Who’s to Blame

Not the Worst Journals began the moment our founder realized the world had run out of honest gifts. This epiphany occurred while searching for a Father’s Day present and discovering that every option available was either heartwarmingly earnest or designed for a man who cries at sunsets. His father, however, would sooner flambé himself than fill out a “100 Reasons I Love You” workbook.

Faced with the horrifying reality of saccharine gift culture, he did what any responsible adult would do: he created a journal that gently mocks the recipient until they develop personality growth out of sheer embarrassment.

Since then, Not the Worst Journals has evolved into a sort of anthropological project – an ongoing study of human dysfunction, generational trauma, and the strange urge we all feel to give our loved ones objects that say, “I care about you deeply, but let’s not get weird about it.”

These journals exist because the world currently resembles a collapsing circus tent: flashing lights, clowns multiplying, and no clear exits. Humor is the only tool left that doesn’t require a prescription or a functioning healthcare system. Self-awareness is optional but encouraged.

If these journals roast people, it is only because roasting is sometimes the last remaining love language when society is on fire. And if they roast babies, well, babies will never read this, and if they do, we have larger problems.

Not the Worst Journals is, at its core, a testament to the belief that the best way to face chaos – personal, global, or otherwise – is to point at it, laugh, and then write something down so future historians can understand where it all went wrong.

No one is spared.
Everyone is invited.