‘Moist,’ ‘Dude’ and ‘Slacks’: The Worst Words Ever?
Is «slacks» the worst word in the English language? The New Yorker thinks so. Hollywood producer Robert Evans might disagree. He poses here with some of his most fashionable slacks in 1957.
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Is «slacks» the worst word in the English language? The New Yorker thinks so. Hollywood producer Robert Evans might disagree. He poses here with some of his most fashionable slacks in 1957.
Marty Lederhandler/AP
If you could eliminate a single word from the English language — just zap it, nuke it, prevent it from ever being used again — what would it be?
That’s the question Ben Greenman of The New Yorker put to its readers last week. Greenman tells Melissa Block, host of All Things Considered, that the response was awesome. «Awesome,» by the way, was chosen by many readers for elimination. «People hated it,» Greenman says.
The contest started, he jokes, when the magazine’s staff «counted all the words in the language and we found that there was one too many.»
To collect the worst of the worst, they reached out for nominations via Twitter. Many of the words readers submitted are popular ones, including quite a few mainstays in the teenage vernacular.
«We did detect some reverse-ageism,» he says. «People didn’t like ‘like’ used as a sort of stopgap. People didn’t like ‘dude.’ «
Honorable mentions from The New Yorker‘s list:
- Literally
- Actually
- Awesome
- Epic
- Phlegm
- Fecund
- Bling
- Swap
- Impacted
- Efforting
- Like
- But
- Irregardless
- Inflammable
- Moist
- Comorbid
Other popular submissions were so-called ugly words, such as «phlegm» and «moist.»
«People hate the word ‘moist,’ » he says. «Without the word, it would leave bakers, meteorologists and amateur pornographers lacking for what to do. I think it’s the texture of the word.»
When it came to making the final selection, Greenman says the public was out.
«It wasn’t ever intended to be a popular vote. We were taking nominations after which we would go into the smoky backroom and pick a winner.»
So what does The New Yorker consider to be the worst word in the English language?
«Slacks.»
«The more that word stayed on the table, the more preposterous it seemed because there are lots of other words for it,» he says. «It sort of, in our mind, stuck in time. Maybe ’78, ’79.»
Like «moist,» Greeman says «slacks» has a bad texture.
«People said it felt like rubbing the palm of their hand over polyester, to say that word out loud,» he says.
So what happens now? Nothing, really. Greenman says someone from the magazine’s copy department will write «slacks» down on a piece of paper, crumple it up and throw it away as a «sort of ceremonial sacrifice.»
Next week, he says, they might eliminate a number.
You know what word I can’t stand hearing? «Panties.»
The word «panties» earns my vote for «worst word of all time.» But there are plenty of people who find it perfectly acceptable.
And the most baffling thing: I can’t fully explain why I dislike it so much. What did the word «panties» ever do to me?
I’m certainly not alone in my distaste at the word «panties.» A woman on a parenting blog notes that «the only thing worse than the word ‘panties’ is an old man using the word ‘panties.'»
I find this statement particularly interesting because I can empathize with it. «Panties» are so often used to discuss children’s underwear, but there’s also a definite sexual connotation to the word. Actress Christina Hendricks was quoted as saying, «‘Panties’ is a wonderful word. When did you stop saying ‘panties’? It’s sexy. It’s girlie. It’s naughty. Say it more.»
It’s certainly more sexual than the clinical-sounding «undergarments» or «underwear.» I imagine most women have rarely heard the phrase «Take off your undergarments,» at least not in this century. However, if any man ever told me to «take off my panties,» I’d tell him to «get out of my house.»
I think for me (and some other women) who find it hard to hear the word «panties,» particularly from men, it has to do with a notion that these men are somehow (unintentionally) sexualizing little girls.
Daniel O’Brien, who has written several articles about word aversion, said he had never been bothered by «panties» until he received a flood of emails from readers, asking why he’d omitted the word from his roundups. He admitted, «I did realize that it’s impossible to say it without sounding like either a child or a pedophile, (especially if you say it 100 times in an empty room).»
Now, before you start on your rave about how I’m beginning to spout some «crazy, feminist bullsh*t,» let me make it clear: I am certainly not attempting to speak on behalf of womenkind. These are just my opinions of why I feel so much disgust at a seemingly random word.
And, it turns out, many of us are bothered by seemingly random words. Last year, we asked our readers to contribute the words they shuddered upon hearing, and they assailed «moist,» «viscous,» and «maggots,» among others.
According to Ben Zimmer from Visual Thesaurus, their subscribers’ least liked words are «hate,» «no,» «like,» and «impossible.» These four make some sense—«like» is an overused filler word, and the other three are negative.
