THE SIGNIFICANCE OF LANGUAGE

Why Americans are the Marmite of Written English

USA vs UK: a battle of the vernacular

Guess what. An American recently told me I was a brain-dead moron and I’d really like to talk about it.

(Ok, I’ll admit that’s a somewhat exaggerated claim to make, but they did correct my English so it’s pretty much the same thing. Potato, potahto.)

So I recently submitted my very first Medium article to a publisher and it was accepted. I was thrilled. Having spent the last 5 years as a short-form copywriter, this was a warm welcome back into the bosom of long-form writing, the format that first springboarded me into a career as a features contributor back in 2016.

Excitedly, I scurried over to their publication to re-read my article, attempting to live out the fantasy of someone seeing it for the first time.

Almost instantly, something struck me. Hard and heavy and searing like the burnished brass plate of a branding iron.

They had Americanised it.

Esses turned to zeds (or “zees” if you’re… you know… one of them), words like “colour” and “favour” were shrewdly reduced to appearing like the Spanish. “Got” became “gotten” — a word I’ve never uttered a day in my life. My English, my beautiful British English — a language whose roots stretch back centuries, the linguistic backbone of the works of Shakespeare and Dickens, the Brontë sisters and Jane Austen… had been corrected by an American.

An effrontery akin to settling the bill without tipping the waitstaff, or not thanking a soldier for their service. Stateside, of course.

And in case you’re wondering… yes. It really, really pissed me off.

Now, I must preface this article by stating that I harbour (yes, with a -u) absolutely no hatred or hostility towards Americans whatsoever. In fact, I kinda, sorta, low-key like them.

No, seriously, I actually do really like American people by and large. I appreciate their spiritedness and pleasant conversation, their tenacity, their pursuit of convenience, the way they go all out for a celebration, their hospitality, and their devotion to high-quality service.

I consume their media, utilise their inventions, relish their literature, delight in their customs. I have befriended them, dated them… hell, I even married one. I am currently planning to move there and make a positive contribution to American society while enjoying corndogs and trips to Target for the rest of my days.

So while the aforementioned traits serve as a somewhat paltry redemption for correctiongate, they do know how to do British people’s heads in at times.

And I, as both a Brit and a devotee of my language, have a great big, Blighty-sized bone to pick with American publishers.

I can forgive (but never forget) what they did to “Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone” — changing it to “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” in hopes of making it more appealing and marketable to American infants. I can even find it in myself to chuckle when I think about the Harry Potter re-telling: Hogwarts School of Prayer and Miracles, written from the American Evangelical Christian POV.

But what they’ve done to me? A little-known Englishwoman with a reading audience of 3, including myself? Criminal.

It’s no secret that there’s a friendly rivalry between Brits and Americans. A slightly taut air of lighthearted tension; a web of semi-sweet politeness and thinly-veiled jabs followed by a swift aversion of the gaze. We like to get a rise out of our transatlantic kinfolk, through quick wit and banter. The sort of banter that you would witness between cousins at Thanksgiving, where one brought the turkey and the other, a bag of unwashed garden salad.

I’ll let you be the judge of who represents who…

Now, far be it from me to play “Rule, Britannia!” on repeat as I Morris dance around the front room, but I do consider myself moderately proud to be British. I feel like the more solidarity we can get these days, the better.

However, when generally well-respected elements of my cultural identity are scrutinised by someone who pronounces it “whore” instead of “horr-or”, I find myself upping the ante. Not quite Union-Jack-tattoo level but I may well bung a Victoria Sponge in the oven.

So, when I saw my precious article, straining under the weight of a nonsensical date format, the unnecessary use of the imperial system, and the nails-on-a-chalkboard phenomenon that is vocal fry, my enthusiasm nosedived. In the words of Rodney Trotter:

“I feel like I’ve taken the mountain to Mohammed… only to find he’s already bloody got one.”

It begs the question: WHY?

Why must we take something that we already understand and alter it to make it adapt to our style, thus stripping it of its authenticity? Is it the pursuit of palatability? Is there really a legitimate fear that an American reader would see the word “analyse” and not be able to discern its meaning?

While the American deviation from traditional British spelling was an attempt to simplify the language and make it match its phonemes more closely (cheers, Webster), I would argue that it’s not enough of a departure to confuse anybody, should they happen upon the original/alternative spelling. I strongly doubt that I’m being overly generous in my assumption that the American general public is capable of digesting standard British spelling in a British English article.

Is this tangible proof that we are edging ever closer to complete American domination?

I did what any rational person in a state of existential panic would do — I took to Reddit to seek solace and validation.

“What do Americans do or think that irritates you?”

a question posed to the subreddit r/AskUK.

“It could just be my British English bias, but the fact they have different names for objects, (crosswalk, diaper, cart, pants, cellphone, trashcan) or they use specific names for things whereas Brits would usually just refer to everything under the same name (‘zipper-merge’ for cars merging together into one lane). Makes me retch.” — u/raspberryjams

“I was recently given grief during an online conversation for using “realise” rather than the American version,“realize”. If Americans want to use the language, fair enough, but don’t try to tell an English person off for writing in English.” — u/Chkldst

However, as we can see from the following examples, all is not lost.

“American here. I like to use British spelling where I can to mess with fellow Americans.” — u/Jeynarl

“Some words should have the u and idgaf what American English says (I’m American btw)” — u/mandaclarka

Without being dramatic, I hope either of these users considers running for president one day. But I digress…

As much as we’re expressly defiant in the face of Americanisation… are we guilty of leaning into it a bit, too? Is our solipsism being eroded and subsequently invaded by the incremental emergence of American culture in the UK? My pre-teenage nephew has taken to pronouncing it “stoo-pid” (absurd, even for a Mancunian), and even I, ashamed as I am to admit it, asked the sales assistant for a wrench in B&Q the other day when the word “spanner” completely escaped me. Sadly, she knew exactly what I meant.

Since the incorporation of Americanisms into our daily life seems to be a foregone conclusion, I say we have one promising method of counterattack left in our arsenal. A means of tipping the scales, if not completely in our favour, then at least to a point of stalemate — we need to infiltrate the US with Britishisms. We need to catch them off-guard, slowly hypnotise them while they slumber.

Think: Trojan Horse meets Three Lions.

We need to head over there and marry these people.

I know it sounds like a rather lofty and arguably hasty sacrifice, but it is a small price to pay in the name of King and country. Now, I’ve already done my part — my spouse and closest friends are routine users of “banter”, “chuffed”, “cheeky”, and “knackered”.

Reruns of Only Fools and Horses play repeatedly on our television, the freezer is chock full of crumpets, and nothing but Tetley or Twinings makes it through the front door.

I’m working on Cockney Rhyming Slang, but it’s a slow and painful process and there’s only so much “up the apples and oranges… I mean pears and apples, I mean…” I can take. I’m only human.

So, my dear British compatriots, hear my cry: it’s time to rally the troops.

We ride at dawn.

Want to see more of this type of content? Check out my other Musings here!

Thank you very much for reading! If you have any questions or comments, please feel free to leave them below.

NOTE: this was intended to be a purely light-hearted, satirical piece. If any genuine offence was caused, please accept my apologies.

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