Category Archives: Words, phrases & expressions

4 Things Americans Do (Verbally) That Drive Brits Nuts

Last year, Ruth Margolis published a hilarious article on BBC America’s blog Mind the Gap in which she identified “10 Things Americans Do That Drive Brits Nuts”. “American people are some of the loveliest you’ll ever meet and make us expats feel all warm, cuddly and very welcome,” Margolis assures us, with maybe a touch of irrepressible British irony. “But just occasionally they do or say something that we Brits find a tad… eccentric.” Here are the four of those foreign felonies that involve what comes out of Americans’ mouths. Please don’t shoot the messenger (even though I secretly agree with one of these abominations) …

2. Putting last names first
The fashion for inflicting quirky monikers on babies started with American parents giving their kids surnames as first names. Remember Sex and the City’s Smith? Absurd. Then last week at the launderette I got chatting to “Anderson.” Could not take him seriously.

8. Spelling words the wrong way
I might as well pry the letter “u” from my keyboard for all the good it does me in over here. (But you know which letter made it big in America? “Z”! Only, they pronounce it wrong.) My point? Remembering to remove ‘u’s from words like “colour” and replace “s”s with a more abrasive “z” is a headache and I resent it. So there.

9. Pretentious pronunciation.
Americans, please note: saying “erb” instead of “herb” and pronouncing “fillet” without the “t” is not clever or sophisticated. You are not French. Make an actual socialist your president and then we’ll talk. [See earlier Glossophilia post on British vs. American pronunciation of foreign loan words — Glosso]

10. Saying “panties,” “fanny” and “bangs”
We’re all aware from watching Americans onscreen that these are the words for knickers, a bottom and a fringe. But when you live here, occasionally you’re forced to deploy these abominations in real life sentences. Only the other day, I said, “Can you trim my bangs, please?” I felt dirty afterwards. But “panties” is much worse, somehow infantilizing and over-sexualizing ladies’ unmentionables. No word should do both these things.

Visit Mind the Gap: A Brit’s Guide to Surviving America to see the full list of Things Americans Do That Drive Brits Nuts.

United Kingdom, Britain or Great Britain?

When you’re talking about that little island in northern Europe (well, actually the biggest island in Europe) that used to rule the largest empire in history, what exactly are you supposed to call it? Is it the United Kingdom, Britain, or Great Britain? Are they even the same thing, or does that depend on whether you’re describing it geographically, politically or culturally? Can all citizens of the United Kingdom describe themselves as British? And what about the British Isles, just to add to the confusion?

Let’s try and get to the bottom of this Very British Mystery.

The United Kingdom (or UK for short) is a sovereign state, or country. Its official name is the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. It consists of four countries: England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Island, and it is governed by a constitutional monarchy. The UK is one of the realms of the Commonwealth (see below).

Great Britain (or Britain for short — there is no difference) has both a geographical and a political identity. Geographically, it is an island: the largest island in Europe, the ninth largest in the world, and the third most populous. Politically, Great Britain refers to the combined countries of England, Scotland and Wales, but not Northern Ireland, and it includes some islands that lie off its constituent countries — such as the Isle of Wight, Anglesey, the Isles of Scilly, the Hebrides, and the remote island groups of Orkney and Shetland. The whole island of Great Britain is a territory of the sovereign state of the UK, and most of the UK’s territory is in Great Britain. Most of England, Scotland, and Wales are on the island of Great Britain.

The name “Britain” dates back to the time of Aristotle; its first citing is actually in Pseudo-Aristotle’s text On the Universe. Before that time, the island that we now call Great Britain was known as “Albion”. This probably derives from the Latin albus, meaning white, and possibly described the white cliffs of Dover that provided the first glimpse of Britain to many a traveler from mainland Europe. “Great Britain” was first used officially in 1474 when a marriage proposal was drawn up between Cecily, the daughter of Edward IV of England, and James, the eldest son and heir of James III of Scotland.

Here’s a potted history of the UK/Great Britain, courtesy of Wikipedia: “The Kingdom of Great Britain resulted from the political union of the kingdoms of England and Scotland with the Acts of Union 1707 on 1 May 1707 under Queen Anne. In 1801, under a new Act of Union, this kingdom merged with the Kingdom of Ireland to create the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. After the Irish War of Independence (1919–1921) most of Ireland seceded from the Union, which then became the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.”

It’s curious that (Great) Britain has its own adjectival form, British, which describes anything of or related to Great Britain and its people, language or culture, as well as the related noun that describes the people of this land collectively and the language they speak on their own territory. But there is no equivalent adjective or noun for the United Kingdom, and this might help to explain some of the naming confusion surrounding this sovereign nation. British actually has an additional, wider definition: relating to, denoting, or characteristic of Britain or any of the natives, citizens, or inhabitants of the United Kingdom or of the Commonwealth. Therefore, a person who lives in Northern Ireland (and therefore not technically in Great Britain) is still British, by virtue of her citizenship or residence.