Some of their other least-liked words, however, are less easily explained: «moist,» «panties,» «ointment,» and «slacks.»
As Zimmer points out, it seems odd that «moist» should get such a bad rap, when words that sound like it, «hoist» or «joist,» are perfectly acceptable.
Our hatred towards particular words is partly visceral: how it sounds and feels in our mouth. But sometimes the problem seems much more psychological. Poet Paul Batchelor doesn’t like the word «appall» because he «dislike[s] hearing the sound of [his] name in other words.» Geraldine Monk says that the word «redacted» makes her «feel totally sick. It’s such a brutish word…it prods at you in a nasty manner.»
But why do some women, in particular, seem to hate words like «moist» and «panties» more than men do?
Carol Lloyd in Salon offers one possibility: «The word ‘moist’ straddles the same cultural polarities of shame and openness that still haunt modern female sexuality. After all, moist is now mostly used with positive connotations to describe baked goods and soil, but it still harbors its less than appealing root meanings. First cited in the English language in 1374, the word came from the French word ‘moiste,’ for damp, which came from the Latin words for moldy, slimy and musty.»
Words like «moist» and «panties» don’t carry heavy sexual associations, but rather, much subtler ones. So when they’re used in everyday conversation, they have the strange ability to make women flinch.
My disgust at the word «panties» will probably never change. Luckily, unlike some other words, it has about a gazillion synonyms. So call them «underwear,» «knickers,» «undergarments,» or what have you, but please refrain from using the word «panties!»
What word do you hate hearing? Let me know in the comments!
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I GOT BITCHES (исполнитель: A2M)
Ay yo, what it is Everybody report to the [bad word] dance floor with they [bad word] drinks, they wet [bad word] pussies, they big fat asses and the big brown [bad word] with the pepperoni nipples, ‘cause [bad word] for ya (what the [bad word] was that) I got [bad word] all on my [bad word] everyday Suckin on my balls, lickin on my balls [bad word] they know, stick it their bootyhole My balls, my balls, suck on my balls (C’mon!) all up in that [bad word] let me hit that booty raw Lickin the [bad word] suckin the balls, swallow it all beatin down your [bad word] wall to the ground Spinnin round and round And these stacks get down (sheit) Swallow the nut, [bad word] in the butt, beatin it up and that’s how I [bad word] I got [bad word] all on my [bad word] everyday Suckin on my balls, lickin on my balls [bad word] they know, stick it their bootyhole My balls, my balls, suck on my balls (inhales) yeah [bad word] I, I don’t know what to say I just love [bad word] [bad word] [bad word] em in they [bad word] [bad word] em in they face, [bad word] em in they [bad word] hole That’s just how I get down [bad word] [bad word] know what i’m about Roll my blunt up ho And keep this [bad word] up in your mouth Don’t be talkin no [bad word] cause I ain't takin now [bad word] [bad word] no) Keep your mouth on mr. big stuff while i’m tokin this here I said hoes (uh huh) they give me dough (what up) Wrap around my toe, and that’s fo sho I got iced out fingers (icy) [bad word] you better win em Scoopin em like kitty litter They call me jiggler I got [bad word] all on my [bad word] everyday Suckin on my balls, lickin on my balls [bad word] they know, stick it their bootyhole My balls, my balls, suck on my balls Yo check it, you neck it, i’m beatin that [bad word] Every day suckin my balls while i’m countin my cash I got cash flow, [bad word] in yo [bad word] hole And every time you bout to blast I say you guess hoe Cause I don’t [bad word] [bad word] I just put it in they butt And if they want the nut (NUT) it’s [bad word] to mouth what (yeah) I be stuntin like my daddy with some hoes all in they caddy And my [bad word] ain’t far from shabby that’s why hoes all want it badly They be blowin up my celly beggin for it on they belly I say meet me at the telly don’t forget the KY jelly I’m a nasty boss [bad word] catch me at [bad word] game Hoppin out the caddy hoes cling to my spaghetti chain Catch me in the parkin lot, pimpin hittin switches I got girls, I got hoes, I got [bad word] [bad word] I got [bad word] all on my [bad word] everyday Suckin on my balls, lickin on my balls [bad word] they know, stick it their bootyhole My balls, my balls, suck on my balls I got [bad word] all on my [bad word] everyday (c’mon) Suckin on my balls (my balls), lickin on my balls (my balls) [bad word] they know (yeah), stick it their bootyhole My balls, my balls, suck on my balls (yeah)
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There is a very important question being tackled again by certain smart people of the Internet, and that question is this: What, exactly, is the worst word on the entire planet?
This article is from the archive of our partner 
.
