Of course, pop language’s sheen begins to tarnish once we’re all spouting stuff that’s largely meaning-free. Continual use of it can apparently transform an average American into someone with “a pastiche of lightly donned identities and a vast knowingness (if often shallow knowledge)”—what Savan calls a “person nouvelle.” (Surprisingly, she doesn’t joke about her own Frenchified coinage, though she does abbreviate it—a very pop practice.) These persons are steeped in pop: “Marketing and media are the amniotic fluid of the Person Nouvelle, providing his knowledge base and cushioning his interpretation of the world … The commercially compatible PN has evolved because we live in an increasingly commercial, transactional culture.” Does that sound like Media Studies 101? In other words—Duh!
That may be a bit mean-spirited, but mean-spiritedness is itself very pop. (Slam Dunks’ lengthiest chapter considers the proliferation of “weaponized pop”—“Duh,” “That’s a non-issue,” “Yeah, right,” “Whatever,” and “Get a life”—in what Savan says is an increasingly contentious, argumentative culture.) In fact, because pop language is utterly dependent on consumer capitalism and its media, from TV, movies, and radio to blogs, MP3s, and instant messaging, Savan is pretty much obligated to revisit some well-worn territory. What is cool, what is hip, what is irony; how these concepts get co-opted by marketing, media, and advertising and sold back to us, thereby forfeiting their cachet for the sake of corporate gain; the paradox of everyone wanting to be edgy and individualist but also part of the crowd; and blah de blah blah blah (more weaponized pop).
If there’s some wrapping of old concepts in new packaging occurring, it only serves to make Savan’s thoughts about linguistics more accessible. Really, who wants to read a dour, academic condemnation of popular speech—a book-length version of your grandmother saying, “Hay is for horses!” Savan doesn’t pretend to be any different from the rest of us, even if her column on advertising, media, and language in the Village Voice was a finalist for a Pulitzer Prize. On the contrary, she freely acknowledges her own dependence on all things pop, language included. She might even be overstating the case by owning up to not just liking, but being “attracted” to Shrek. (WTF?) Nor is “accessible” code for “dumbed down” in this case. Savan goes beyond the familiar media theories to reveal the strange and subtle habits that evolve when we become more reliant on pop language. For instance, she reports that teenagers have taken to giggling and saying “LOL” instead of merely laughing out loud, an eerie sign of minds melding with computers; elsewhere, she analyzes the differences in usage among product (“masculine and digital”), stuff (“feminine and analogue”), and, in between, “the clangy thing.”
“I don’t think so” is one phrase that Savan counts as pop language, but I haven’t heard it enough for it to become annoying. Could it be that the topography of pop terrain is less flat and homogeneous than she claims? Maybe there are regionalisms to pop language, just as people say “soda” in some parts of the U.S. and “coke” in others? Am I just not getting the recommended daily allowance of certain media forms, or not hanging around with the right people?
In response, Savan might offer her own “I don’t think so,” which she holds up as the new “no.” According to Savan, it and other “pop dismissives have virtually blasted a new neural pathway that we must take whenever we want to respond in the negative.” It’s not enough—or perhaps it’s too much—to offer a plain old “no” these days. Couching negatives in pop terms makes them seem less serious (“Not so much”) or more harsh (“In your dreams”); either way, they’re amplified with drama, and refined for effect.
It’s not just these “weapon words” that have been puffed up. Much pop language, whether it’s lingo from the business world (“win-win”) or make-nice words like “empower” and “community” (which, Savan contends, become more prevalent linguistically as the real thing diminishes), exaggerates the importance of the speaker, the situation at hand, or both. We’ll say, “That’s genius!” about a cheese grater, “That sucks” if a movie’s sold out, or “You don’t have to be a rocket scientist” to turn on a dishwasher. We’ll borrow “Yesss!” from the athlete who scores the game-winning goal, just to acknowledge the victory of finding a good parking spot.
Ultimately, Savan suggests that we are what we speak. The greater our pop language vocabulary and the more frequently we employ it, the more our discourse begins to sound like so much hot air. Granted, pop language is not likely to destroy us—as Slam Dunk points out, it’s been around for centuries. But is there a point where it becomes too much? Savan declines to prescribe solutions (that would make her, like, a total loser), but it would be interesting to imagine a new trend emerging—another kind of pop that pricks holes in pop language balloons. “What are you trying to say?” could become a choice retort when someone gets mired in especially irritating verbal pop. But as snappy comebacks go, does it have a chance of making it into the pop pantheon? As if!