And then to heap even further confusion on an already complicated subject, the language that is spoken throughout Great Britain and the UK — and indeed in most member countries of the Commonwealth and in large parts of the Western world — is English. So the vast majority of Britons or Brits speak English, but they aren’t necessarily English: that is a nationality, adjective and privilege that can be claimed only by those who were born and/or live in the country called England. A Welshman is not and never will be English; neither is a Scot or a Northern Irishman, and they will probably strike you down with a fierce but witty Gaelic insult if you suggest as much …

Now, what about those territories and dependencies that fall outside those four constituent countries of the UK, but still seem to have British status?

The UK has 14 British Overseas Territories under its jurisdiction and sovereignty, but they don’t form part of the UK. They are effectively the last remnants of the British Empire that have not gained their own independence and have voted to remain a British territory, sharing the British monarch as head of state.

Guernsey, Jersey and the Isle of Man are Crown dependencies. These are self-governing possessions of the British crown: independently administered jurisdictions that are not sovereign nations in their own right. They aren’t part of the UK, the Commonwealth or the EU, and they aren’t one of the British Overseas Territories.

The British Isles is a geographical name describing the archipelago in northwestern Europe that includes the islands (and sovereignties) of Great Britain and Ireland, as well as more than six thousand smaller isles.

There are 54 member countries of the Commonwealth of Nations (usually just called the Commonwealth, or sometimes informally the British Commonwealth), an association of nations consisting of the United Kingdom and several former British colonies that are now sovereign states. The UK is one of the Commonwealth Realms. ‘Realm’ indicates a Commonwealth country that has The Queen (Elizabeth II) as its sovereign, while ‘monarchy’ indicates a Commonwealth country that has its own monarch as Head of State. The Commonwealth formed in the late 19th century when the decolonization of the British Empire was well underway with the increased self-governance of its territories. Membership of the Commonwealth is voluntary, so members can withdraw at any time — as the Republic of Ireland did in 1949, and Zimbabwe in 2003.

Britannia was the ancient name for Roman Britain; it originally designated a collection of islands with individual names that included Albion; however, by the 1st century BC, Britannia came to be used for Britain specifically. Its use declined after the Roman withdrawal from Britain in the 5th century — although it did enjoy a comeback during the English Renaissance when it captured the unity and national pride of Great Britain. Britannia has also endured as the female personification of that island, and especially after the unification of the kingdoms of England and Scotland in the early 18th century, she came to symbolize the very notion of British imperial power and unity. She first appeared on the (quarter-penny) farthing in 1672 and continued to grace British coinage for several centuries — until it was redesigned just a few years ago.

“Rule Britannia!
Britannia rule the waves
Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.”

(from the British patriotic song “Rule, Britannia!” based on the poem by James Thomson and set to music by Thomas Arne in 1740)

Finally, there was once the British Empire. This was made up of the dominions, colonies, protectorates, mandates and other territories ruled or administered by the UK. At its height, under the reign of Queen Victoria, it was the largest empire in history, and for over a century it was the foremost global power. “The empire on which the sun never sets” described the extent of its expanse at one time, such that the sun was always shining on at least one of its territories.

8 bloody good British words

Posh Spice and husband looking vaguely chuffed

Yanks just don’t say these words (at least not with these particular meanings). But they also just don’t have anything of their own — at least not one particular gobsmacking word — that comes even close to each of these fine British colloquialisms. Knock yourself out with these conkers.

Chuffed: bloody pleased with yourself. “I just beat him at squash! Yeah – I’m chuffed mate.”

Posh: toffee-nosed, upper-crust, and probably bloody loaded. “He’s going to Ascot. Posh git.”

Knackered: bloody exhausted. “I just walked home from the pub. I’m bloody knackered.”

Naff: tacky, bloody tasteless. “Did you see her party get-up? How naff can you get?”

Whinge: complain in a really annoying and tiresome way. “Will you stop your bloody whinging and moaning and get a grip?”

Beaver (verb, usually followed by away): to work your bloody arse off. “While we were all down the pub, he was beavering away on his thesis. Bloody swat.”

Twee: too bloody quaint, pretty, or sentimental. “Lace and doilies on the tea trolley? How twee can you get?”

Bloody: very. Just a bloody good word for very.

Done up like a kipper

Simon Cowell, on discovering recently that he’s going to be a daddy, is said by Britain’s Sunday Mirror to feel as though “he’s been done up like a kipper in all of this.” (The newspaper actually wrote that he “feels like he’s been done up like a kipper”, but that’s for another conversation.)

