I have not had much success, of late, posting. My mind revealed to me the astonishing reason for that: I’m a reader, not a writer. (Are you surprised?) I spend more time reading blogs I love, researching things which interest me and growing my brain than I’ll ever spend thinking about a blog post, even when I’m most diligent.
For that reason, today’s post is not of any real consequence, in that I’m not going to unfurl a discourse on the import of understanding the Apostle Paul in his contemporary context (though, for the record, I could because I’m fairly passionate about that), provide a synopsis of the current state of the economy and how it got to be this way (which I’m unable to do, but researching, thanks, mostly, to This American Life and the Planet Money Podcast. I’m getting fairly conversant…), or give you a list of reasons you should be afraid of multitasking (I just found out that could be a fear when trying to think of a topic I have had absolutely no reason to look into, though I’m certainly not qualified to say if the research for this article is well-founded or not).
Instead, I’m writing about a matter I just know you’ve been waiting for me to address because it is oh, so important: word elitists.
As a preface, I should say this: I’m all for big and fancy words (why else would I say “big and fancy”?); in fact, I make an effort to learn new words and integrate them into my vocabulary. What’s more, I could probably write a dissertation on the importance of a well-chosen word, knowing that the perfect word for the job is often both unweildy and irregularly used; there are appropriate times, places and frequencies for showy and decadent speech. I am not proposing we put a moratorium on the big and the fancy. (Did I prove my point within my own paragraph? Well…I guess I didn’t go over the top. You know all of those words, I think.) All that to say, I get it. I like words just as much as the next person, and understand the difficulty of creating particular nuances when you are unable to use the exact words which efficiently create those nuances.
That said, I’m kind of sick (okay, really sick) of people needing to prove something about themselves by throwing crazy, rare words into sentences (I’m talking to you, Stephanie Meyer! Okay, so I haven’t read a word of the Twilight series, but I have it on good authority that you could use a little help here. But don’t worry! I know you’re not alone…). Let’s do a quick pros and cons check.
Pros:
1. People know you know big and fancy words.
2. Fellow word elitists will admire your ability and either fawn all over you or–if they’re more proficient than you in their elitism–take you under their wings, making you a more knowledgable elitist.
3. People might think you’re an expert in the field to which your fancy words are specific.
4. People might ask you to speak at some event that needs a smart, stuck-up speaker (and they might even pay you money!).
Cons:
1. People will, sooner or later, begin to notice your word choices and wonder if you’re trying to make them feel stupid (not good) or compensating for your insecurities (also not good).
2. If the words you use don’t correlate to expertise, the assumptions people made will have to be negated, probably by you.
3. The more fancy words you use, the greater risk you run of misusing them.
4. You also run a great risk of being misunderstood.
5. At a certain point, you’ll probably sound more stupid than smart, if only because the smartest people don’t need very many big words to explain complex concepts; they’re able to use everyday language in order to bring their impressive amounts of knowledge to the masses.
Now, I know it’s unreasonable to expect anyone (least of all myself!) to give up all use of flashy or specified vocabulary, so here are a few simple ideas to keep things in check.
- If you’re just using a fancy word (those not related to specific fields of study), try not to use it more than twice in a conversation unless your conversation partner begins to use the word along with you. If you’re writing an article, essay or book, two times is enough for most of those words, especially since a thesaurus is standard issue for most word processing programs these days, and the internet is probably at your disposal if you’re working on something for longer than, say, 20 minutes and it would compensate for any gaps in your word processor.
- If you’re using a specialized word, one that pertains to a particular subject being discussed, make sure to define it at some point. This will guarantee that your definition of the word is the same as anyone else’s or clarify if it isn’t (might even keep you from looking incredibly idiotic if you are the one who doesn’t know what the word means but you continue to use it). Also, that will help the people around you to learn something new. See? You get to display your smarts and your benevolence. If you don’t want to seem too condescending, however, feel free to find a sneaky way to slip in the definition.
- Ask yourself whether you’re using a word so much that it’s losing its value. Strong words should be saved for strong occasions, harsh words for harsh occasions, specified words for specified situations, and rare words for rare occasions. Probably I didn’t need to give you so many examples to make the point. (p.s. What is a “strong” occasion? I sort of made that one up as my first example, and now that I read it I’m not sure how I’d define it. Ah, well. You get what I mean, right?) In any case, fantastic words only remain fantastic while they’re not common; that’s all I’m saying.
- Limit the number of different unusual words you use within one conversation. Again, people of genuine genius status can (and do) use everyday language every day, yet they manage to have people know just how smart they are.
- Don’t use a big word simply for the sake of using a big word. EVER. I don’t care how you justified it before; watch yourself! Again, there are times and places for “infinitesimally” (*Stephanie Meyer*), “neophyte”, “despotic”, or any other such word, but you will not find them to be naturally usable every day.
Okay, I think I’ve belabored my point enough, aired my grievances, and probably managed to bore you. Adieu!
