#27 Cut the meaningless superlatives or it’s through the window with you…
Imprecise language is the expression of an imprecise mind. So my mother always said, and mothers tend to know these things. The word itself is more precise than its frequently used synonym, unprecise, which is a weird mix of Latin (praecisio, a cutting-off) and proto-Germanic. Whenever the headlines announce ‘the best movie (songs/ actors/ goals/ cars) of all time’, I know what they are trying to say, but our time isn’t up yet and there will be other good movies, songs, et cetera. How can one call something ‘the most expensive transfer of all time’ or the ‘most sold car ever’, when we know that there will never be an end to unbelievable (incredible?) transfer prices and that the price of cars will keep going up?
I know I’m being over-Teutonic here and we all know that these exaggerations are only thoughtless, stereotypical expressions (by the way: aren’t those two /g’s in ‘exaggeration’ totally and unnecessarily, ahem, exaggerated?), but the overuse of adjectives, especially when it comes to superlatives, will eventually make all of them redundant.
We should treat language like fractions. Nobody says ‘two halves’ or ‘four quarters’ (unless they are talking about sports) when speaking about one whole thing. So why say ‘… the well-known, award-winning artist…’? If the artist is, indeed, well-known, there is no need to mention that well-known fact. And the reader would already know what sort of award they have won. It means nothing unless there were some proof attached. What awards did they win? Best halloween costume at primary school? The Nobel Prize?
Just look at any architect’s or designer’s website or brochure: not only are they all award-winning, but they also always work in close cooperation with their clients to maximise benefit not only for their businesses but also for the environment while emphasising a responsible use of resources because they want to leave a better world behind for our children’s children.
Most of that self-praise could be cut to about two lines, the remainder of the wordage then going to feed a bullshit generator, which is the closest thing mankind will ever have to a perpetuum mobile, feeding itself, as it does, with redundant words. Whenever I hear a client say that they provide a dynamic work environment for their employees to grow in while working closely with their customers to make this a better world, et cetera, I get an urge to re-introduce the old tradition of defenestration – that is, throwing people from windows. (It wasn’t necessarily fatal because buildings weren’t as tall as present-day Shards et al, but it was certainly spectacular and memorable. More so for those on the receiving end, but it also never failed to make an impression on those below.)
Once the PR people have run out of words like award-winning, well-known or celebrated, they have only one level left: legendary. That, however, not only describes someone as a known quantity, but also implies unreal, as in never really having existed. It isn’t sheer modesty that has me cringing when I read – or hear – this about me (I am 77, by the way), but that it is pretty impossible to live up to such a superlative. Unless you die, of course.
Only a dead designer can become the best designer ever. ★