“Done [or stitched] up like a kipper”: now there’s a quaint British expression — meaning “fitted up or framed”, “used or betrayed” — that you probably won’t often hear on the other side of the Atlantic, which Mr. Cowell has a habit of crossing. No-one’s really sure where it originates from, and although there are several theories floating around about fish being cut, gutted and hung out to dry or smoke — which seem vaguely plausible — there is one suggestion by slang lexicographer Jonathon Green on Quora that doesn’t seem too fishy:

“Done up like a kipper dates back at least to the early 1980s. The general meaning is defeated, put at a total disadvantage, plus a specific sense of ‘caught red-handed’. Given the process of kippering herrings, it seems to be a play on gutted, i.e. deeply disappointed, sick and tired, fed up, utterly depressed, very upset. The slang use of kipper seems never to be positive, e.g. the post 1940s Australian definition of an English immigrant as a kipper: ‘they’re two-faced and got no guts’.”

Another fashionable theory is that it relates to a particular type and shape of tie popular in the 1960s: here’s how Phrase Finder explains it:

“In the 1960s, according to London’s Victoria and Albert Museum, the extra wide tie called the ‘kipper’ was in vogue. Kipper ties were introduced by the British fashion designer Michael Fish. The term ‘kipper’ was a pun on his last name ‘Fish.’ Another source ‘The A-Z of Food & Drink’ by noted lexicographer John Ayto says, in addition, that tie was also named partly for its shape (the kipper).”

Here are some other British phrases that might bemuse or bewilder in the U.S. (with links to sites that either explain or suggest their respective origins):

“All mouth and [no] trousers”: originating in northern England, the phrase is defined by Eric Partridge’s Dictionary of Catchphrases American and British as “noisy and worthless stuff,” applied to “a loud-mouthed, blustering fellow”. The nearest modern phrase is probably “all talk and no action”. (Fraser’s Phrases)

“Bent as a nine bob note”: meaning dishonest or corrupt. There is and was no such thing as a nine-shilling note (bob is slang for shilling), so any such item would have to be counterfeit. (Phrase Finder)

“Bob’s your uncle”: meaning “And there you have it!”. (World Wide Words)

“Sweet Fanny Adams”: meaning basically nothing. This expression has a strangely tragic origin. It isn’t, as many believe, a polite euphemistic alternative to “f*** all and its initials, but actually dates back to a Victorian murder victim with this name, which the British Navy — so often at the heart of quirky British slang — hijacked and used to describe certain food items. (Fraser’s Phrases)

“To queer the pitch”: meaning to spoil the business at hand (see Glossophilia’s earlier post on the word queer and a history of this phrase)

“Picking up fag ends”: meaning to eavesdrop on or try and enter a conversation that is nearing its end. The “fag-end” was a term used to describe an end section of cloth or yarn in weaving (and is also an informal British term for cigarette butts).

“Give ’em what for”: meaning to punish, scold or reprimand someone; eg. from Rudyard Kipling’s “The Drums of the Fore and Aft” (a short story in Indian Tales in 1890): “‘Now,’ gasped Jakin, ‘I’ll give you what-for.’ He proceeded to pound the man’s features while Lew stamped on the outlying portions of his anatomy.” (Phrase Finder)

“Remember me to her/them”: meaning to pass on greetings in the form of a mention or reminder; eg. from Scarborough Fair, a traditional English ballad: “Remember me to one who lives there, / She once was a true love of mine.” (StackExchange)

Do you speak U, non-U, or just you?

Everyone agrees that the UK is moving steadily and healthily in the direction of a classless society, and it’s a little indelicate nowadays to try and identify anything overt that might hint at someone’s social class, whether it’s their clothes, accent, the names they give to meals (see Glossophilia’s earlier post on this subject), or which synonym they choose in certain given situations …

While researching the pronunciation of loan words for the previous post, I stumbled on something interesting: several sources point out how choosing a French derivative over a more historically English synonym was for a long time — and still can be — regarded as rather “non-U”. Living room is U, lounge (from the French) is non-U; napkin is U, serviette is non-U; sofa is U, settee is non-U; and two more amusing examples: what? is U, pardon? is non-U; lavatory or loo is U, toilet is so very non-U. Why this very predictable pattern? And what’s with this “U/non-U” business?

Wikipedia explains it clearly:

“U and non-U English usage, with “U” standing for “upper class”, and “non-U” representing the aspiring middle classes, was part of the terminology of popular discourse of social dialects (sociolects) in Britain and New England in the 1950s. The debate did not concern itself with the speech of the working classes, who in many instances used the same words as the upper classes. For this reason, the different vocabularies often can appear quite counter-intuitive: the middle classes prefer “fancy” or fashionable words, even neologisms and often euphemisms, in attempts to make themselves sound more refined, while the upper classes in many cases stick to the same plain and traditional words that the working classes also use, as, conscious of their status, they have no need to make themselves sound more refined.”

Taking this rule of thumb that the aspiring middle classes tend to prefer “fancy” or “fashionable” words, it makes sense that the apparently pretentious words of French origin would fall universally and predictably into the non-U category — hence those examples above.

