Academics are collectively responsible for the production of some of the most obtuse and impenetrable prose in the English language. Rhetorical fashions come and go, but the penchant for opacity has become a defining feature of contemporary scholarship.
We were sitting over the remains of dinner in a Village restaurant when the conversation turned to gender and women’s studies.
“I am an –ism person,” Temma Kaplan, Rutgers historian said to me. “I don’t do –ity.”
I gave her a knowing look.
“It used to be all –isms. Now everything is –ities,” she said.
“But you can’t get a job in women’s studies without working on an –ity.” I said, “–ities are the thing these days.”
She sighed and shrugged.
Academese is the secret code that some scholars use to signal that they are members of the club. It ensures that no one can really tell whether their ideas are brilliant, bad, or merely mediocre. This is especially useful when submitting an application to a multidisciplinary search or review committee. Since academics are so narrowly specialized these days, there are probably only a handful of people in the world who can judge whether a project is truly groundbreaking.
Learning to write like an academic is difficult. If you don’t want to rely solely on the University of Chicago’s academic sentence generator, you too can learn the subtle art of writing impenetrable prose. It takes time and practice, and not an insubstantial amount of creativity, to produce appropriately complex neologisms for otherwise basic concepts.