I don’t have a favorite meme. I’m not even sure I trust people who do. That feels like being asked to name my favorite paper towel. I’m sure one has been helpful at some point. I’m sure one served an important purpose in a moment of need. But I did not laminate it, frame it, and pass it down to my grandchildren.

“Gather around, children. This is the meme that got Paw-Paw through 2017.”

No. Memes are not treasured heirlooms. They are disposable little jokes we fling at each other when typing complete sentences feels too ambitious. And that is fine. I am not anti-meme.

I understand the basic concept. Sometimes a picture of a confused dog, a smirking Willy Wonka, or a woman yelling at a cat can communicate something words simply cannot. Usually that something is, “People are exhausting.”

Still, asking me for my favorite meme assumes memes occupy some deeply meaningful corner of my soul. Like I’m sitting around with a cup of coffee, staring wistfully out the window, thinking, “Of all the images with Impact font, which one truly defines my journey?”

I’m not. I have favorite songs. I have favorite movies. I have favorite books. I even have favorite bourbons, which is probably the healthiest of those categories because at least the bottle has the decency to be expensive enough to make me pretend I’m thoughtful.

But a favorite meme? That’s harder. Maybe my favorite meme is “Hang in there, baby,” because at least it has the decency to be obvious.

There’s a cat. The cat is hanging. The message is that the cat should continue hanging.

I understand the assignment. It doesn’t require me to know five layers of internet culture, three political arguments, two TikTok trends, a Reddit thread, and one movie quote from 2008. It’s just a cat on a branch saying, “Life is difficult, but please continue gripping the stick.”

Honestly, that may be the most honest thing the internet has ever produced. But even then, I don’t know that I would call it my favorite. It feels less like a meme and more like ancient emotional cave art. Somewhere, early humans drew buffalo on stone walls. Later, our civilization advanced enough to put a kitten on a poster and tell office workers not to quit before lunch.

Progress is complicated.

The problem is that most memes are funny for about six seconds. Then they are everywhere. Then your least funny relative discovers them. Then they are dead.

That is the circle of meme life. First, someone clever makes a joke. Second, everyone shares the joke. Third, brands discover the joke. Fourth, a bank posts the joke with the caption, “That feeling when your savings account is thriving.” And at that point, the meme must be taken out behind the barn and allowed to die with dignity.

So no, I don’t have a favorite meme. Maybe my favorite meme is one that makes fun of memes. Maybe it would be a picture of a tired man at a computer, staring at a prompt that says, “What’s your favorite meme?” while his soul quietly leaves his body. The caption could say, “I remember when jokes had to survive without being stapled to a picture of Gene Wilder.” Or maybe, “When the internet asks you to form an emotional attachment to disposable content.” Or maybe just, “No.”

That might be the best meme of all. Just the word “No.” A powerful statement. Simple. Elegant. Applicable to almost everything.

Do I have a favorite meme? No.

Do I want to pick one? No.

Do I want to pretend I have been waiting years for someone to ask so I could finally reveal that my spirit animal is Distracted Boyfriend? Absolutely not.

I suppose memes do serve a purpose. They let us laugh at shared frustration. They give us a quick way to say, “Yes, this is ridiculous, and I’m glad someone else noticed.” They are little digital shrugs tossed into the chaos. But I refuse to pretend I have a personal meme canon.

I do not have a Meme Mount Rushmore. I do not have a sacred folder labeled “Memes That Made Me Who I Am.” I do not have a ranking system. I am not sitting here debating whether Condescending Wonka has more cultural staying power than Success Kid. That sounds like a conversation that happens right before someone loses tenure.

So my official answer is this: My favorite meme is any meme that mocks the idea that I’m supposed to have a favorite meme. Preferably it features someone looking tired, confused, and vaguely disappointed in civilization.

In other words, something relatable.

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Copyright © 2026 Doug DeBolt.