The invention of the U/non-U dichotomy (which prescribed choices not just in language but also in behavior and general etiquette) is often attributed to the writer Nancy Mitford — one of the famous six sisters — who popularized the concept by including it in her books (notably her Noblesse Oblige, published in 1956). But it was actually a professor of linguistics at Birmingham University, Alan Ross, who first suggested the concept and coined the terms a couple of years earlier in his treatise “Upper-Class English Usage”. Here’s an excerpt from his paper that gives the gist of where he was going with his thesis:

“There are, it is true, still minor points of life which may serve to demarcate the upper class, but they are only minor ones. The games of real tennis and piquet, an aversion to high tea, having one’s cards engraved (not printed), not playing tennis in braces, and, in some cases, a dislike of certain comparatively modern inventions such as the telephone, the cinema, and the wireless, are still perhaps marks of the upper class. Again, when drunk, gentlemen often become amorous or maudlin or vomit in public, but they never become truculent. … I am concerned with the linguistic demarcation of the upper class.”

In his comprehensive survey of both pronunciation and vocabulary, he goes on to give special emphasis and importance to one of the French/non-U examples cited above: “Non-U serviette / U table-napkin; perhaps the best known of all the linguistic class-indicators of English.” You can read more excerpts from Ross’s often hilarious paper in an article published in The Independent in 1994.

Does the U and non-U bible of Mitford’s time still carry any weight today? At least in the decreasingly class-conscious Great Britain? It seems to in some circles, according to Debrett’s online in its “Everyday Etiquette” section, which advertises itself thus: “From rites of passage, family occasions, work life and romance to table manners, letter writing, body language and mobile etiquette, this is Debrett’s definitive online guide to modern manners.” More specifically, it addresses the U and non-U question in its British Behaviour section, which is billed as Debrett’s “indispensable Guide to British life and manners… From Countryside Rules, Dress Codes, Kilts, Meeting Royalty and Port Etiquette to Apologising, Introductions, Queuing, Reticence, Small Talk and Understatment. British rituals, social occasions, manners and characteristics decoded…”.

Here’s what Debrett’s concludes about Ross’s and Mitford’s rules, which today seem outlandish to most of us:

“Today, some of her proscriptions seem bizarre (spectacles, not glasses; looking glass, not mirror). Language is ever-evolving and society is visibly relaxing – a preoccupation with the minute calibrations of social class is looking increasingly outmoded. … However, if you are anxious to pass muster in more class-aware environments you should remember the basics: loo or lavatory never toilet; sofa never settee; napkin never serviette; supper never tea; drawing room or sitting room, never lounge or front room.”

There’s even a “U or non-U” personality test on the popular online dating site OKCupid. (Google it: I’m not joking.) Whether anyone gives weight to that particular linguistic parameter when choosing their romantic mate is anyone’s guess …

The rain in Spain …

I read somewhere recently (but can’t remember where) that one of the most common areas of complaint directed towards the BBC from viewers and listeners around the world is not what you might think it might be. It’s not claims of bias or prejudice, inaccuracy, prurience or falsehood that have people shaking their fists: it’s the far more serious crime of mispronunciation that has people raising their voices in anger — whether the word in question comes out sounding sloppy or just plain wrong. And I’m sure these complaints are the bane of many radio hosts’ professional lives.

Don’t blame the radio guy. There are many everyday words whose pronunciations are almost universally incorrect – or at least sloppy – simply because of the spelling and construction of the words themselves. It often boils down to too many voiced consonants being near or next door to each other in the word, making it difficult for the mouth, tongue, lips and soft palate to wrap themselves around the complex sounds and resulting in lazy annunciation. A second “r” that follows too soon after the first is a good example of this: February more often than not comes out as “Feb-ry” or “Feb-you-ary”; surprise as “suh-prise”; berserk as “buh-serk”; governor as “guv-uh-ner” or “guv-ner”; and library as “libe-ry” or “libe-ery”. Other common consonant clashes that twist the tongue (especially in the middle of words or after particular vowel sounds) are “cl”, “ct”, “dn”, “sthm”, “sk”, “lfth”, and “gn”: see some examples of these below.

nuclear comes out as nyu-cue-ler (well, if you’re George Bush it does)
Antarctic — as Ant-ar-tic
Wednesday — as Wens-day
asthmatic — as as-ma-tic
twelfths — as twelths
recognize — as re-co-nize
ask — as ax
asterisk — as as-ter-ix

But sometimes it’s about more than just lingual laziness. There are several words that are commonly mispronounced because the word simply doesn’t look like the way it should be pronounced, especially when its spelling points the reader towards a more obvious or regular pattern of pronunciation. This is sometimes the case with words that are more often seen in print than heard spoken aloud; highly literate and educated people can go whole lifetimes before realizing that the slightly obscure word they’ve been reading on the page (and imagined articulated a certain way) is actually the same as another unusual word they’ve heard pronounced differently. See if you’re surprised by any of these commonly mispronounced gems:

