Jheeking Out

“What is a…a…‘jheek’?”

This is the inevitable question from a student whenever reading one of my favorite English-lesson news articles, an Economist special report about how wireless technology has impacted society. The piece drops the words ‘geek’ and 'nerd' a couple times, and so reading it is always a game of waiting for the quizzical look and the mispronunciation of two of America’s most endearing insults and/or status labels, depending on how you look at it (or where you live).

It’s not as if hearing the correct pronunciation renders the words any more comprehensible to the French. The first problem is that there isn’t any translation in the French language. The closest French gets is intello, which really means ‘intellectual’—a term that’s far more Nietzsche, ethics seminar, and tweed than Star Trek, LAN party, and pocket protector.

The second problem runs deeper than language. The fact is the concepts of ‘geek’ or ‘nerd’ just don’t exist in this culture. And herein we can analyze the wide cultural gap between Euros and Americans. Europe has played host to centuries of ground-breaking thinkers. Intellectualism is as much a part of their history as is architecture or food. Educational achievement is of utmost importance in French society, yet the education system only awards the highest honors to a select few. French students are therefore pushed to the point of breaking, and only a few of them make it to the top. There has never been a celebration of the jock over the nerd, because football may reign supreme, but studies are way more important. You’d think some would rebel against the intellectual status quo, yet it seldom happens. As depressing as it could be, people still aspire to greatness even if they know they may never achieve it. In adult life, most people strive to know what’s happening in the world, present a solid analysis of it, and be right about it, to boot. Being smart (or at least appearing to be smart) isn’t just cool—it’s a survival skill.

Now, I’m not saying America is a polar opposite. We of course have had great minds, countless innovations, and many high-performing students. We have our bubble world of the educated elite. But we also tend to prize athletic achievement and strength over brains. (If you look back to our country’s origins, it was all about brawn—conquering the wilderness, the Manifest Destiny. Could this have something to do with it?) The jock vs. nerd rivalry codified in 1980’s teen comedies has faded, but not quite into obscurity. I worked in public schools for two years—the athletes still get all the glory, while it’s uncool to be so unabashedly, nerdily, in love with one’s studies. (“Don’t worry,” I’d tell my over-achieving students, “It won’t matter anymore in college.” Well, maybe except at a Big 10 university.) And in 2004, we experienced the triumph of someone who inexplicably bluffed his way through Yale (family money helps a lot!) over someone whom the American people felt was too much of a “European intellectual.” I wasn’t a fan of Kerry’s longwindedness either, but at the time I, like many others, was infuriated that a term celebrating smarts had been transformed into an insult.

However, we’ve turned a corner in American culture. Nerdiness may still be cause for mockery, but geekiness is another beast altogether. Living in the SF Bay Area for nearly a decade, I witnessed the ascension of the Geek firsthand. And now the word is less rooted in the realm of technology or educational achievement, and more casually tossed around to refer to anyone who’s an avid fan of just about anything. I could call myself a tea geek, my sister a Pilates geek, my angler student a fishing geek…etc.

But back to the French, the idea of nerdiness and geekiness just don’t translate. I have slaved away at trying to explain the words to many French friends and students, sometimes even aided by other Anglos, and it always fails to come across and really gel in a French person’s mind. To define geek, the best I can come up with is un fan (a fan). To define nerd, it gets a bit trickier. I usually have to resort to acting out the role of a stereotypical nerd, which involves talking in a high-pitched whiny voice, adopting a hunched posture, and pushing my invisible glasses up the ridge of my nose. Basically, it’s my rendition of the super-nerdy kid on “The Simpsons” who recruits Lisa into his league of nerds. It’s a pathetic impersonation and I think it leaves the French pitying my apparent mental disorder rather than experiencing the dawning light of realization.