Where humanity meets profanity, elegantly.
For when “best wishes” is bullshit.
Some people say it with flowers. We prefer a card that makes you snort-laugh.
The Cunning Linguist makes greeting cards for people with big feelings, sharp wit, and occasionally questionable filters. The ones who express affection through sarcasm, know precisely when an inappropriate joke is appropriate, and would rather say something real than settle for another predictable greeting card.
But here's the thing: we're sentimental as hell.
We believe funny and heartfelt belong together. That a well-placed expletive can convey more tenderness than a paragraph of flowery prose. That laughter is its own kind of affection, irreverence has its place in even the most meaningful moments, and sometimes the most loving thing you can say is, “I love you, you absolute disaster.”
We're not interested in saying things simply because they're expected to be said. We're interested in saying them because they're true.
And sometimes the truth isn't particularly funny.
A little more humanity, please.
Perhaps the most important revelation of this project has been discovering just how much work we have to do when it comes to grief.
As a society, we're remarkably uncomfortable with loss. We don't know what to say, so we say nothing. We struggle to acknowledge someone else's pain, reach for familiar expressions that don't quite capture what we mean, or avoid the conversation altogether because we're afraid of getting it wrong. Too often, our discomfort leaves grieving people feeling even more alone.
We can do better.
People who are grieving don't need us to have the perfect words. They need us to show up. Be present. To acknowledge their loss, remember the person they've lost, and resist the urge to make their pain more comfortable for ourselves.
We believe the language we use matters. That acknowledging someone's grief is better than pretending it isn't there. That compassion doesn't have an expiration date, and that remembering matters long after everyone else has moved on.
Our sympathy and remembrance cards are a small step in the right direction. They won't take away someone's pain, and we would never pretend they could. But they can make it a little easier to reach out, to say something meaningful, and to remind someone that they haven't been forgotten.
We'd like to challenge the idea that we should wait until we know exactly what to say before we say anything at all. This is where profanity came in and said, "allow me".
Sometimes showing up is the most important thing we can do.
It's all part of being human.
We make cards for birthdays, breakups, new beginnings, hard endings, questionable decisions, unexpected adventures, and all the beautifully complicated business of being human.
Some will make you laugh out loud. Some might make you cry. Some will say the things you've been trying to find the words for.
All of them begin with the same idea: the right words, delivered with a little thought and a lot of heart, can mean everything.
Thoughtfully written. Deliberately designed. Occasionally profane. Always sincere.
Based in New Orleans, we appreciate a little personality, a well-turned phrase, and the occasional departure from good manners.
Find their card. Make it weird. Mean every word.
The Cunning Linguist.
Where humanity meets profanity, elegantly.