedent it would set.
But that’s harder to debate. So he made them sound insane instead.
He wasn’t interested in dialogue. He needed a villain.
So he built a strawman and lit it on fire.
Strawman arguments are a form of violent communication.
Not because they’re loud or angry—
but because they’re dishonest.
They hijack clarity, dragging the conversation out of the realm of observable facts and into a funhouse of distortions and clever wordplay.
They damage trust.
They punish precision.
And they make real conversation harder.
The strawman tactic isn’t new. It’s been used in politics for thousands of years.
Not because it’s strong—
but because it works when your real idea isn’t strong enough to stand on its own.
How to handle a strawman, without turning into one yourself:
1. Name the move, not the person.
Instead of “You’re twisting my words,” try:
“That’s not what I said. Can I restate it clearly?”
2. Repeat your real position, even more clearly.
Don’t get hooked. Return to the ground.
“Just to be clear—I’m not saying we shouldn’t protect kids. I’m saying we should be careful how we do it.”
3. Invite a good-faith version of the conversation.
“If you’re open to it, I’d rather talk about what I actually said—not the version you’re assuming.”
4. Walk away if you must.
Not every conversation is salvageable. Especially when someone’s committed to misunderstanding you.
Bottom line: stick to the dirt road of tangible, observable facts.
Don’t follow them into the weeds—especially if they’re flattering your ego or poking at your pride.
I think a lot about the cost of this kind of miscommunication.
Obviously in our leaders, but also in our homes.
Around firepits.
And dining tables.
With neighbors. With brothers. With friends we used to talk to easily.
There’s a kind of freedom that lives only in clarity.
Not in agreement. Not in loyalty.
In being seen as you are—not as someone’s projection.
That freedom matters.
Because when we’re misrepresented often enough, it gets tempting to do one of two things:
Shout louder.
Or go silent.
Neither one feels fully human.
So I’ll take the fernet, the campfire, and the slow, honest work of saying what I mean—even when I know someone might twist it.
I’m not perfect at it.
But every conversation is a chance to try again.
And I think that matters.
What’s landing for you in this newsletter? What’s missing?
Hit reply and tell me what you want more (or less) of.
Your voice helps shape this.