When we were in London, we went to the fanciest teahouse in the world and were given a pastry fork—a delicate little thing, part fork, part knife, designed for the precise task of slicing through scones and dainty pastries. Sitting there in such an elegant setting, it struck me how much effort goes into creating an air of sophistication around something so simple.
The pastry fork, for all its refinement, wasn’t so different from the spork—an everyday utensil that trades elegance for practicality. Yet here, in this grand tea room, it was presented with an air of quiet authority, as if it held the secret to a more civilized way of eating. It made me think about how much of what we consider refined or high culture isn’t necessarily about the thing itself, but the story we tell around it. As William Shakespeare put it, “Nothing is good or bad, but thinking makes it so.”
It made me think about how certain things signify high or low culture, not because of what they are, but because of what we’ve decided they mean. The same object—or even the same behavior—can feel refined in one setting and out of place in another. And this isn’t just true for things like utensils; it applies to language too. The way we speak, the accents we carry, and the words we choose all shift in meaning depending on where and when they’re heard.
Take that marker of working-class speech in places like Boston and New York—the dropped “R.” You know the line—“pahk the cah in Hahvahd Yahd.” But accents do more than shape how we sound; they reveal where we’re from, how we see ourselves, and sometimes, how we want to be seen. I remember some kids from Worcester once telling me, “We’re goin’ to Hahvahd to beat up the smaht kids.”
That dropped “R” isn’t just a quirk of local speech—it’s got deep roots. It’s called the non-rhotic “R” and traces back to British settlers from southeastern England, especially around London. Back in the 17th and 18th centuries, it was the standard among the upper and middle classes, with refined phrases like “Fathah is in the gahden” and “Mothah enjoys her aftahnoon tea” signaling a certain level of sophistication. When they crossed the Atlantic, they brought it with them. Cities like New York and Boston held onto this way of speaking, even as the British elite eventually shifted back to pronouncing their “R”s.
It’s interesting how something that once signified status and education now means the exact opposite. Today, the dropped “R” is a marker of working-class speech, rough around the edges and unsophisticated. It’s a living link to a time when it was the sound of prestige and influence—a reminder that language is always shifting, and what’s considered highbrow or lowbrow is really just a matter of perspective.
This idea—of language being unfairly tied to class and status—doesn’t stop with the dropped “R.” We see it play out in other ways too, particularly with African American Vernacular English, or Black English, a rich and expressive linguistic tradition that’s too often dismissed due to deep-seated biases rather than any linguistic shortcomings. Despite its complexity and cultural significance, African American Vernacular English is frequently judged through a narrow lens, one shaped more by perception than reality. As John McWhorter points out, the problem isn’t the language itself—it’s the assumptions people bring to it.
McWhorter takes this idea even further, pointing out that our biases around language run deeper than we might realize. In his book The Language Hoax, he points out the widespread assumption that speaking “good” English—standard, polished, free of dialect—somehow signals intelligence and logical thinking, while dialects like Black English are seen as less precise or even inferior. But this isn’t just a social bias; it’s baked into the way we study language itself. Linguistics, for all its efforts to be objective, often operates on the unspoken belief that English, and particularly standardized English, is the gold standard against which other languages and dialects are measured. This mindset overlooks the fact that every language, in its own right, is equally complex, expressive, and capable of conveying deep thought.
McWhorter takes this idea even further, showing how our biases around language run deeper than we might think. There’s a common belief that speaking “good” English—standard, polished, and free of dialect—reflects intelligence and clear thinking, while dialects like African American Vernacular English are seen as less precise or even lacking. But this bias isn’t just social; it’s built into the way we think about language itself. Linguistics often assumes that standardized English is the baseline against which all other languages and dialects are measured. The truth is, every language and dialect follows its own internal logic and complexity—none more valid than another.
McWhorter points out how these biases show up in everyday life, often in ways we don’t even question. In popular culture, immigrants who struggle with English articles like “a,” “an,” and “the” are often the punchline—saying things like, “Cousin Larry! I buy box of cookies from girl scout!” It’s easy to laugh it off, but underneath it all is the assumption that something is missing, that the speaker isn’t quite getting it. In reality, articles aren’t essential to expressing thoughts. Russian, for example, doesn’t use them at all, but Russian speakers can still communicate the same ideas using word order, grammar, and context. It’s not about what a language lacks; it’s about how it works differently.
And in many ways, English has its own gaps. Some languages include features that English doesn’t even touch. Take evidential markers in languages like Turkish and Quechua—built right into the grammar, they indicate whether information was seen firsthand, inferred, or passed along from someone else. English speakers have to rely on extra words or context to clarify the source of what they’re saying, while in these languages, it’s simply part of how thoughts are expressed.
Judging how people speak is rarely about logic but more about the biases we bring to the table. We tend to label certain ways of speaking as incorrect or unpolished, but those judgments usually reflect our expectations rather than anything inherent in the language itself. Whether it’s the dropped “R” of Boston or the distinct rhythms of Black English, what we call “proper” speech is often just a product of habit and convention—shaped more by our expectations than by the actual meaning of what’s being said.
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