The Rotten Tomatoes Sneeze

I sneeze loud—and on purpose. I use the “Vampire” method to keep things sanitary, but for me, a sneeze is just an impromptu excuse to have fun. I oversell the delivery, honking out a tune and choreographing the recoil like I’m taking a bullet in an action film. It’s not a plea for attention; it’s just that I never sneeze once. When the first one hits, the doors have officially opened on Black Friday—and everyone is coming out at once.

My wife has transitioned from a captive audience to a seasoned critic. At first, she would just roll her eyes, but now she reviews my sneezes with the gravity of a theater scout. I’ll get a “Hmm, that’s new,” a “You really went for it,” or the most devastating: “You’ve done that before.” It has taken years, but this accidental performance art created a genuine interest in—and critique of—the work.

We all do this: absentmindedly getting invested in the weird habits of others. From the witness’s perspective, it’s a natural reaction to ongoing abnormalities. But what about the actor? What is the value of this unplanned critique?

It’s the Rotten Tomatoes effect: if you care, the rating is everything; if you don’t, it’s just data. In a world where every step is monitored and every Snapchat logged, it’s increasingly hard to separate raw data from a real review. We’re all just looking at other confused humans for an answer. Collectively, we agree on very few things—but individually, we are ready to critique minutia to death. Pizza is good; pizza with pineapple is a civil war.

So, let the review of your sneeze be a silent opinion. Let the shirt you choose be the signal of how you respond to that review. Data is just a collection of opinions; you are the one responsible for assigning them value. But to determine the value of the data, you first have to determine the value of what is being seen.

Besides, sometimes the "sneeze show" is merely a cover for a guest appearance from flatulence.

Word Count: ~325 words

Read Time: Approx. 1 min 20 seconds