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English belongs to everyone and no one. It may be the language you speak, the one you’re reading now, but it’s not yours. Not exclusively. That may seem obvious, yet it’s often hard to accept. After all, you’ve worked hard to master it. At school you recited its rules, but don’t imagine you hold the power of veto.
Harsh, yet that’s how I felt like replying to the flood of recent emails, most lamenting the crowning of “cozzie livs”, the Macquarie Dictionary’s Word of the Year. Cozzie livs – short for the cost of living – seemed the last straw for many, as if the barbarians had seized the citadel.
Cozzie livs or cozzie dies? The Macquarie’s choice for Word of the Year proved contentious.Credit: iStock
Curmudgeon, one chatroom avatar, embodied the larger of two camps, saying, “What an appalling statement on current trends in English if such a cringeworthy term can even be considered as word of the year. If that’s the zeitgeist, and something as horrendous as delulu [deluded] can even exist, let alone be in consideration, then my word of the year is ‘harrumph’.”
Don’t get me wrong. I love Curmudgeon’s zeal for English, which I share. This column has been fuelled on it. Likewise, I can side with Curmudgeon’s exasperation, since at times I wish teens would shed their like-twitch, or politicians stop saying “moving forward”, or TV reporters leave “now” at home, yet the discourse hurtles ahead despite my couch gripes, this weekly soapbox shtick.
Since language is alluvial – we know that. Its databanks shift with generational tides. Goodbye rad; hello slay. Memes and headlines, fashion and catastrophe – each brings their linguistic influence to bear. Ooroo booyah; g’day cozzie livs. For a language to live, it must flex. For English to be everything we need, the flux must be constant.
None of which demands your approval, but it is why a TikTok-boosted catchcry persuaded the Macquarie panel this year. Better still, the expression adds a degree of downplayed humour to a grim fiscal squeeze, a humour in which Australians have always excelled.
Our dictionary teems with historic examples, from ANZAC humour (where “pickled monkey” and “potted dog” labelled the ration tins) to the dark wit of “shark biscuit” (body surfer), the handy oxymoron of “yeah-nah”, the downsized menu of “parmi”, “smashed avo” and a “ballsy cab sav”. Imagine the outcry of your ancestors when each of these heresies found traction in their day. The harrumphing!
Bringing us back to the online comments, as I suggested the responses fell into two camps. Stirring the possum for Gen Z, Tom said, “If some of these words are new to you, I’ve got a cold hard fact: get used to it. It’s Gen Z and Millennials who have influenced many of these [listed] words. So buckle up cos we ain’t finished!”
Again, I adore the energy. The sass. Plus Tom’s misplaced assuredness of owning English’s future, which is how we should all feel when lent control of the console. Like it or lump it, younger speakers are the real agents of change, for a heartbeat at least, mutineers with new agendas and maverick dialects, until they’re left wondering how the hell did Slang X or Abbrev Y win the 2043 Word of the Year. Just you wait.
Cozzie livs, in fact, prompted one editor on these pages to write to me: “Lots of fury around cozzie livs! (more than the actual crisis, it seems).” Bittersweet, but true. English speakers are fierce in their love for English, perhaps a little more than their love for other English speakers.
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