There is an episode of Spongebob Squarepants in which the protagonist, a sea sponge, is invited to the underwater bubble of his new neighbor, a squirrel. Spongebob is desperate to appear sophisticated (which, according to a slow-witted star fish, entails keeping your pinky raised at all times). So into the squirrel's waterless home Spongebob goes, pinky out, suffocating silently on air.
I often wonder how indicators of sophistication develop.
There are unusual words that find their way into casual speech in some circles of Liberians; of them, my favorite is buttress, a word I've heard in run-of-the-mill staff meetings (“…but to buttress what ___ is saying, I think that we should ___"). Not once in my 29 years have I used the word buttress. I concede, though, that I do now use the verb vex on a weekly basis.
Beyond vocabulary, there are other weirdnesses intended to show social status (or, at the very least, upward social mobility). This may be a pan-African thing but I speak only for my people: Liberians seem to love photos of themselves in what I think of as unremarkable places -- particularly airplanes. A grim Liberian in a suit in coach is, like, the Holy Grail of profile pics.
Photos capturing meals in upscale restaurants are also popular. And I don't mean that American-style my five best friends and me, perfectly-lit, perfectly angled, beaming over wine glasses pose (which, in itself, is really weird. Let's be serious). No. There is nothing poised or Facebook-worthy about the photos in question.
In other circles, class is indicated by the possession of a car (and the reliability of that car). Sometimes its in the number (and titles) of past employers who would readily refer you. Sometimes social standing rests in your last name alone.
Sometimes you shrink away from fanciness, though, as my driver Tony (28) did last month when we drove past a friend of his who pointed and laughed. Tony was immediately defensive: "It's not my car, man. It's the kwee girl's." Kwee basically means bourgeois, which is generally a hilarious insult to me but really stung that day. I guess you don't need "fancy" when you've got street cred.
I often wonder how indicators of sophistication develop.
There are unusual words that find their way into casual speech in some circles of Liberians; of them, my favorite is buttress, a word I've heard in run-of-the-mill staff meetings (“…but to buttress what ___ is saying, I think that we should ___"). Not once in my 29 years have I used the word buttress. I concede, though, that I do now use the verb vex on a weekly basis.
Beyond vocabulary, there are other weirdnesses intended to show social status (or, at the very least, upward social mobility). This may be a pan-African thing but I speak only for my people: Liberians seem to love photos of themselves in what I think of as unremarkable places -- particularly airplanes. A grim Liberian in a suit in coach is, like, the Holy Grail of profile pics.
Photos capturing meals in upscale restaurants are also popular. And I don't mean that American-style my five best friends and me, perfectly-lit, perfectly angled, beaming over wine glasses pose (which, in itself, is really weird. Let's be serious). No. There is nothing poised or Facebook-worthy about the photos in question.
In other circles, class is indicated by the possession of a car (and the reliability of that car). Sometimes its in the number (and titles) of past employers who would readily refer you. Sometimes social standing rests in your last name alone.
Sometimes you shrink away from fanciness, though, as my driver Tony (28) did last month when we drove past a friend of his who pointed and laughed. Tony was immediately defensive: "It's not my car, man. It's the kwee girl's." Kwee basically means bourgeois, which is generally a hilarious insult to me but really stung that day. I guess you don't need "fancy" when you've got street cred.
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