Editor’s note: Billy Warden is a writer, marketing exec and multimedia producer based in the Research Triangle, where he co-founded the p.r. agency GBW Strategies. He writes a column exclusively for WRAL TechWire.

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RESEARCH TRIANGLE PARK – It seemed like a miracle. In early January, mainstream news outlets reported that millions of people – women, men, white collar, blue collar, short, tall – were gleefully amusing themselves with a humble word game called Wordle. Players get six chances to guess a five-letter word. The tight grid of boxes is stunningly simple. And, reporters underscored, it’s free.

Fans and commentators spoke in reverent tones, praising the Wordle’s lack of ads and upsells. Here was the Holy Grail – a joyous community experience free of conning, caterwauling commerce.

A Big Apple-based software engineer had developed Wordle simply to please his true love, a fan of crossword puzzles. Of the guileless presentation, creator Josh Wardle said, “ … it feels quite innocent and it just wants you to have fun with it.”

Just. Have Fun. Could it really be that simple?

Users have six
tries to guess the word — that’s it …
(Photo credit: Brook Joyner/CNN)

Of course not.

Within weeks, The New York Times announced it had bought Wordle, adding that the game would remain free … “initially.”

Fans despaired. Reporting shifted to social media posts such as: “The NYT took one nice and simple thing that a lot of people really liked, a dumb bit of fun in our exhaustingly dark times, and implied that they’ll stick it behind a paywall.”

The Wordle whirl underscores a familiar dilemma: Purity sells, but commerce is rarely if ever pure.

We cherish ideas and things that seem simple and pure. Superman fighting for truth, justice and the American Way. Snow White wanting nothing more than flowers and butterflies for the Seven Dwarves and everyone else.

We navigate so many deceptions every day – from robo-calls to office politics to TV commercials to romance – that finding something true-on-its-face is a refuge. A quiet house on the world’s most peaceful lake caressed by history’s softest sunbeams.

Flashback to the mid-’90s when a techy named Jeff Bezos introduced us to an elegant little online hub for buying books. Great! I mean, what could possibly get complicated about that??

Of course, the refuge we *think” we’ve found often proves an illusion or is summarily torn asunder. And our sigh of relief at finding something ‘uncorrupted’ becomes a cry of betrayal and bewilderment.

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The passion for purity is especially strong in the arts; music in particular. The stage was set back in the ‘60s when a disgruntled fan screamed “Judas!” at Bob Dylan as he traded his acoustic guitar for an electric.

Three other musical icons make interesting and possibly instructive contrasts for dealing with the concept of purity as an asset and Albatross.

The Clash careened onto the punk rock scene in the late ‘70s, leveling withering criticism at governments, capitalism, the record business, all aspects of the Establishment. The apparent purity of these agents of truth had fans – including this one – touting them as “the only band that matters.”

But as more and more people flocked to this seemingly pure, uncorrupted enterprise, corruption – or the appearance of corruption – set in. The band landed a fat record contract. Radio stations that shunned punk rock embraced them. Huge tours made them look to some like exploitative old school rock stars.

After a couple tortured years trying to reconcile its intentions with its success, The Clash imploded.

By contrast, years earlier, The Who had broken out with the anti-Establishment anthem “My Generation,” including the classic line, “hope I die before I get old.” But The Who did grow old – without facing anything like the backlash that hobbled The Clash. They managed this in part by owning up to their own compromises. Lyricist Pete Townshend noodled endlessly on his band’s doubts and growing pains – and enough fans remain interested to keep The Who upright even today.

Finally, there’s KISS, the grease-painted gods of heavy metal thunder that embraced maximal capitalism, forever prodding fans to buy, buy, buy everything from branded belt buckles to caskets. Some scorned them, sure, but millions more bought, bought, bought.

So to return to word games, keep these 12 letters in mind: e-x-p-e-c-t-a-t-i-o-n-s. Purity is an impossible ideal that we consumers are forever drawn to and doomed to be frustrated about. The trick is managing expectations. Clinging to an impossible ideal is futile, even destructive. Products and services, like people, get dirty. Better to allow for change and be honest about compromises and growing pains.