So apparently my eclipse glasses might be a lie.
I ordered a five-pack off Amazon back in July for something like $9, figured that was plenty of lead time before Monday. I didn't even really look at who the seller was, just clicked the orange button and moved on with my life. Turns out that was a mistake, because Amazon started emailing people this past week telling them their eclipse glasses "may not comply with the recommended safety standards" and offering refunds instead of, you know, actual working glasses. Great. Thanks. Three days out from the first coast-to-coast total solar eclipse this country's seen since 1918 and I get to find out my sun-viewing equipment is possibly a cardboard scam.
The safety standard everyone's supposed to be checking for is ISO 12312-2. It's supposed to be printed right on the glasses. Mine has it printed on there, in a font that honestly looks a little too crisp for something that cost under two bucks a pair, which now makes me suspicious in a way I wasn't before I knew to be suspicious. That's the annoying thing about counterfeits, once you know they exist you start doubting stuff that's probably fine. NASA and the American Astronomical Society put out an actual vetted list of approved manufacturers (Rainbow Symphony, American Paper Optics, Thousand Oaks Optical, a handful of others) and told people to check their glasses against that list instead of trusting a label. I did the responsible thing, which is to say I panicked a little and ordered a backup pair from one of the AAS-approved names, at a marked-up price because everyone else clearly had the same idea I did.
Here's my actual opinion on this, and I don't think it's a popular one to say out loud: Amazon should be on the hook here, not just quietly issuing refunds after the fact. When a third-party seller lists something that could straight-up damage a customer's retinas, "sorry, here's your money back" three days before the event isn't really an adequate response. Nobody's eyesight gets refunded. I get that Amazon can't personally inspect every solar filter that ships through its warehouses, but if you're going to run a marketplace at that scale you probably need better guardrails than "we'll email you after it's too late to easily get a real pair." That's not a hot take about tech regulation in general, I just think this specific case is a pretty clean example of a platform prioritizing scale over the boring unglamorous work of vetting.
Anyway. Assuming my backup pair is legit, Monday is shaping up to be a whole thing around here. My office already sent out an email about a "viewing party" on the roof deck at 1:15pm, which is the kind of corporate event enthusiasm that normally makes me roll my eyes, except I'll admit I'm actually going. Totality isn't even going to hit where I am, we're getting something like 80-something percent coverage, but apparently that's still worth standing around outside for. My neighbor, who has never once expressed interest in astronomy in the three years I've lived next to her, has already asked to borrow a spare pair of glasses, so I guess the hype is doing something right.
The other small thing bugging me is how fast a shortage narrative turns into its own problem. A week ago you could get glasses from a dozen sellers without thinking twice. Now there's a recall scare, a rush on the legit suppliers, and prices creeping up on stuff that was basically a giveaway item at hardware stores a month ago. I saw a listing go from $6 to $19 for the exact same five-pack over about four days. That's not really Amazon's fault specifically, that's just what happens whenever something becomes suddenly, briefly scarce and everyone finds out about it at the same time. Feels a little bit like the bottled-water-before-a-hurricane thing, except with retinal damage instead of dehydration as the stakes.
If you're reading this before Monday and you haven't checked your glasses yet: check them. Look for the ISO number, check the seller against the AAS list if you're not sure, and if in doubt just don't stare at the sun through a cardboard frame you bought for six dollars from someone with zero reviews. It's not worth it for a photo you're probably going to take through your phone anyway, badly, like the rest of us.