"If you're in a vehicle and are traveling at the speed of light and you turn your lights on, would they do anything?" That's a killer one-liner by the great Steven Wright. Now check out this one by Tim Vine: "I started running a dating app for chickens, but it's a real struggle trying to make hens meet". The first joke relies on a concept taken from the field of Physics (i.e. nothing can move faster than the speed of light). The second one refers to an idiom (i.e. to make ends meet). I find them both hilarious. Do you?
It is no secret that humor doesn't translate well. Its success often depends on many factors: connotations, phonetics, local conventions, context, delivery style... which means that a foreigner who can appreciate a joke in real time has already acquired a high level of proficiency in the target language. Interestingly enough, that skill is partly learnable. Take, for example, the structure "X, Y and Z walk into a bar". It usually mentions an incongruous group of people (e. g. an astronaut a cowboy and a rabbi) and signals that the person speaking is going to tell a joke. It functions much like the old "once upon a time", which lets the listener know they about to hear a fairy tale. In the "metajoke" below, Barack Obama exploits the old convention of the three peculiar individuals to great effect:
Other conventions have to do with the format of some jokes. Thus, an advanced learner should at least be aware of several popular "templates": the chicken-crossing the road jokes, the knock-knock jokes, the yo mama jokes, etc.). But still. It cannot be denied that "getting a joke" requires a lot on the part of the listener and, as usual, nothing beats massive exposure. That is why I recommend that you watch someone like Stuart Francis. He is a Canadian comedian who specializes in that quintessentially North American brand of humor: one-liners and quick wacky jokes with a short intro and not much in the way of context. His jokes put your understanding skills to the test, but at least they are short and allow for a simple "analysis". Give it a try and you'll see what I mean:
If you enjoy these jokes your English level is definitely pretty high. Congratulations. And if you still struggle to understand the laughs, you know what to do: keep watching stand-up comedians, sitcoms, late night shows, etc. Eventually you'll realize that references will start to sound familiar, puns will suddenly make sense and you'll find reasons to break into laughter. All you need es massive exposure.
I'll leave you with a joke by an absolute mater of one-liners, the late Mitch Hedberg: The best thing about escalators is that they cannot break. They can only become stairs. It is, in itself, a vocabulary lesson. Don't you think?
_______________________
N.B. I know I have only referenced American humor. It doesn't mean that I don't like the British sense of humor. On the contrary, I actually love it, but the truth is it would be too complicated to even try and address the topic of British humor in a short post such as this. Still, if you are curious about the multiple differences between British and American humor you can take a look at this clip one. It is quite insightful.
I love Raye's music. Seriously. I believe she's the best news to have come out of the United Kingdom in quite a while. Her style is fresh, exciting and she definitely knows how to write lyrics that linger in your head long after the song is over. That said, I think it would be great if she worked a little on her speaking skills. Just listen to this clip:
"Also at the same time, yeah, like, do you know what I mean? Like, you know..."
There's nothing wrong with using fillers and discourse markers. They help us avoid awkward silences and play for time while we look for the right words. But problems start to pile up when a sentence contains more fillers than meaningful terms. So, let's forget about Raye for a second and look at these two random examples:
"I was, sort of, you know, kind of, like... tired"
"And I was, like... wow".
Do they sound familiar? Those phrases capture the inarticulacy of so many speakers who fail to craft such simple sentences as I was tired or I was awestruck. On the other end of the spectrum we come across someone like Eileen Gu, a record-breaking freeskier, who recently answered a question like this:
Even though she uses the term like an inordinate number of times and ends her answer with a perfect example of the infamous vocal fry, she is without a doubt a gifted speaker. Within 60 seconds she manages to display a perfect mixture of lexical resources, which includes the following:
a simple expresions (I spend a lot of time in my own head)
a thought-provoking scenario (my 8-year-old me would revere who I am)
an effective comparison (tinkering like a scientist)
colloquialisms (flex, are you kidding?)