Hyperbole — often mispronounced “HYper-bowl” — is actually “hy-PER-bol-lee”

Segue — not “seeg” but ‘SEG-way”

Victuals — not “VICK-chewals” but “VITT-uhls”

Epitome — not “EPI-tome” but “eh-PITT-uh-mee”

Omnipotent — not “OM-ni-poh-tent” but “om-NIP-oh-tent”

Superfluous — not “SOUP-er-floo-us” but “soup-ER-floo-us”

Here are a couple of words that seem to have a strange but common American pronunciation — at least they do to my British ear:

mischievous — pronounced with four syllables: “mis-CHEE-vee-us”. Where did that extra “vee” syllable come from?

pianist — pronounced with just two syllables: “PEEN-ist”. A bit too close to another word for comfort; where did that third syllable, that includes the ‘a’, disappear to?

The next post will be about differences between American and British pronunciations of foreign loan words. You say ‘erb and I say herb: Let’s call the thing off…

Wacky English pronunciations

In the first of three posts about tricky pronunciations, let’s look at some proper nouns — mainly of the English or British variety — that don’t sound quite the way they look.

Names of titles:

Boatswain — pronounced BOH-sun

Colonel — KER-nel

Lieutenant — Lef-TEN-ant

Viscount – VIE-count

Names of places (in the UK):

Beauchamp — Beechum

Bicester — Bisster

Blenheim — Blennum

Gloucester — Glosster

Greenwich — Grennitch

Leicester — Lester

Leominster — Lemster

Magdalen — Maudlin

Warwick — Worrick

Worcester — Wooster

Weymiss — Weemz

Surnames:

Cholmondeley — Chumley

Featherstonehaugh — Fanshaw

Mainwaring — Mannering

Marjoribanks — Marchbanks

First names:

Aoife (Irish) — EE-fa

Naomh (Irish) — Neeve

Siobhan (Irish) — Shuh-VAUN

Saoirse (Irish) — SEER-shuh

St John (first name or surname) — SIN-juhn

And here are some weird American place names thrown in for good measure:

Arkansas — AHR-can-saw

Boise, ID — BOY-zee

Cairo, IL — KAY-row (not KIE-row)

Leominster, MA — Le-MON-ster

Ojai, CA — OH-high

Versailles, KY — Vair-SAILS (not Vair-SIGH)

Here’s what the English pamphleteer, farmer and journalist William Cobbett wrote about pronunciation in his grammar treatise of 1818: “Pronunciation is learned as birds learn to chirp and sing. In some counties of England many words are pronounced in a manner different from that in which they are pronounced in other counties; and, between the pronunciation of Scotland and that of Hampshire the difference is very great indeed. But, while all inquiries into the causes of these differences are useless, and all attempts to remove them are vain, the differences are of very little real consequence. For instance, though the Scotch say coorn, the Londoners cawn, and the Hampshire folks carn, we know they all mean to say corn. Children will pronounce as their fathers and mothers pronounce; and if, in common conversation, or in speeches, the matter be good and judiciously arranged, the facts clearly stated, the arguments conclusive, the words well chosen and properly placed, hearers whose approbation is worth having will pay very little attention to the accent. In short, it is sense, and not sound, which is the object of your pursuit.”

— William Cobbett, A Grammar of the English Language in a Series of Letters: Intended for the Use of Schools and of Young Persons in General, but More Especially for the Use of Soldiers, Sailors, Apprentices, and Plough-Boys, 1818

Is “to the manor born” an eggcorn?

From Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Act 1, scene 4:
HORATIO: Is it a custom?
HAMLET: Ay, marry, is’t:
But to my mind, though I am native here
And to the manner born, it is a custom
More honour’d in the breach than the observance.

When Hamlet described himself as “to the manner born”, what he meant was that he was destined to be suited to the custom in question by virtue of his birth (“I am native here”). Shakespeare wrote Hamlet in about 1600, and he probably coined (or at least first popularized) this phrase. Note, however, that there is no suggestion of high class or nobility in the original meaning of the expression; at that time, “to the manner born” could just as easily refer to someone of lowly status accustomed to the practices of his family business, or indeed to anyone destined by dint of their birth to certain thoughts or practices common to their circumstances. Thomas Hardy, writing about his hero the sheep-farmer Gabriel Oak in Far From the Madding Crowd (1874), noted that “if occasion demanded he could do or think a thing with as mercurial a dash as can the men of towns who are more to the manner born.”

