Classy Conflict, with Cord Jefferson
In Tucson, Arizona, people-novice hunters mostly-kill wild, stinky, tusked pigs that roam the Sonoran Desert in small packs. The name for these beasts is “javelina” (pronounced have-uh-lee-nah), and it’s my favorite example of a beautiful word for an ugly thing. A girlfriend of mine once told me that, were it not a violent hog, she’d consider naming a daughter Javelina, and I didn’t disagree.
“Classy” is exactly the opposite. To summon forth “classy,” one must first smash his tongue against his teeth while simultaneously coughing up a hard “c.” Soon enough comes the “assy,” which, if spoken without due diligence, can make anyone, regardless of origin, sound like a Fran Drescher caricature. File it between irregular verbs and Mandarin in the ever-growing case against the English language: while the name of some dusty, rotten pig trots softly through the lips, classy-more a sickening cluck than a word-is meant to connote elegance, fashion, dignity, goodness.
Perhaps, like the Black Eyed Peas, it wouldn’t be so bad were it not so frequent. As of late, however, “classy” has become inescapable, an easy go-to for opinionated yet unimaginative people the world around. Conan O’Brien’s exit from The Tonight Show was a major event for the Twitter crowd, many of whom heralded it with the hashtag “#classy.” In fact, Twitterers find a great many things classy, including P. Diddy’s son, Jay-Z’s nightclub, the Duke men’s basketball team, Barack and Michelle Obama, the Hope for Haiti telethon, Tom Hanks, red velvet cake and “older artist men who use the word darling.”
Other Twitter users sarcastically deemed Fox News classy for its decision to not air the Haiti telethon. (These days, the sarcastic use of “classy”-meaning, “not at all classy”-threatens to eclipse the word’s primary meaning.) Some more things that aren’t classy are: The Onion, Megan Fox and some guy’s girlfriend, who passed gas so loudly it rattled his bed. (He didn’t comment on whether it’s classy to Twitter your significant other’s farts.) Katy Perry is both trashy and classy.
Twitter is neither the genesis nor main offender of the classy craze. Elsewhere, in a sports story from 1915 headlined “PRINCETON DOWNS GEORGETOWN, 13 TO 0; Fumbles Disastrous for Heavy Visiting Team; Tigers Win by Classy Playing,” a New York Times reporter wrote that Princeton won because “they were better coached on the fundamentals, displayed more individual brilliance, and possessed a better kicker than the visitors.” Nowadays, the Times regularly publishes a fashion reporter, Suzy Menkes, who could be more accurately described as a “classy correspondent.” In four articles since mid-December, Menkes has found four separate things deserving of the adjective: Viktor & Rolf’s autumn 2010 collection, Salvatore Ferragamo’s autumn 2010 collection, Hermès’ image and a smattering of Louis Vuitton backpacks. Backpacks: what class.
On Amazon, classy turns up Sassy, Classy, and Still Sparkling: Celebrating Life After 50, Sassy Southern-Classy Cajun and The Legends of Wrestling-”Classy” Freddie Blassie: Listen, You Pencil Neck Geeks. In other words, something that middle-aged women, Louisiana low-country people and professional wrestlers have in common is their refinement.
They’re in great company. Because the world’s biggest celebrities of the moment are classy too, and they-the crispy, gelled cast of Jersey Shore, of course-won’t let you forget it. Short-lived Seaside Heights guidette Jolie knew she was classy the moment she was able to go two full days without humping one of her roommates. Sammi knew she was classy because she’d never wear thong underwear and a bra in a jacuzzi absolutely brimming with drunk jocks. And now, Snooki knows she’s classy because she refused to associate with Jerry Springer at some crappy casino restaurant in Connecticut.
Much like centuries of horrific racism killed Martin Luther King Jr. just as much as a bullet, the Jersey Shore kids aren’t solely responsible for the ultimate horrors of “classy”-but they’re undoubtedly its James Earl Ray.
One of the worst kids in my middle school was named Josh Arvisu. He was a squat, broad-shouldered bully, and his facial hair grew as quickly as his anger. He would strut around campus, literally throwing his weight around. If you crossed him, he’d hit you (I once watched him beat a kid up for saying that Bone Thugs-n-Harmony sucked). I remember disliking Josh for a variety of reasons, but the biggest was that I couldn’t comprehend where the hell he got off. How does a chubby kid with a mullet, a kid whose only contribution to the world was a barely there crustache, go around assessing what is and isn’t cool? Shouldn’t one have to be cool before one can tell everyone else what’s cool? Maybe David Bowie could go around kicking people’s asses for liking Bone Thugs-n-Harmony, but Josh Arvisu?
The point is that in order to have the right to use the word classy, you should first have to prove that you are, in fact, classy, which is problematic, because classy, like “sexy,” is a title that’s largely self-defined. This makes it even more silly and gross than it already is. To clarify: Obviously, classy is derived from “class,” which is defined by the Merriam-Webster English Dictionary as “a group sharing the same economic or social status.” In other words, by defining someone or something as classy, not only is a person saying, “There is a hierarchy in society that I like and in which I wholly believe,” they’re also saying that they belong to such a rarefied level of this social stratification that they get to pick and choose what is and isn’t allowed into their golden fold. Isn’t that silly and gross?
Worse still is that most all the people who regularly use the word classy-guidettes, Twitter folk, America’s first legal gigolo-would be hastily dismissed as ruffian jokes by the kinds of blue-blooded, colonizing cake-eaters they’re invoking every time they utter the term.
Conan O’Brien’s final week wasn’t classy; it was mostly dignified and occasionally temperamental. Jay-Z’s nightclub isn’t classy; it’s dark and expensive. The Jersey Shore kids definitely aren’t classy; they’re TV stereotypes who charge money to stand around dance floors. And lest I begin to sound like what I’ve just decried, I should tell you that I’m not classy either; I’m a writer-editor who once ate half a P’Zone out of the garbage. I’d just like us all to agree that because everything’s classy, nothing’s classy. And it’s about time we begin to describe the good things in our world with equally good words. Classy is lazy, inaccurate and tainted with idiotic bigotry.
You can keep calling all the bad stuff “fucking bullshit.”
Cord Jefferson is a writer-editor living in Brooklyn. His work has appeared in National Geographic, GOOD, The Root and on MTV.