Back in the day, this bad boy could print, send, and annoy people all at once. Photo / 123rf
I recently wrote about the possible return of the VHS tape.
To my surprise, that story caused quite a stir among the Raleigh 20, iconic shirt, and bearded hipster community.
It seems nostalgia isn’t just alive and well; it’s got a sourdough starter and a Spotify playlist of Fleetwood Mac remixes.
But the biggest question that came back, by email, NOKIA 3210 TEXT MESSAGE (you’ll know if you had one), and one handwritten note with a self-addressed envelope (which felt very on brand), was this: What about the fax machine?
Ah, yes, the fax.
The only piece of technology with a song as beautiful as the dial-up modem.
That sweet electronic screech that said, “Hang on, mate, I’m doing something important”.
It was half dolphin, half recorder played by an orchestra of 5-year-olds.
But you knew that sound meant business time!
I love feedback from readers … so I did some thinking ... and after a few too many coffees, I realised ...
It just needs a bit of an update (or, for a business case, a rebrand – a strategic refresh to realign its core competencies within the omni-channel space).
So today, I proudly present FAX 2.0.
Now, before you roll your eyes or check if this article was accidentally faxed in from 1987, hear me out.
The fax machine was the original multitasker.
It could print, send, and annoy people all at once.
It was the social media of its day, only slower, louder, and with far more risk of a paper jam.
FAX 2.0 would bring that magic back.
The same machine, the same whirr and beep, but fully integrated into today’s world of social connection and mild chaos.
First up, there’s Faxbook.
It’s just like Facebook, except you don’t scroll, you roll. Your feed literally rolls out of the machine on thermal paper.
You don’t “like” posts; you circle them with a red pen and re-fax to the sender.
And when someone shares a photo of their breakfast, you have to wait three minutes while it prints line by line, in glorious smudged monochrome.
It’s social media you can smell; that warm, inky scent of connection.
Then there’s FAXedIn.
It’s like LinkedIn, but every networking opportunity begins with that scream of dial-up.
Your CV arrives slowly, dramatically, each page curling into existence like it’s been blessed by suspense.
Recruiters can’t just scroll past; they have to watch your achievements (we believe you once “spearheaded a cross-functional initiative to optimise office morale”) emerge one crunchy pixel at a time.
And for the younger crowd, there’s FAXchat.
Think Snapchat, but for people who still own staplers.
You send a message, it hums and screeches its way through the machine, slowly curling out the other side before being fed directly into a shredder.
The message lives for all of three glorious seconds, long enough to smell the warm paper and admire your own wit… before it’s reduced to confetti.
It’s social media in its purest, most honest form.
Nothing stored, nothing screenshot, no trail, no trace.
Just the fleeting rustle of paper, a sigh from the shredder, and silence.
Of course, FAX 2.0 would have to move with the times.
I imagine it fitted with artificial intelligence that corrects your spelling, judges your tone, and adds emojis in the margins for emotional support (seriously, what is up with that rocket).
It could sync with Bluetooth and even flirt with your printer.
But in truth, what I miss most about the fax isn’t the machine itself. It’s the pace of it all.
The sense that communication was something you waited for.
You sent your page, crossed your fingers, and hoped it would arrive somewhere far away, maybe in another office, another town, another world entirely.
A business postcard.
It wasn’t instant. It wasn’t perfect. It required patience.
The fax taught us that some things take time, time to breathe, make a coffee and chat to others waiting to use the fax.
Maybe one day, when we’ve had enough of filters, DMs, and blue ticks, we’ll return to the fax.
We’ll stand there again, waiting for the paper to feed through, listening to that familiar song of connection.
A sound that says, “Hang on, mate, the future’s coming through”.
Finally, if you would like to reply to this article, feel free to fax me.