There is a very important question being tackled again by certain smart people of the Internet, and that question is this: What, exactly, is the worst word on the entire planet? Any time this question or one like it is broached, an opened floodgate of response is ensured, likely to include words like moist, fecund, phlegm, artisanal, or if you work at The New Yorker, slacks. We continue to believe that coöperation is öffensive, as is the corresponding word, diaeresis, which remains ever so hard to spell no matter how many times we type it.
On Thursday Sarah Miller made a strong argument on The Awl for literally as our English-speaking community’s worst word. This is not a bad word to choose as the very worst. Flagrant misuses abound, and it’s ever so annoying when people say literally when they actually mean not literally. Literally, in fact, is rarely used when it should be used, which is almost never, and almost always when it shouldn’t.
I recall vividly, if not literally, an instance in which I had to correct a very good friend who said the pavement was so hot that her bare feet were «literally being scalded.» They weren’t! We haven’t spoken since, literally, by which I mean, of course we’ve spoken, what does it even mean to speak literally? Miller offers up five reasons that literally should take the crown of worst word ever, including «People use literally because they’re always lying and they think literally makes their bullshit sound better»; «People use literally because they feel like all their stories have to be exciting» (these two reasons are literally quite similar); and well, here’s the thing about literally: It’s an unnecessary word. There is almost literally no occasion in which you need to use it, and rarely an occasion that it does anything to make what you’re saying better. It’s a waste of space, word decor that undermines the point of what’s being said.
It’s almost like I’m making the case for Miller, and I do agree with her: literally is a word that we should be very, very careful around. But actually I think there’s a word that’s worse. Actually, did you see what I did there? While literally and actually can be used interchangeably, actually has a bad attitude. Literally can be mocked and laughed at, because literally almost no one uses it correctly. Actually is more sneaky, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Actually is the word that you use when you’re actually saying, «You are wrong, and I am right, and you are at least a little bit of an idiot.» (Actually, my name is Jen, not Jane.) The fact that it often comes out so passive aggressively makes it worse than literally, too.
Take this example, from a casual bar scenario:
Your date: «I brought you a gin and tonic.»
You, frowning, wondering to yourself why you ever agreed to be set up at all, blind dates are the worst: «Actually, I asked for a vodka soda.»
Or a workplace setting:
Your coworker: «Do you want half of my sandwich? I can’t eat it all.»
You, frowning, wondering to yourself why your coworkers are so oblivious to your everyday regular habits: «Actually, I’ve been on a no-carb diet for months now.»
Or at the doctor’s office:
You: «I have an appointment at 4 p.m. with Dr. Applebaum. For [your name here]?»
The receptionist: «Actually, I don’t see your name here.»
You, leaning over the desk at the computer, pointing: «Actually, that’s it, right there.»
The receptionist: «Actually, can you step back a bit? You’re actually invading my personal space right now.»
The doctor, emerging from a back room in a white coat, speaking to the receptionist: «Actually, Mary, I’ll take [your name here].»
You follow, stepping into a room when the doctor stops.
Doctor, frowning, wondering why everyone is such a moron: «Actually, I’d like you to get your blood work first. Can you actually follow me to one of technicians?» Looking at his watch, sighing. «Actually, you’ll have to head over there yourself. I have another patient to attend to.»
I could go on and on, but, actually, I’ll save you the trouble of telling me, actually, you get it. Actually is a word worse than literally because it is a secret criticism, an indirect jab, a correction with a barb. It is the «talk to the hand» of the adverb community. And even when it’s being used nicely, it’s unnecessary, a waste of space. «Actually, I’d rather have pizza,» can be said just as easily as «I’d rather have pizza,» so why say actually at all? If you really find yourself in a situation in which you need to say actually, how about choosing, simply, really or truly, or perhaps verily or even forsooth instead. At least then you have the benefit of sounding charmingly old-fashioned and not actually like kind of a jerk, quite literally.
This article is from the archive of our partner The Wire.
This cake looks amazing. You could describe it as «delicious.»
You could also describe it as …»moist.» *cringe*
But the «m» word is an awful word. You hate even thinking it.
It’s not like you have a problem with words like «wet» or «damp.»
It just feels gross to say … you know … «moist.» *shudder*
It might have something to do with the «oi» sound. Like in «ointment» or «goiter.»
But it probably has more to do with the fact that that word makes you think more of bodily fluids than cake.
You don’t want to think about bodily fluids while enjoying cake, whether it’s a sweaty palm…
…or, you know…
It’s an innocent enough word, but you just feel dirty using it. You feel like you need to wash up after hearing it.
Also, it comes from the Latin «muscidus» which meant «slimy,» «moldy,» «musty» and gave us the word «mucus.»
And you’re not alone. A lot of people don’t like the «m» word either.
So please, just stop using the «m» word.
Thanks!
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