Both Raye and Eileen Gu are highly accomplished women who excel in their respective fields, but it would be preposterous to state that their speaking skills are comparable. As English learners, we should pay attention to the way competent speakers talk so we can borrow from them as much as we can. Articulate speakers remind us of the immense range of possibilities that a language has to offer. They help us understand our choices and venture into uncharted territories. So, now you know what to do: hone your metalinguistic awareness and give serious thought to your own communication skills or, as Eileen Gu would put it, "apply an analytical lens to your speaking process". It definitely pays off.
____________
N.B. Some may argue that comparing a less articulate interview with an inspired one is unfair. And that is a valid point. However, these clips are intended solely to illustrate the spectrum of eloquence. Remember that this blog is a study of the English language, not a critique of the people speaking it.
Once upon a time, in the late 10th century, Ælfric of Eynsham, a prolific Anglo-Saxon scholar described the creation of the first two humans in these terms:
God gesceop þa æt fruman twegen men, wer and wif
In modern English it reads like this:
God created then at the beginning two persons,a male and a female
You don't need to be a trained philologist to realize that in the 10th century the word men meant persons (or human beings). Isn't it interesting? Back then, if you wanted to refer to a "male human", the standard word was wer, which is still present in the compound werewolf and is connected to the Latin term vir. The original meaning of wif was simply "female human" (and sometimes "wife"). In fact, the very word woman comes from wif-man: literally "female-person". Eventually, of course, the meaning of the word man changed. In other Germanic languages, however, it evolved differently, which is why modern German uses it as a gender-neutral pronoun (man) that refers to an unspecific subject: man spricht deutsch means, quite simply, German is spoken. But that is a different story.
There is nothing shocking or new about any of the above. Linguists have known all this for centuries. So why am I discussing it now? Well, because today is International Women's Day and I think it is a great opportunity to stop and consider the relationship between language and thoughts. Some argue that, when it comes to considering a person's thinking process, words are nothing short of cosmetic. To that I counter that words help us shape our thoughts. Siri Hustvedt once remarked "words matter because they alter perception" (or words to that effect). Whether we find it logical or not, the fact is that speakers react differently when labels are changed. A case in point can be found in U.S. politics. The labels Affordable Care Act and Obamacare designate the very same federal law, but elicit radically different reactions from voters. I don't think I need to explain why.
And that leads us to a phenomenon that is usually called "social marking". Social marking (you guessed it) is the process by which a speech community imposes sociocultural assumptions onto words. As far as gender is concerned, the most obvious examples of social marking is the proclivity to ascribe a particular gender to a particular job. When we hear words such as plumber or thief we overwhelmingly picture a man. When we come across terms like nurse or flight attendant we tend to think of a woman. Needless to say, those four words are gender-neutral. The marking, therefore, is not grammatical, but rather psychological. I think we can all learn to reverse that situation by mistrusting our own impulses even when reality does reinforce our initial assumption (most flight attendants are indeed female and most thieves happen to be men).
My personal view is that we've come a long way since the days when the idea of a female surgeon was literally inconceivable. Proof of that is the fact that whenever I come across terms like judge, architect or astronaut I honestly don't have a clear picture as to the gender of the person in question. I suspect that this inability to ascribe a particular gender to a profession is actually backed up by reality. I would say that it means we're making progress. Wouldn't you?
In his quirky prose book Juan de Mairena, Spanish poet Antonio Machado evoked a fictional scene where a teacher asks a pupil to give a literary polish to a ridiculously convoluted phrase. The phrase in question was the consuetudinary occurrences which transpire upon the thoroughfare [my translation]. A clever student was quick to offer a "poetic" version of that atrocity: What happens in the street, said the kid.By means of such an unlikely anecdote, Machado sought to point out the fact that efficient expression should dispense with unnecessary flourishes and stick to the its substance. Literary language is not about throwing together fancy words.
I mention this because experience has shown me that many C1 hopefuls tend to be catastrophically misguided. They seem to fall for the myth that hyper-accurate vocabulary is the only hallmark of a pro. Well... I regret to report that it is not. A certain degree of accuracy is obviously needed, but an English learner shouldn't depend solely on lexical precision to show their advanced competency. In fact, an accumulation of unusual terms (however accurate they might be) is often counterproductive. On his late night show, Stephen Colbert, customarily proves this very point during every introduction of his "Meanwhile" segment, which typically consists in an extended metaphor packed with infrequent terms that (to the uninitiated ears) sound like utter gibberish. Just watch the first 42 seconds of the video below and you'll realize what I mean.
