Tanmay Oke

A rubber stamp stands on its handle beside a clean ink pad, both close to the lens on black lacquered stone, a small fan of plain unprinted cards lying flat in front of them. A magenta bloom of light behind dies to black and pushes their shadows toward the viewer.

Tanmay collects misspellings, which is a stranger job than it sounds and a more useful one. His argument is short: a word that thousands of people get wrong in exactly the same way was not independently misremembered by each of them. It was copied. Find where it was copied from and you usually learn more than the correct spelling would have told you.

On this name that argument does real work. The brand writes itself with one t; nearly everybody searching writes two, and the reason is mechanical rather than careless — the two-t version is a real English word every phone keyboard knows, and the one-t version is not. Autocorrect converges on the word that exists, on every device, by default. That is why the wrong spelling is stable instead of drifting, and why the spelling most people use is the one that returns the confused results.

The second half of his job is the table: what each version of the name actually opens, checked rather than assumed. He re-checks it instead of trusting the last version of it, on the grounds that a table about search results is a table about something that moves.

He is careful about one thing in particular. A spelling changes what a search engine shows you. It does not change what is behind any given address, and he will not let a page here slide from the first claim into the second — the tempting version, where one spelling is "the safe one", is not supported by anything he has checked.

He owns the spellings entry, real or fake and the promo code entry.