We all have episodes in our lives that are so cringeworthy, so curl-up-and-please-let-me-die, that the only thing to do with them is bury them deep within our psyche and pray they never see the light of day again.
Of course this is futile. Our brains, which hate us, store them in a file called “for night, just as the sap’s about to fall asleep”.
Here’s one of mine. When I was about eight, a new kid arrived at our school one day and we ended up hanging out. In an effort to win his friendship I told him what I was certain was the most hilarious poo-related joke in the whole world. But instead of laughing uproariously, he glared at me and said “you’re rude!”
Taken aback, I sputtered out a ridiculous explanation that haunts me to this day. “The other kids at this school are rude,” I said, “and I thought you would be too.”
Cringeworthy as that was, it was exceeded in weirdness by his reply. After a moment’s thought, he gave a satisfied nod of his head and replied “ok”.
I share this not to add to my humiliation (which is already complete, thank you) but to make a point. While you and I like to believe we are our own person, with ruggedly independent views and behaviours untainted by the tawdry opinions of anyone else, that view is pretty much a load of BS.
And whether the rest of the world knows it or not, psychologists most certainly do.
It is they who have observed and named an almost universal phenomenon called communication accommodation. It takes many forms, but the bottom line is that all of us engage in it, even when we have stopped being eight years old.
Here’s one example. Have you ever found yourself adopting some of the language habits of a person you admired? Their sayings, for instance, or specific word choices? (Or, my second confession for the day, their laugh?) Communication accommodation, baby!
Here’s another. Do you ever find yourself choosing your words carefully when arguing with someone you know well, in order to not trigger them with words you know will set them off? There you go again!
Have you ever spent a number of years living in another country only to end up with a new accent? Did you also find yourself using the local terms for things that have a different name back home?
Communication accommodation theory (or CAT) was developed by social psychologist Howard Giles. His idea was that by adjusting our style of speech to others, we not only gain their approval, but make communication easier and more efficient.
One of the underlying principles of CAT is that we don’t just have a personal identity; we have a social identity too. That identity needs tending to, and one way to do that is to make sure our language choices make it clear to our chosen groups that we are one of them.
When that involves your language conforming to a standard, that’s called convergence. It can go the other way too, as when a young person adopts language that’s in stark contrast to that of their parents. Unsurprisingly, linguists have dubbed this divergence.
It’s easy to overdo the convergence thing. In the 1999 film Bowfinger, Steve Martin’s middle-aged movie director character falls for a 20-something starlet played by Heather Graham. On a dinner date, asked if he loves Smashing Pumpkins, he enthuses: “Are you ki-? I LOVE to do that!”
Other terms for communication accommodation are linguistic accommodation, speech accommodation or, simply, accommodation. But whatever you do, don’t get linguistic accommodation as defined here with the other linguistic accommodation, which is to do with making assumptions based on partial information from a speaker.
Let’s say, for example, that someone you’ve just met says they’re meeting their mother later that day. According to the theory of linguistic accommodation, you’ll now suppose that the speaker has a mother, even though they haven’t actually informed you of this.
Some linguists call this theoretical pragmatics, and it relates to the broader subjects of formal semantics and philosophy of language.
Personally, I reckon you could make a pretty good case for your speaker having most clearly informed you they have a mother. Imagine a court scene some time later in which you’re on the witness stand being grilled by the prosecution lawyer. “Did the accused inform you she had a mother?” the lawyer asks you. “No,” you reply. Now imagine the subsequent court case further in the future in which you’re up on a charge of perjury. I’m no legal expert, but I wouldn’t bet my house on you successfully defending that, my obtuse friend.
As for my prudish eight-year-old schoolmate, he and I never did become great friends. There’s a lesson in there about the foolishness of trying to fit in with others’ expectations, and some day I may even learn it. Until then, I promise to keep this newsletter free of poo jokes. You never know who might be reading it.
Cartoon of the week
Bits and specious
The New York Times, which boasts 8.6 million digital readers, can’t bring itself to put diacritical marks on all but a few languages. Linguist Rebecca Ericson-Hua points out that this failure may have been understandable in the pre-digital age, but today smacks of “linguistic supremacy”. She surely has a point.
Here’s a four-second clip of the Steve Martin quote. If you’ve never watched Bowfinger, I recommend it. It’s a gem.
The US Supreme Court recently heard a case that involved poo jokes. Given that the plaintiff was Jack Daniels, proprietor of a fine product bearing the same name, I was pleased to see the court ruled in the whiskey maker’s favour.
Quote of the week
A son
Grafitti added to a road sign in Lincolnshire, England that said “To Mavis Enderby and Old Bolingbroke”