What we, advanced learners, ought to aim for is range and efficiency. And yes. Oftentimes efficiency is closely linked to the ability to be succinct. Compare these two phrases:
an experience that you have only one time in your life (B2)
a once-in-a-lifetime experience (C1)
But conciseness alone doesn't necessarily entail efficiency. Sometimes the expression that produces the desired effect is actually longer than the direct simple one. This is particularly true when we want to paint a vivid picture. Compare the following sentences:
It's easy (A1)
It's not rocket science (C1)
They clearly mean the same thing, but the impact on the listener is noticeably different. In this specific case efficiency relies on the speaker's ability to use a conventional expression (rocket science) and, therefore, to sound natural. Compare now the different ways you can say that something or someone is "tough":
That's a tough needle to thread
That's a tough pill to swallow
She's tough as nails
She's a tough cookie
It's like pulling teeth
It's an uphill battle
Being efficient is all about "getting the job done" without unnecessary words. Sometimes you need an accurate term ("She castled kingside"). On other occasions, you just focus on relaying the message in a way that is interesting, funny, spontaneous, exotic or simply appropriate. Don't get too hung up about the mot juste. Using the perfect word can indeed give you a wonderful sense of achievement, but it can also turn out to be rather pointless. If you don't believe me, ask an average native speaker about the exact difference between a washer and a gasket or even the meaning of mot juste.
One of the regrettable consequences of the digital revolution was the lowering of reading standards. In the early years of the Internet companies were quick to realize that published texts had to be short, punchy and fresh. Nuance, however, often demands more complex prose and "big words", which offer specific shades of meaning (compare the term strange with some of its hyponyms: quirky, outlandish, weird, eccentric, etc.). These days, with readability being the ultimate metric, many webmasters still choose to publish a simplified form of prose that barely challenges a middle-school reader. And I this is by no means a rhetorical overstatement, but rather a hard fact. The 12-year-old reading age has really become the global benchmark for most websites. And if you don't believe me feel free to take a peek at the Web Content Accessibility Guidelines.
I understand that it is often necessary to make sure that nobody is excluded from certain types of information. However, constant exposure to child-level comprehension comes with a price. These days a surprising number of Internet users don't seem to take offense when an article is obviously simple. They actually appreciate the effortless reading and neglect to notice that they are being patronized. Needless to say there's a downside to that convenience: many adults today can't "read between the lines". They don't understand irony, perceive allusions or realize a change in tone. In short, they fail to act as adults. And, as a self-defense mechanism they will downplay a weak speaker's shortcomings and call accomplished orators elitists.
But what happens when a situation calls for nuanced communication? Think about the type of language a neurologist, a financial advisor, a diplomat or a president are expected to use when they act in a professional capacity. Is it acceptable for a doctor be flippant about a dire prognosis? Is there a casual way to address a nation after a terrorist attack?
As I have said before on this blog, the sitting president of the U. S. A. represents the nadir of expression. His entire world seems to be compressed into 500 words. Okay. Maybe more than 500. At any rate, there is overwhelming consensus that his speaking style is an exercise in lexical poverty. You will forgive me for sharing an excerpt of a recent speech by Mr. Trump, which is by no means an isolated anecdote. It is a grim daily standard:
We want respect. We're going to have it. We already have it. More respected now than we ever were. A year and a half ago they laughed at us. Now they respect us again at levels that never respected us.
Of course, it could be argued that even a person operating within such a remarkably narrow word range can still "go places". And that argument might indeed be hard to counter. Yet, as an English teacher, it is my duty to remind you all of the fact that an official examiner will not be as lenient as some voters seem to be in the U.S. Advanced learners ought to do far better than Mr. Trump, which is why I have decided to show you three structures that exceed the capabilities of an average 12-year-old. Check them out:
Impersonal sentences
12-year-old: Everyone helps pay for our doctors and hospitals through their taxes.
