Why the death of the signature is a depressing sign of the times

Simply holding a pen is becoming an alien concept for many children. So is it any wonder that the wet ink signature is on its way out?

Have we reached the final sign-off on the signature? It used to be the ultimate proof of your intention and your identity, trusted on all kinds of important legal documents. But in the digital age, signing your name seems strangely analogue – and could even be on the way out. 
In fact, the Indian-British steel tycoon Sanjeev Gupta is currently claiming that although his signature was used to certify company documents, he had not actually reviewed or seen said documents. Gupta is embroiled in a $400 million (£306 million) dispute between the collapsed lender Greensill Capital and the company’s insurer Zurich, with the latter accusing Lex Greensill and Gupta of conspiring to mislead them.
Gupta and Greensill denied the allegation. In a statement for his defence, Gupta’s lawyers said that since he was involved with a large number of companies around the world it was “simply not physically possible for Mr Gupta to sign all of the documents on which his signature was sought”.
The statement continues, “A practice evolved such that where a document may appear to have been signed by Mr Gupta, it in fact bears a stamp signature or a digital impact of his signature, and may be a document which Mr Gupta had not personally reviewed or ever seen.”
So, what if anything does a signature actually mean nowadays? If someone else can produce your signature in your absence, and even with your total ignorance of a document, as Gupta seems to be claiming here, it doesn’t fulfil either of those original concepts: proof of your identity or your intention. Quite the opposite.
But this does seem to be a particularly reckless use of a signature, if we believe Gupta’s claim. Especially since the Law Commission ruled in September 2019, following a government-commissioned study, that an electronic signature can, in “most cases”, be a viable alternative to a handwritten one. Even then, the report recommended that a document like a deed should still be signed in the presence of a witness – and not one via a video link, but by someone physically present. 
Still, it’s a seismic change from the thousands of years in which the written signature ruled. The 1677 Statute of Frauds Act enshrined it into English law, requiring that documents such as wills, contracts and grants must be signed. But a signature could be simply an “X” or initials, allowing for the illiterate to sign documents.
Flash-forward to 2000 and President Bill Clinton heralded a new era with the pivotal E-Sign Act, which facilitated the use of electronic signatures. That allowed for the rise of digital signature companies like Docusign, which enable people to open an agreement on their device (like a phone or computer) and sign it with an electronic signature.
Now the courts accept such e-signatures for most business and legal transactions, and the everyday use of the written signature has long gone. The introduction of Chip and PIN to the UK in 2004 sounded the death knell for the cheque, with the latter considered far more susceptible to fraud. After all, it’s much easier to copy someone’s signature than to find out their PIN number.
Developing technology has given us a number of secure ways to prove our identity. You can unlock your smartphone with a scan of your fingerprint or with facial recognition, and most of us now have a biometric passport with an embedded microchip that allows us to use ePassport gates at border control.
If you’re logging into a company system, you’ll probably be asked to not just supply a password (and keep updating it) but to use two-factor authentication. That means giving a second piece of information to prove your identity and your right to access the system, often in the form of an ever-changing code produced by an authenticator app.
You’re far less likely to sign for a delivery – couriers instead tend to take a picture on their phone of you clutching a package as proof. Even if you do sign, it’s usually an illegible scrawl on an unhelpful electronic device: less a signature, more like the bumpy line on a heart monitor.
The pandemic turbo-charged this trend as e-signatures became a key part of remote working. They also facilitated some of our Covid response, such as NHS staff digitally signing emergency equipment contracts to procure vital resources quickly.
Among the few people who still regularly sign their name are famous authors. The use of the “autopen” is pretty rare, although in 2022, Bob Dylan was forced to apologise after it was discovered that he had used a machine to autograph “hand-signed” editions of his book The Philosophy of Modern Song. Those 900 limited editions had sold for £498 each.
Speaking recently on The Rest Is Entertainment podcast, Richard Osman, author of the hit Thursday Murder Club book series, explained that he uses a different (more efficient) version of his actual signature when signing his novels. But, he added, “You don’t sign contracts anymore. You sign them all online. So your signature is an absolute mess. You never have official versions of your signature.” 
Osman then commented that there are some cons perpetrated in the publishing world, whereby fraudsters will contact an author pretending to be from an awards body, for example, and asking for an e-signature on a document before sending them their prize money. “A lot of people have been caught out with those because you open Adobe and sign it and send it back off.”
Whether at book signings or elsewhere, fans still cluster around celebrities to ask for their autographs – it wouldn’t be Wimbledon without the departing players scrawling their name on giant tennis balls with marker pens – but the humble signature has far less cred than a selfie. After all, the latter looks much better shared across all your social media. 
We may even have reached a stage at which many of us are physically unable to write our signature. With most children now learning to type or text on a keyboard before they can walk, just holding a pen is becoming an alien concept. Other than at school (and even there, plenty of classrooms use iPads or other devices as part of their teaching), when are they ever required to actually write anything? And is it any wonder that they struggle when they are?
In June, a survey by the National Literacy Trust illustrated that the number of children who enjoy writing in their spare time had dropped to a record low: just 28.7 per cent of the 76,000 children questioned, compared to 46.8 per cent in 2010.
Chief executive Jonathan Douglas told the Telegraph that “competition for children’s attention” was to blame for this “crisis point”. “There’s just so many things going on in childhood these days,” he explained. A large part of that stimulation was technology-based – “not just present on a smartphone, [but] on every digital device.”
That decline could have a knock-on effect. Psychologist Angela Webb, chair of the National Handwriting Association, has observed that handwriting “confers a number of cognitive, social and emotional benefits on the writer: it is a personal expression of the individual; it has a calming effect and can assist emotional communication. It helps to organise written thoughts, stimulate creativity, assist memory, and improve written composition in a number of different ways.”
I must confess my own handwriting is now completely unreadable by anyone other than myself – and even I sometimes squint at a hastily scribbled note in dismayed incomprehension. On the rare occasion that I write someone a letter, I have to ploddingly print out the words, which hardly does credit to my private education. But of course I can dash off an email or a WhatsApp message without any problem.
I can’t imagine making any kind of transaction now that relies on someone recognising, and trusting, my signature. I doubt it would look the same as a previous version if I attempted to reproduce it, which is hardly reassuring.
Does it really matter if the signature becomes obsolete? Perhaps not in a legal sense – although Gupta’s case seems to demonstrate that there are still issues to resolve when it comes to the electronic version.
But I do mourn the loss of the signature as a means of expression, and of connecting to someone down the centuries. You can glean so much from the flourish of William Shakespeare’s signature, say, or the careful looping letters of President Lincoln’s on the Emancipation Proclamation. Certainly more than you would from either of their PIN numbers.
There is also something noble and romantic about the notion that you can change a law, or indeed change the fate of your entire nation, just with a signature, or that a fellow human being will happily do business with you simply because you have signed your name, and so given your word of honour.
Perhaps that is the real sign of the times. Instead of an exchange between human beings, it’s now about numbers and data processing. It might be more efficient, but we lose something of ourselves.