Tag Archives: style

What’s Up?

Common wisdom holds that New Yorkers are constantly on the move. We walk fast, we talk fast, and we live in “the city that never sleeps.” Yet the number of stores advertising laundry services implies that we’re also a lazy lot. We value our couch-potato time too much to hang around watching a washer and dryer clean our clothes – or even to visit the site where these machines are located. So we have someone else stop by, empty the hamper, and take the stuff away. The problem is that no one seems to agree on what this service should be called. Check out these signs:

To hyphenate or not to hyphenate seems to be the question when you compare the first two signs, but the third throws in another possibility: a single word. Which is right? A quick dictionary search on the Internet reveals that as a verb (We will pick up your laundry), two separate words are the only way to go. Many sites call for a single word (pickup) when you need a noun referring to one, unified action. After digging a bit, I located one hyphenated noun (pick-up). But only one. If you favor majority rule, dump the hyphen.

I confess that I love this sign best, though in no way is it correct in Standard English:

IC – Where are you?

How economical. The customer doesn’t pay for the pk up, and the shop-owner doesn’t pay for the letters I and C.

I’ll end with the other side of the equation – the return. Here’s my favorite sign for this service:

Delivery?

This sign appears on the awning of a liquor store. I assume you’re not surprised. If you are, have a couple of drinks. You’ll then discover that we delivery makes perfect sense. In fact, after a few swigs of good Chianti, I delivery – and you are too!

Expensive Words

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The old saying, “words are cheap,” isn’t always relevant when it comes to marketing strategy. Add an old word – especially one that appears British – and the price rises. In these signs, holdovers and resurrected terms signal merchandise that costs more and (they hope you’ll think) that is actually worth the extra money. First, pharmaceuticals:

An apothecary!

Chain pharmacies – Duane Reed, Walgreens, and Rite Aid in my neighborhood – could never be apothecaries. They emphasize price (as in low) and convenience. In my imagination, an apothecary wears a striped apron and requires a few minutes of polite chit-chat before filling your prescription or directing you to the toe-fungus section. (Not that I have toe fungus.) In a non-apothecary (the word apothecary applies to both the person and the shop), I don’t expect a discount. I do expect personal service and a gentle shopping experience.

I expect the same in this food store:

Not general items here. Only specialties.

No general food here. Only specialties.

Doesn’t purveyor sounds better than merchant? About 20% better, judging by the prices for the specialty foods within. Don’t go into this store searching for, say, a box of Wheaties or a Hershey chocolate bar. Instead, look for food with advanced degrees – of both pretention and price.

Every rule has an exception. This store, in NYC’s garment district, sells doo-dads that attach to clothing (buttons, lace, sequins, and the like). This banner features a blast from the past:

Not from a research study!

The term findings more frequently appears in connection with an inquiry, poll, or research project. In this sign, though, it means “tools or materials used by artisans,” according to dictionary.com. Comparing this shop with others on the block, I found lower prices and slightly scruffier décor in the findings store. (Or should I say shoppe?) Perhaps in this case, the owner modernized neither language nor prices.

I’ll keep searching for strange words, and let you know my findings.

You are what (you think) you eat

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I didn’t bat an eye when I read two separate references to “artisanal pickles” in yesterday’s New York Times. I live in Manhattan, where signs advertising “artisanal food” or as in this sign, “artisan bread,” abound:

Sign by an adjective-challenged writer.

So I was fine with artisanal pickles, which I presume are soaked in brine lacking any ingredient with more than three syllables in its name. But an article about “artisanal fish” stopped me cold. What would an artisanal fish be? I pictured busy little fins, fluttering around watery workshops as they fashioned – well, what would an artisanal fish create? Seaweed cooked according to an old family recipe?

After some digging, I discovered that artisanal fish is the term for the opposite of large-scale, commercial fishing, with its miles-square nets and other ocean-destroying practices. If I eat an artisanal fish, I’m chewing on something caught on a hook at the end of a line held by a real person, plying the waters in a small boat inherited from a crusty-but-kind, weathered ancestor who patiently explained ancient methods before he sailed off beyond the horizon. Or at least that’s what the label hopes I think.

The term, though, has no real legal definition. At least the definition of “organic” has evolved from “any carbon-based life form” into “free from pesticides and genetic engineering,” with some legislation or certification to back it up. But artisanal, like its linguistic cousin craft, resides in the eye of the beholder. Or in this case, the mouth.

That got me thinking about other phrases I see on signs and menus. They may have meaning, and the products themselves may carry more flavor and nutritional value than others — but how do we really know? The term green in this sign hints at earth-friendly, natural (dare I say artisanal?) cooking, but the term may be either completely appropriate or totally undeserved.