Advanced learner: Our healthcare system is funded through taxation.
12-year-old: We should have our own opinions and not follow the opinions of others.
Advanced learner: Developing a personal worldview requires intellectual autonomy, not the passive acceptance of prevailing doctrines.
Subjects which begin with a wh-word
12-year-old: It’s impossible to understand why he is still famous.
Advanced learner: Why he is still relevant is incomprehensible.
Modifiers before the relative pronoun
12-year-old: We should worry more about our students' health because more than 70% of them aren't getting enough exercise.
Advanced learner: We should consider the health of our students 73% of whom do not take regular exercise.
I could, of course, suggest many other examples, but I think this sample is illustrative enough. Remember that even if a sophisticated speaker doesn't need to speak like a fusty old professor all the time, he or she should be able to "run the spectrum" so they can say something basic (She is not going to be famous forever) and then something slightly more nuanced (Is she aware of the ephemeral nature of public adulation?) and, if need be, try and be funny or mysterious or comically pompous. I believe the message is clear. You're an adult. Talk like one.
_________________
N.B. To those of you that think that the video above was a cherry-picked example of Trumpian inarticulateness I suggest you watch the video below. It is an AI-generated clip specifically created to dispense with Donald Trump's voice, his quirks and mannerisms, so that you can concentrate on what he actually says. Bear in mind that this is an unedited word-for-word version of what he said.
Phonetics is not a subject at school. Once in a while it may be touched upon by some eager teachers, but, to the best of my knowledge, most students graduate from high school without ever learning about devoiced consonants or central vowels. Yet, in English-speaking countries a version of phonetics is indeed taught to children when they learn to read. They are told, for example, that the sequence[əʊ] is a "long vowel" and that the vocalic sounds in closed syllables like god or bed are "short vowels". Okay. That is clearly not the case. The dipthong [əʊ] obviously consists of two vowels, namely, a schwa [ə] and a "lax u"[ʊ]. Yes. Two vowels. *
However, English-speaking teachers customarily tell their pupils that a vowel is "long" when they pronounce the name of the letter. So, the vowel in the word name, for example, is "long" because the "a" is pronounced as [ei], whereas the vowel in tack is short. That clever rule of thumb doesn't always work, though. The wordgoat (pronounced[ɡəʊd]in the UK and [ɡoʊd] in the US) is spelled with two letters which, quite obviously, don't have one name. Still, the dipthong in the middle of that word is described as a "long vowel". Even if the explanation is quite messy (it mixes up letters and sounds), I understand that it can be useful in primary school classrooms. That said, to adults who are learning English in Italy or Spain, the whole thing can be extremely confusing.
And not only to foreigners. In a 2025 interview with Stephen Colbert, Daniel Craig was persnickety enough to point out that Colbert used to mispronounce his lastname. As you will hear in the video below, the correct pronunciation of the surname Craig demands that the speaker pronounce a dipthong [ei], not an "open e" [Ɛ]. However, Colbert finds (or pretends to find) the difference a little too "subtle". To me it's quite clear. Is it obvious to you?
Anyhow, if I'm blogging about this issue it's because there is a takeaway for all of you. Bear with me for a minute.
When English speakers learn Spanish they typically struggle to pronounce our so-called "clipped vowels". They tend to say [nəʊ] or [noʊ] instead of simply [no]. For the same reason they say ['balei] instead of [ba'le] when they learn French. How is this all relevant to you? Well, my dear Spanish speakers, you have the "reverse" problem. Most varieties of Spanish lack long vowels. By "long vowels" I'm referring to real long vowels such as the first [a] in the Argentinian pronunciation of Bárbara. Therefore a typical Spanish speaker will have serious difficulty pronouncing the English word father, whose vowel [a:] is slightly longer than the one we find in fad. ** Now, if you want to perfect your pronunciation you may have to polish your English vowels. I suggest you start by practising simple phrases, like let's go to a bar. Remember that the vowel in the word bar is a tiny little bit longer that its Spanish equivalent. I won't say anything about the quality of the vowel or the pronunciation or the [r]. This post is about vocalic length.