Class or status did creep in, however, when a similar expression, “to the manor born”, entered standard English in the mid-19th century. It means more or less the same as Shakespeare’s phrase, but the emphasis is on one’s nobility — rather than simply one’s birth — making you destined for a certain suitability, usually to the comforts or advantages of a privileged class. Whereas manner denoted simply customs or habit, its homophone manor signifies a mansion or estate associated with the wealthy or upper classes. The second phrase seems to have become more common and more standard than the original, at least in colloquial usage (and of course they’re more or less identical in spoken form), with the result that the two expressions have become virtually indistinguishable in their meaning; both now convey the sense of loftiness that was inherent only in the younger, newer expression.

Linguists and etymologists have long argued about the relationship between the two sayings: was the second one introduced as a spin-off of the first by accident or by design? Was it a deliberate play on words, with someone changing the spelling of “manner” to “manor” in order to introduce an extra element to the phrase, or even just as a pun? Or was this an example of what modern linguists call an “eggcorn”: an erroneous misspelling that comes into its own and eventually assumes its own slightly different meaning?

An eggcorn differs from a pun in that it begins as an error; much like its cousins the mondegreen and the malapropism, an eggcorn arises when someone hears and perceives a spoken word as either a homophone or a combination of words that sound similar, and the resulting misspelling assumes its own — often slightly eccentric — meaning. A classic eggcorn is the phrase “duck tape”, which sounds just like “duct tape” but can easily be — and evidently was — misheard at some point, taking on a new life of its own with its inadvertent new spelling.

To the Manor Born was a popular BBC sitcom broadcast in 1979. That it had such high ratings and was so apparent in the English culture of the time might help explain why this version of the phrase has became more standard in the vernacular than Shakespeare’s original — perhaps even more so in England than in the US?

Well, that’s my excuse, because I have to admit it: I thought that this was the original and only spelling and meaning of the phrase (and I watched the TV show). I was unaware that I’ve been using a pun or an eggcorn all these years, when I could have been quoting Shakespeare …

There’s nowt so queer as queer itself

a. b. c.

What do all the characters above have in common?* Nothing seems to link them, until you realize that they’ve all been described by the same word — somewhat iconically or significantly in each case — but they each represent a different sense of the word at different stages of its lifetime, which has been fairly tumultuous.

If you were to try and identify one word that symbolizes how very pliant, dynamic and versatile our language is, queer might just be it. A fascinating word with a long and colorful history and usage (as an adjective, noun and verb), it dates back to the beginning of the 16th century, has undergone several transformations in its 400 plus years — especially in the last two or three decades, was in disgrace for a long while, and is now experiencing something of a renaissance or reclamation process that is as bold and controversial as its definition has ever been. What other word is recognized in such a variety of senses — from antiquated poetic (in Hardy and Dickens, eg.) to outlawed insult to legit hipster category?

The Online Etymology Dictionary dates the birth of the English word queer to about 1500, with its meaning (adj) of “strange, peculiar, eccentric” from Scottish, perhaps from the Low German queer meaning “oblique, off-center,” related to the German quer, meaning “oblique, perverse, odd,” in turn from the Old High German twerh, “oblique”.

During the course of the 18th century, it acquired a new and associated sense — still as an adjective — of “feeling out of sorts, unwell, faint, giddy”. Charles Dickens, in his Pickwick Papers of 1837, wrote queasily of “legs shaky — head queer — round and round — earthquake sort of feeling — very.” From the late 18th century on, queer has also been used as a verb: first meaning “to puzzle, ridicule or cheat”, and then later, from about 1812, changing to mean “spoil or ruin”, or “to jeopardize”.

By the turn of the 20th century, the word had acquired firm connotations of sexual deviance, especially referring to the behavior of homosexual or effeminate males, and it’s difficult to determine exactly when queer moved from this loose meaning of kinky, aberrant or dissolute to the more specific sense of homosexual. The Oxford English Dictionary identifies this as happening just after the turn of the century, citing a 1914 article in the Los Angeles Times that described a club being “composed of the ‘queer’ people”, where “the ‘queer’ people have a good time”. The OED also quotes Arnold Bennett in 1915 talking about “an immense reunion of art students, painters, and queer people. Girls in fancy male costume, queer dancing, etc.” In my opinion this seems more in keeping with the earlier, unspecific sense of the word, and the Online Etymological Dictionary bears this out by claiming (without actual citations) that the first real use of queer in the sense of “homosexual” (as an adjective) was recorded in 1922, with the related noun following soon after in 1935.

The next few decades were dark days for the five-letter word, when it was used predominantly as a derogatory adjective (and noun) for homosexual men and women, and it was slowly but surely consigned to the linguistic gutter as politically incorrect, insulting, or just plain taboo. However, queer‘s sense of eccentric or unorthodox did linger for a while longer through the first half of the 20th century, and the verb meaning “to ruin or spoil” endures to this day — if somewhat archaically.

