Marcel Winatschek

Still Friends with Tom

I barely remember it now, but there was this time when MySpace mattered. When the internet piped and wheezed and you’d customize your page, change your song, agonize over your top eight.

Tom was there—Tom from MySpace, the founder’s face on every profile by default. You didn’t add him; he was just *there*. Everyone was friends with Tom. He became part of the landscape.

Now some designer is selling Tom’s face on a t-shirt for 160 euros. Tom’s still grinning. Still innocent. Still the friend you never asked for. Except now he costs money.

I get why people would buy it, though. There’s something about Tom that predates all the poison—before Twitter got vicious, before Instagram got envious, before TikTok got algorithmic. Tom feels like a fossil now.