There is a certain irony in the fact that one of the most recognizable symbols of online protest in 2025 is a cartoon paperclip from the late 1990s. Clippy, Microsoft’s awkward but well-meaning virtual assistant, has been resurrected by Louis Rossmann, an electronics repair advocate who has spent years fighting corporate overreach in the technology sector. His recent call for people to change their profile pictures to Clippy is more than nostalgia. It is a carefully chosen metaphor for the state of modern technology—a reminder of when software, even when imperfect, was at least designed to help rather than control.
This protest comes at a time when governments and corporations are pushing forward an unprecedented wave of laws, policies, and tools that, under the banner of “online safety,” threaten to transform the internet into something far more restrictive. On paper, the intentions sound noble: protect children, remove harmful content, make platforms safer. In practice, many of these efforts risk creating an internet that is censored, heavily monitored, and far less free.
Take the Kids Online Safety Act (KOSA). First introduced in the U.S. Senate in 2022 and revived in 2025, it mandates that platforms exercise a “duty of care” to prevent harms to minors ranging from bullying to depression. That sounds reasonable—who would be against keeping kids safe? But critics warn that its definition of “harmful content” is dangerously vague. It could be interpreted to include educational resources, political speech, or personal stories from marginalized communities. For example, LGBTQ+ youth often rely on online spaces for support when they have nowhere else to turn. A poorly defined censorship framework could lead to these spaces being silenced entirely under the guise of “protection.” And because KOSA would likely require some form of age verification, it could also lead to more intrusive data collection, putting privacy at risk.
Then there is the SCREEN Act, which, like KOSA, is aimed at shielding children from “harmful” online material but takes a blunter approach: requiring age verification for any site deemed unsafe for minors. The risk here is twofold. First, it forces users to hand over personal information such as driver’s licenses or passports, raising the possibility of massive data breaches—something we’ve already seen happen far too often. Second, it sets the precedent for a two-tier internet, where anonymity becomes nearly impossible and where the price of access is the surrender of your identity.
The UK has already moved ahead with its own version of these ideas in the Online Safety Act, which became law in October 2023 and began rolling out enforcement in 2025. This law also demands that platforms block harmful content and verify user ages. The result? Platforms have begun over-censoring to avoid fines, removing not only genuinely dangerous material but also news footage, political commentary, and art. Wikipedia itself challenged the law, warning that its privacy-conscious volunteer model could be destroyed, though the challenge ultimately failed. When even a global nonprofit encyclopedia raises the alarm, it is worth listening.
And then we come to the corporate side of the equation. YouTube’s AI-powered age verification, which begins rolling out in August 2025, is an example of how private companies are adopting their own versions of these policies—sometimes going even further. YouTube’s system uses machine learning to estimate a user’s age based on their viewing history and account data, applying restrictions automatically if it decides someone is underage. If the algorithm is wrong, the user must prove their age with a government ID or credit card. This not only deepens the erosion of online privacy but also moves us toward a future where algorithms serve as gatekeepers to information and entertainment, and where the burden is on the user to prove their innocence to the machine.
The risks of this growing demand for personal data are not hypothetical. In July 2025, the Tea app, a women-only dating and advice platform, suffered a devastating breach that exposed 72,000 images—including selfies and government ID photos—and later, over a million private messages. The app was marketed as a safe, women-centric space. Instead, its failure to secure sensitive information led to a massive violation of trust and privacy. If this can happen to a niche app, it can happen to any platform collecting personal verification data under the new wave of online safety laws.
The political challenge here is balance—something policymakers often promise but rarely deliver. Safety is a legitimate goal. Harassment, exploitation, and targeted abuse are real problems that require serious solutions. But the tendency of both governments and corporations to adopt sweeping, blunt measures means that “safety” becomes synonymous with “control.” The Clippy protest speaks to this. Clippy was flawed, yes, but he did not spy, he did not restrict, he did not demand a passport scan before you could type. He was a tool for the user, not a gatekeeper for the platform.
In the current political climate, the idea of technology designed primarily for the user feels almost radical. Instead, the trend is toward technology that serves the interests of regulators, advertisers, or corporate bottom lines. KOSA, the SCREEN Act, the UK Online Safety Act, and YouTube’s AI verification may each be framed as commonsense protections, but taken together, they mark a shift toward a heavily surveilled internet—an internet where permission must be earned, and privacy is an afterthought.
This is why Rossmann’s Clippy protest resonates in a political context. It’s not just about nostalgia for a paperclip with googly eyes. It’s about drawing a line between two philosophies of technology. On one side, tools that are clumsy but ultimately serve the user. On the other, systems that are sleek, efficient, and ultimately serve someone else’s interests. The difference between being helped and being managed is not a small one.
If we care about the future of the internet, we have to be willing to engage with these debates before the decisions are made for us. That means pressing lawmakers to define their terms precisely, to build in meaningful protections for privacy and free expression, and to resist the temptation to outsource our freedoms to algorithms. It means demanding transparency from corporations that want our trust, our time, and our data. And it means remembering that “safety” without liberty is not safety at all—it is control dressed up as protection.
Perhaps that’s the quiet genius of Clippy as a protest symbol. He reminds us that technology can be both imperfect and benevolent, that its purpose should be to assist rather than to dictate. In the age of mandatory IDs, predictive AI, and vague laws about “harmful content,” that reminder might be exactly what we need.
You can check out Louis Rossmann’s video down below.