It was during the late 1980s that the tide started to turn, and then began what could be described as queer‘s identity crisis out of which it hasn’t yet emerged. Not surprisingly it reflects the immensely complicated and subtle issues of sexual and gender identity that many of those people defined by the word — either by others or by themselves — have struggled with historically. It was towards the end of the 20th century that queer started its re-appropriation as a term of self-identification by gay activists, who wrested it from the shadows where it had lurked for so long as an anti-gay epithet. In 1990, the LGBT community — galvanized by a newly-formed organization called Queer Nation — famously began this overt process of reclamation by distributing a flier called “Queers Read This” at that year’s New York Gay Pride Parade.

Emerging from this period of partial rehabilitation, queer is now used by some as a descriptive umbrella term — usually as an adjective, and primarily in a neutral or even a positive sense — for sexual and gender minorities who do not identify themselves as heterosexual, hetero-normative, or gender-binary; it encompasses (but isn’t necessarily confined to) gay men, lesbians, bisexuals, and transgender people, and is used as a self-defining label actively and predominantly by a younger demographic. People who see themselves as this kind of queer are turning their backs on the conformist values of the gay mainstream and prefer the more unconstrained definition (or non-definition) of sexuality and gender.

The word has come to have strong socio-political overtones, as it is commonly adopted by activists and people who positively reject and might even feel oppressed by the traditional and distinct sexual identities that have been so dogged by prejudice over the decades. As is the case for so many re-appropriated words like it (see Glossophilia’s earlier post on this subject), queer remains an offensive insult to a large number of people to whom the modern catch-all might apply — especially when it’s used by heterosexuals. For older members of the LGBT community who remember the historically pejorative meaning of queer well, it can be associated with extreme political correctness or political radicalism, or is simply a piece of disagreeable slang used by a self-conscious youth movement, and is therefore best avoided.

Despite its current status as controversial or ambiguous and its long history as a derogatory expression, and perhaps because of its growing acceptance as a reclaimed word, queer has managed to find a prominent place in popular culture and keeps a presence in common phraseology (see below), so much so that the word now has its own hip abbreviation: “Q”.

Queer in popular culture:

Queer Eye (originally called Queer Eye for the Straight Guy): an American reality TV series from 2003, based on the premise or understanding that gay men are superior to their straight counterparts in matters of fashion, style, personal grooming, interior design and culture.

Queer as Folk (see below); originally a UK TV series, then an American series

Queer Duck: an American animated TV series, and the first animated series to have homosexuality as its predominant theme

Queer in colloquialisms or phraseology:

“There’s nowt so queer as folk”: a Northern English expression meaning that people sometimes behave in the strangest ways. Although completely unrelated to homosexuality, this is the phrase on which the title of the TV series Queer as Folk (see above) was based.

“To queer the pitch”: according to PhraseFinder, its original meaning was to interfere with or spoil the business of a tradesman or showman (and the Online Etymology Dictionary confirms this sense from 1846 referring to the patter of a tradesman or showman, as in a “sales pitch”), and more recently it has meant “to spoil the business at hand”. (As noted above, queer meant “to spoil” from the early 19th century.) The phrase “to queer the pitch” was first recorded in the vernacular speech of 19th-century London, in The Swell’s Night Guide, 1846: “Nanty coming it on a pall, or wid cracking to queer a pitch.”

“In Queer Street”: was used in the UK to describe someone in financial trouble, as noted in the 1811 edition of Francis Grose’s A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue.

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* The “queer” characters illustrated above are:

a) Julie Jordan: “You’re a queer one, Julie Jordan” is a song about the main character in Rodgers & Hammerstein’s musical Carousel (written in 1945), referring to her non-conformist and somewhat enigmatic personality:

“You’re a queer one, Julie Jordan
You won’t ever tell a body what you think.
You’re as tight-lipped as an oyster,
And as silent as an old Sahara spink”

b) The characters in Queer as Folk: the first hour-long drama on American television (it began in 2000) to focus on and portray the lives of gay characters, following the trials and tribulations of five gay men and a lesbian couple in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

c) Dorothy’s friends: Polychrome (the rainbow’s daughter) remarks to the main character, Dorothy, in L. Frank Baum’s book The Road to Oz : “You have some queer friends, Dorothy.” (Her famous response is “The queerness does not matter, so long as they’re friends.”). I’ve often wondered why this isn’t offered as the origin of the euphemism “Friend of Dorothy” (or FOD) for gay people. Judy Garland, a gay icon (who famously portrayed Dorothy in the MGM movie The Wizard of Oz), and Dorothy Parker are usually cited as the names or explanations behind the expression.

Portion distortions and misnomers

When was the last time you ordered a “small” beverage at a coffee bar — and you received a small drink without being asked if by small you actually meant tall or medium? Doesn’t “medium” mean somewhere in between small and large? The OED defines it as “a middle quality, degree, or condition; something intermediate in nature or degree” (noun), or as “intermediate between two or more degrees in size, character, amount, quality, etc.” (adj). So how can you order a medium anything if there isn’t a smaller version regressing it towards the mean?

