The Mandela Effect

In the early 1990’s the comedian/actor Sinbad starred in a movie titled Shazaam. The family-film, in which Sinbad played a genie who finds himself the servant of an upper-middle class family, wasn’t a box office smash by any means, but it did build a small cult-following when it was released on VHS. Many children who grew up in that era, who are now adults, have fond memories of the film. Some can describe specific scenes—a pool party climax, for instance—while others can recite lines from the film, word for word. There’s only one problem: The movie doesn’t exist. And Sinbad claims he never made it.

So, how does this happen? How can so many people have a specific memory that doesn’t exist? This phenomenon of collective false-memory has been dubbed the Mandela Effect. Nelson Mandela died in 2013, and yet there are thousands of people throughout the world who specifically recall watching his televised funeral in the 1980’s. Another commonly reported false-memory is that of the Berenstain Bears. Or, as, again, what thousands of people claim, was once spelled the Bernstein Bears. (Interestingly enough, my computer’s spell check recognizes Bernstein, but not Berenstain.) So, again, how can so many people have the same false-memory?

Of course, there are rational explanations for a phenomenon like this, but that’s no fun. I’d rather talk about an irrational explanation—something paranormal theorists refer to as “alternate timelines.” Think about it for a minute. What if there are numerous dimensions? And sometimes we, as individuals, split off and travel down a different timeline than others. I know exactly what you’re thinking right now: This guy is bat shit crazy. But then again, you’re still reading, so you must be at least somewhat curious. And I’ll admit, this theory does sound crazy at first, but is it anymore crazy than believing that there is an invisible all-knowing entity looking down us and judging our every decision? If that wasn’t something engrained into your mind since a young age, I’d be willing to bet you might think that’s as equally crazy as alternate timelines.

So, this alternate timeline idea, I’ll admit, when I first heard about it, I thought it was, well, for lack of a better term, bat-shit crazy. But recent events have got me really thinking about it. You see, there was a time in my life when an expected outcome of an event resulted in that expected outcome. But then, sometime about a year ago, all of these expectations—no matter how educated the guess appeared to be—suddenly began to become meaningless. In retrospect, I suppose it started with the NBA playoffs. Oklahoma City had a demanding 3-1 series lead over Golden State. And then, against all odds, they blew it. In the finals, Golden State suffered the same exact fate against Cleveland. Fast forward to the World Series. Same thing—the Cleveland Indians blow an unprecedented 3-1 lead. A week later, the Presidential Election. There was no possible way Trump could win. We all know how that turned out. Super Bowl—28-3 lead in the third quarter. Blown! And now, the Oscars—the Best Picture goes to La La Land! But hold on just a second…

I feel like I’ve entered this strange timeline where all expected results never end up quite how I imagined they would. It’s almost as if everything suddenly needs to come right down to the wire. Everything needs to be packed with an exciting twist that nobody saw coming. As if M. Night Shyamalan is scripting our reality. Now, I’m only 34 years old, but for the first 33 years of my life, if a football team had a 28-3 lead in the third quarter, that team won the game. And if a film was handed a trophy, they got to take that trophy home with them. I don’t know exactly what’s been going on lately, but if these athletes and entertainers are going to stand up after these events and give credit for these unexpected outcomes to an invisible entity in the clouds, then I’m at least going to consider the possibility that I’ve somehow skipped over to a timeline alternate to the one I had been previously living in. Call me bat-shit crazy, but the more I really think about it, the more I begin to remember that Sinbad genie movie.