Does this make any sense? I certainly hope so. As ever, my advice is simple: practice the pronunciation of everyday words like car, bar or garden and one day you'll be able to deliver the legendary reveal in The Empire Strikes Back: "No, I am your faaaaather".
_________________________________
* I know. I know. The term "lax u" is not scientific, but you will forgive me for not using the technical denomination. In my opinion mid-centralized close back rounded vowel is a bit of a mouthful.
** I know. I know. The "a" in fad represents a completely different sound, but I'm only talking about the length here.
In my previous post I dealt with gun and horse metaphors and insinuated that some idioms can become "dead expressions" insofar as they don't evoke a particular picture. That is most certainly the case of lexicalized metaphors. Unless you are an accomplished etymologist, you might not be notice that the very word metaphor is, in fact, a metaphor itself. It happens to mean "to transfer", which derives from meta (farther) and pharein (take). Similarly, when a computer programmer mentions a firewall or a political pundit refers to a cordon sanitaire, they are using lexicalized metaphors. You typically say those words without visualizing what they say or giving a second thought to their respective origins. And that can, sometimes, be problematic.
Indeed, sooner or later, an overabundance of expressions that revolve around one specific topic end up setting a particular tone which is ultimately perceived even by speakers with questionable metalinguistic awareness. You don't need to be a lexicographer to realize that many common expressions in the business world bristle with an unequivocally aggressive tone. And if you have never remarked that... just think about for a second.
When you "target a demographic" you are effectively directing a metaphoric weapon to that population and if you "launch a marketing campaign" you act like a field marshal during a war. In the business world intense competition is "cutthroat". When you finalize a deal you "go in for the kill". Hiring someone that is already working for a different company is called "headhunting" To motivate a team you "rally the troops". When you make progress against a competitor you "gain ground" (just like you do when you invade a country). To do something secretly you do it "under the radar". When you make a lot of money over a short period of time you "make a killing". And the list goes on and on.
So, if you would rather avoid belligerent vocabulary, you might be glad to learn that there are indeed plenty of alternatives you can use without sounding amateurish. Instead of "targeting a demographic", for example, you can "cater to a demographic" or "focus on it" or "engage with it", "appeal to it", even "seek to resonate with it". The list is not short. Having said that, I am aware that you can't really speak the professional jargon if you always avoid those well-established expressions. Such is life.
At any rate, it is not only war metaphors that can compel you to look for friendlier alternatives. Personal taste can also make you reconsider the use of certain idioms. And no. You don't have to be a hypersensitive snowflake to feel ambivalent about the sound of some traditional turns of phrase. Take the case of animal-related idioms. I'm going to go out on a limb and say that most people in 2026 don't like animals being mistreated. And yet, dictionaries are not always kind to our furry friends. A very popular expression goes like this: "there's not enough room to swing a cat". It is, of course, a colorful way of saying "this place is very small". Unfortunately it plants a mental picture that a cat lover might not appreciate. For similar reasons, someone who likes horses might take issue with the expression "it's like beating a dead horse" (meaning "it's useless") and so on and so forth. You get the picture.
Okay. Let's assume you don't like those expressions. What do you do? The answer is obvious: you use an alternative. Instead of mentioning any kind of cat-swirling you say "it's a bit of a tight squeeze" or "there's barely enough elbow room". As for the phrase about the dead horse, you can remain idiomatic and avoid the mental image of someone flogging a cadaver by simply saying "we're going in circles" or "we're spinning our wheels" or (should the context call for a more elevated register) "there's no need to labor the point". And, of course, you can always go idiom-free and say "this is pointless" or "this leads nowhere".
The bottom line here is clear: you should try and make sure that you have many options at the ready. That way you won't have to mention a dead horse when you find an activity pointless or refer to murder when you finally get a client to sign a contract. Also, by making personal decisions you will shape a speaking style that reflects your own worldview, which is what building an idiolect is all about: developing your own personality. Now, go out there and use some idioms. Happy practice!