And don’t think that ordering a “large” is any easier. We’re in the US, dude, where it’s 50 shades of huge, and medium is the new small. “Venti”, “grande”, “trenta”, we all demand exotically: as long as the order has an Italian vowel at the end to make it sound suitably grandioso, we’re OK. But we know we’ll be on the hunt for a WC (and possibly a crash-cart) long before we’re likely to see any dregs in the bottom of the coffee cup …

In May 2012, New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg announced his intention to restrict the sale of sugary soft drinks in his bid to fight an epidemic of obesity and obesity-related diseases. His plan was to limit the size of sweet beverages sold in movie theaters, restaurants, stadiums and arenas to 16 ounces (0.5 litres). Let’s just emphasize that: To limit the size to 16 oz. It is common in the US to find 32-ounce and even 44-ounce cups of sugary drinks. Back in the 50s, McDonald’s sold only one size of soda: 7 oz. Today, a “small” ordered in that storied joint will get you 12 ounces; a “large” siphons 32 oz of sweet nothings into your arteries and kidneys. It was only after the huge success and impact of the hilarious and hard-hitting movie Supersize Me in 2004 that McDonald’s did away with its longtime marketing campaign to encourage its customers to upgrade or “supersize” their orders (and themselves).

Perhaps the greatest and cruelest irony is the name of the largest portion on offer in today’s U.S. and UK eateries. Yes, restaurant chains such as Britain’s Beefeater and America’s Chili’s let you order “bottomless” chips — and that doesn’t translate to ‘you will lose your bottom once you’ve consumed that infinite portion of fried fare’. “Bottomless” you will not be; lifeless you might… (In France, they word this portion size more delicately: “à volonté” — meaning literally “at will”, which puts your fat and your fate more firmly into your own hands.)

Needless to say, Mr. Bloomberg was thwarted in his attempt to make us more bottomless and less supersized. Apparently he’s now moving on to elevators …

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Further reading: About.com tells us all we’ll ever need to know about Starbucks drink sizes:

Demi — Literally, ‘demi’ means ‘half.’ Unlike most Starbucks drink size names, it is of French origin (not Italian origin). The Demi size is the smallest size at Starbucks, and is used to describe an espresso drink size. It’s three ounces (89 milliliters), which sounds tiny until you realize it’s only for standard espressoshots, which are usually only about one ounce each. And that a double shot is usually under two ounces. Yikes!

Short — The ‘Short’ was one of the two original Starbucks cup sizes. (The other was ‘Tall.’ Makes sense.) It’s a mere eight fluid ounces (240 mL), and aside from the Demi (which is mostly a size espresso shots), it’s the smallest drink size available at Starbucks. For many people who drink coffee at home, six to eight ounces is a standard cup size.

Tall — The ‘Tall’ is the other original Starbucks drink size. When Starbucks started, the Tall was basically a Large. Now, it’s basically a Small. In fact, if you order a ‘Small’ at Starbucks, you get a Tall. A Starbucks Tall measures in at 12 US fluid ounces (350 milliliters).

Grande — Pronounced GRAWN-day, ‘Grande’ is Italian, Spanish, Portuguese and French for ‘Large,’ but at Starbucks there are two even larger drinks, the Venti and the Trenti. The Grande is 16 US fluid ounces (470 milliliters / 2.5 cups).

Venti — Pronounced VENN-tee, Venti is Italian for 20. A Venti is 20 ounces (590 milliliters), so in a way, this name makes sense… until you realize that none of the smaller portions have names that relate to their sizes numerically.

Trenta — Introduced in 2011, the ‘Trenta’ is the newest (and the largest) of Starbucks drink sizes. ‘Trenta’ means 30. You might be thinking, “Oh, it’s a continuation of the Trenta theme. It’s 30 ounces.” Nope. Strangely, it’s 31 ounces (920 milliliters). It’s almost as though 30 ounces wasn’t enough to make it the ‘Big Gulp’ of the coffee world. The Trenta size is reserved for iced drinks only (including iced coffee, iced tea, lemonade and other drinks served over ice), and it usually costs about 50 cents more than a Venti of the same drink.

These sizes apply for most hot Starbucks coffee drinks and espresso drinks. However, there are a few exceptions, the most noteworthy of which is the sizing of iced Venti drinks. Iced Venti Drinks are usually 24 ounces rather than 20 ounces. According to the Starbucks website, the Iced Cocoa Cappuccino* is an exception to this — the iced version is still 20 ounces. Venti (20 oz, not the usual 24-oz Venti iced drink cup size).

* see previous Glossophilia post about knowing your coffees

Thanks to Max, the Venti of @TeamAwesomeNYC, for the grande idea