Contrast the above sign with this one, whose products are identified only by color:

Or shape:

To be honest, these food products may not be as tasty as artisanal cheese and meat, but at least you know what aspect of the food they’re promoting. Which brings me to the main point. In our over-mechanized world, advertisers know that consumers often want to hurtle into the past – which they will find with the help of their voice-enabled, speech-recognizing, GPS-loaded, smartphone apps. The product may not be real, good, or natural. That’s fine, as long as it seems that way. You are what you eat, or in this case, what you think you’re eating.

Didn’t we win that war?

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It’s been a long time since I studied American history, but until recently I was under the impression that we’d won the Revolutionary War. If we did, the Upper East Side apparently hasn’t gotten the message. Check out this sign from one of the local luxury food stores (yes, in this part of town there are several), which shall remain nameless to protect the pretentious:

Bespoke? Really?

I’m not going to touch the “dissappoint,” misspelled words being beneath my notice (usually), but it is a nice touch. This sign first appeared as a simple sheet of paper, printed by someone who hadn’t worried about the wavy red spellcheck line under what should read “disappoint.” About a week ago the store had the sign framed and mounted under a container of melon cubes. The busy employees don’t have time to read the sign aloud, so I can’t make a joke about someone who “misspoke” about “bespoke.” Sigh. What I can do is compare “bespoke fruit baskets” to “custom-made” or “made-to-order” fruit selections. What’s the difference? About thirty bucks, give or take. It’s the British influence. Associate a word with Colin Firth’s accent, and the price goes up.

The same principle is at work with “Stonehenge Realty,” a name I see on any number of NYC buildings. I would keep the name to myself, for the same reason I’m reserving identification of the foolish fruit-seller, but in this case the name itself is the point. Now don’t get me wrong. I have visited Stonehenge (the real thing, not the apartment buildings), and I’ve marveled at its power and history. But in New York? Can’t you just picture a real estate agent, Armani on and portfolio ready, extolling the virtues of living under a rock slab? “You’ll love the workmanship on this monolith,” the agent in my fantasy says, “and rocks are practically maintenance free. Of course, in December and June the Druids have access, but they add character, don’t you agree?”

Don’t think the tendency to turn to Britain for luxury references is purely a matter of money, with whoever names apartment buildings (and who does, do you know?) applying the names of economic powerhouses to their houses. If so, I’d expect to see the “Beijing” or possibly the “Riyadh.” If they’re out there, I can’t locate them. Nor is it a former colony’s desire to show reverence to the mother country. If it were, someone would be living in the “Chiapas,” because we beat Mexico in a war also. Okay, technically it was Spain, but don’t quibble.

No, it’s cultural bias, plain and simple, the same impulse that drives the ratings for Downton Abbey into the stratosphere. The Yanks won the war, but the British won the peace.

That’s it for today. I’m off to high tea.

Don’t Sit the Birds

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Grammar rules may seem irrelevant, but they do provide a frame of reference, standardizing meaning and enabling your audience to figure out what you’re trying to say. In this post, adapted from a page I created a while ago, I offer some signs that left me scratching my head. First up is this gem:

This sign appeared above a two-inch-wide ledge outside a grocery store. I understand that you’re not supposed to feed the birds, but I guess you’re also not supposed to bend their little legs to make them sit on the ledge? (Yes, I know the sign-writer probably aimed this request at human beings. But trust me: No human rear could ever perch on this tiny spot.) The meaning, as written, is not clear, but at least the sign-writer was polite enough to say “please.”

Here’s another interesting sign:

What’s an “overweight permit”?

No doubt this sign is crystal clear to truck drivers. The rest of us are left in the dark, which is exactly where I do not want drivers to be as they navigate Park Avenue, one of the busier NYC roads. I want their attention on the road, thinking about pedestrians and other motorists. I don’t want them to wonder whether (a) it’s okay to drive with an overweight truck if you didn’t bother to get a permit or (b) a driver who is a little too fond of 2000-calorie lunches has to get an “overweight permit.”

How long are your feet? How wide are your shoulders? Measure them and then see whether you qualify for the “Package Special” advertised in this sign:

Ten inches?

Items 3 and 4 use a single quotation mark, the traditional symbol for “inches.” The owner of this store may be using the navigational symbol for minutes, which pops up in measures of latitude and longitude. (Maybe the masseuse is a former sea captain?)

One more:

Are they offering “sensation”? Or welcoming it? And has the Vice Squad visited?

Grammarian in the City

Snarky remarks on language I see and hear in New York City

Tag Archives: style

What’s Up?

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Don’t Sit the Birds

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