If you’ve spent any time online recently, you’d be forgiven for thinking there’s something in the water. Some grown adults – usually of the millennial, gen Z variety, though not exclusively – have regressed to a kind of cutesy, baby language, even while discussing serious topics. In this language, the cost of living crisis is the “cozzie livs”; the upcoming general election is the “genny lec”, and a mental breakdown is a “menty b”. Meanwhile, holidays are “holibobs”, and the wine formerly known as sauvignon blanc is “savvy b”– best paired with a jacky p (jacket potato) for a comforting dinner that’s not too “spenny” (expensive).
This linguistic phenomenon of, well, very silly abbreviations, has created so much confusion, particularly from North American social media users, that decoding British slang is now its own genre in US celebrity interviews (they’ve all done them – Billie Eilish, Emma Stone, Halle Bailey and more). Meanwhile British social media users regularly share their thoughts on the latest language in posts ranging from joy to derision. “If I am re-elected,” joked Labour MP Stella Creasy, “I promise legislation to ban the terms ‘genny lec’ and ‘snappy gen’.” (“Snappy gen” was briefly in the running for the election abbreviation du jour, before being superseded by the overwhelming popularity of “genny lec”.)
If you’re finding all of this cringe, offensive, or just plain unremarkable – I understand. I did, too. But now there is only one word for how I feel about this quirky pursuit of daft nicknames: patriotic.
Slang is subjective. One person’s cringe is another person’s clever, and it is not for me to pass judgment on what comes off as smug or sincere. I certainly have my own preferences: “innit” and “babe” feel natural to me, but I would not say “totes”, or “drinkypoos”, which I am still baffled anyone says, given it sounds like gastric irritation after a big night out.
Yet although slang is likely as old as language itself, I’m convinced that this culture of contractions is something new. The novel thing is just how supercharged the speed of word-innovation has become, and the competitive yet democratic element to the phenomenon. New phrases are created and submitted to the online populus for its approval faster than you can say panny d (yes, for “pandemic”). It’s almost become a national sport of collective wordplay. My favourite at the moment? Although I never much liked “holibob”, I am rather enjoying the working holiday spin-off: “holijob”.
Beyond the obvious silliness and camaraderie behind the craze, there is something else at play here. Sometimes even unserious words serve a serious need.
Take “cozzie livs”, first popularised after a screengrab of a conversation on shopping platform Depop went viral. “I can’t go that low sorry babe,” responds the seller to a buyer’s offer. “Especially with the cozzie livs and all that jazz.” Given the taboo around talking about money, and the shaming, blaming and general nastiness that happens to those who find themselves without money, presumably citing “cozzie livs” is easier than telling a total stranger you’re relying on this sale to make ends meet. That’s the power of informality – of slang – it has a way of bringing people together, putting people at ease and in turn destigmatising certain conversations.
I’ve seen a “cozzie livs” positive effect among my own friends. Where previously WhatsApp groups discussing hen parties or meet-ups were fraught with anxieties around money, now the simple phrase makes it clear: “Sorry girls, can’t afford it. Cozzie livs,” which is promptly heard and understood with no further need to justify how or why, nor open oneself up to judgment. It’s likely similar for “menty b”: it will be easier for some – particularly younger people – to type “I’d better go home before I go full menty b,” than say, “I don’t think I can keep a lid on these feelings much longer”.
Yes, it would be better if people could speak honestly without having to dress their troubles up in a joke. And there is no denying that fluffy language can minimise rather bleak situations. I think back to my own childhood in poverty and I can’t imagine ever using the words “cozzie livs” to help me open up about, say, an eviction notice. But then again, I never said anything at all about money – that was how strong the shame, taboo and ultimately isolation was. Surely this something is better than nothing? I like to think there is some good emerging from this fledgling habit of sharing feelings.
And so I say, long live the funny little phrases! Put them on flags, and weave them into the anthem; rejoice in these daft expressions from a nation of punmakers and wordplayers. Savour the crowdsourced clauses of joy, in pursuit of a more open society. They are a source of national pride. Or should I say nashy p?
Coco Khan is a freelance writer and co-host of the politics podcast Pod Save the UK
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