Losing It
From Elizabeth Spiers at Capital Influx:

I talked to the CEO of a NASDAQ-listed New Jersey-based defense contractor today that went to Birmingham-Southern, which is a couple of hours from my hometown. He still has a Southern accent. He observed that I didn't, and I explained that my accent was effectively neutralized at Duke. If you don't hear a Southern accent for four years, you forget what it sounds like. If I try to affect an accent now, it sounds fake. I end up with the "Scarlett O'Hara" accent, a variety of Southern accent that I wager doesn't really exist, as I've never heard it in real life. The CEO remarked that this was probably a good thing, as people "don't automatically think you're an idiot." I laughed. It's cynical, but it's true.

I had the same conversation with the CEO of a private software company last week. He's originally from Kentucky. He said that his former place of employment was cut-throat competitive, and people that didn't know him assumed he was a moron because of the accent. He said he was one of the few people that no one made a concerted effort to crush in their mad scramble to the top because no found him threatening. "Little did they know," he laughed.

Indeed.

There was an article in the paper the other day about a fellow who works in New York as a voice coach for the movie industry. He teaches people how to lose their accent (not just Southern, but various Noo Yawk and Noo Joisey brogues, too) and also teaches people how to speak WITH an accent for movies or the stage. A right reglar 'enry 'iggins, 'e woz, and even more interesting in that his own speaking voice started out wit lahts a' dems and deezes and dozes.

For better or worse, I am a mimic, and pretty quickly take on the pattern of how everyone else around me is talking. This has served me in good stead over the years and allowed me to sit across the conference table from Ivy League architects and to hunker down with the rodbusters in a footing trench with relatively few problems. Even better are the few times when I get to be the interpreter between the two. And there are those magical times when the slow-talking, idiot/moron side of me gets one over on the smart boys.

Never play pool against a man who has a cuestick with his name on it. And be wary of kids who grew up talking like Brer Rabbit.
posted by Terry at 3:34:00 PM