Seven Words Architects Should Never Use*

*Well, almost never.

Architects spend many years in universities, where, sad to say, we pick up a lot of bad habits. We stay up too late, we procrastinate in meeting deadlines, we smoke and drink things we shouldn’t, and, I’m afraid, we learn bad writing habits. We learn to habitually use words we shouldn’t, at least not in professional contexts. I’m not talking about those four-letter, “excuse-my-French” words. No, these are far worse. These are “excuse-my-academese” words. 

Academese is a peculiar form of English that thrives in colleges and universities. It’s notable for never seeking the simplest way of saying anything, for valuing complexity over clarity, and for equating complicated verbal expression with sophisticated thinking. Helen Sword, in her book Stylish Academic Writing, defines academese as “impersonal, stodgy, jargon-laden, abstract prose” that displays “an addiction to big words and stodgy syntax.” But why should we believe her? It’s not like we know her personally. But … (pausing dramatically) … what about Calvin, from Bill Waterson’s comic strip Calvin & Hobbes? On February 11, 1993, Calvin told Hobbes that he used to hate assignments requiring writing, but now he loves them because he realizes “that the purpose of writing is to inflate weak ideas, obscure poor reasoning, and inhibit clarity. With a little practice, writing can be an intimidating and impenetrable fog.” That’s a pretty good definition of academese. (Calvin’s closing words: “Academia, here I come!”)

So what are these awful words? I’ll keep the list to just seven because, well, if seven was good enough for George Carlin (in his “Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television” [1]), it’s good enough for me. Here are the seven words architects should never―well, almost never―use professionally: dynamic (as a noun), materiality, methodology, paradigm, parameter, pedagogy, and typology. Admittedly, these seven don’t flow off the tongue as smoothly as Carlin’s seven, but none of his words are derived from Latin or Greek [2].

Dynamic: I recently saw this sentence in a colleague’s “official” resume (meaning, it wasn’t written by her): “I will foster a positive dynamic between the client and the design team.” When I asked her what that meant, she said, “I have no idea.” Dynamic, as an adjective meaning “vigorously active or forceful, the opposite of static,” has been around for 200 years, and has many good technical uses, e.g., dynamic load, dynamic model, and dynamic range, as well as nontechnical uses, such as dynamic personality. But dynamic as a noun, even though it’s been with us since the late 1800s, is pure academese. It’s generally used to mean “force” or “energy,” but in most cases, force or energy are simpler and more straightforward choices. The plural dynamics, on the other hand, has useful meanings, involving movement (e.g., fluid dynamics), and describing interactions among members of a group (e.g., group dynamics).

Materiality: “Let me describe the building’s materiality.” Have you ever heard an architect say or write that? Do you think the architect meant “the quality or state of being material”? Or perhaps “the quality or state of being something requiring serious consideration by reason of being either certainly or probably vital to the proper settlement of an issue”? Probably not, but those are the only two definitions of materiality in Merriam-Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary. In nearly every situation, we can use the word materials instead of materiality.

Methodology: Words ending in –ology usually mean “the study of something” (from the Greek word logia, meaning “the study of”). Psychology is the study of the mind (from the Greek psyche, “soul”) and biology is the study of life (from the Greek bios, “life”). Thus, methodology isn’t just a fancy way of saying method; it’s (according to Merriam-Webster) either “a science or study of method,” or “a body of methods, procedures, working concepts, rules, and postulates employed by a science, art, or discipline.” In other words, a methodology is much broader than a mere method. With few exceptions, when we want to write methodology, we would be better off with just method (or way, manner, process, technique, plan, procedure, or approach).

Paradigm: We have Thomas Kuhn to blame. His 1962 book The Structure of Scientific Revolutions repurposed the grammatical word paradigm to mean a set of core assumptions that scientists use to represent their world view―their deeply entrenched understanding of reality. He then introduced paradigm shift to describe a drastic, world-shaking scientific revolution, such as Copernicus’s Earth-going-around-the-sun idea. But academics latched onto paradigm and paradigm shift, and architects (and everyone else who attended college) now call any modest change to a commonly held belief a paradigm shift. To be true to the spirit of Kuhn, we should save paradigms for all-encompassing belief systems, and paradigm shifts for when those belief systems are turned topsy-turvy. Instead of paradigm, we have model, archetype, or standard―maybe not as sexy, but usually more accurate.

Parameter: The simplest Merriam-Webster definition of parameter is “a variable whose value is input to a procedure or subprogram to be operated on when the procedure or subprogram is called in a computer program”―whatever the hell that means. Sometime in the past two decades, parameter has become a fashionable way of saying limit, boundary, characteristic, factor, or element. Any of those synonyms is, in most cases, more appropriate than parameter. The exception is when we are actually talking about computer programs and computational design; in those cases, parameter may―and I stress may―be the better choice. [3]

Pedagogy: This word has a precise meaning: “the art, science, or profession of teaching.” It’s included among these seven words for two reasons: first, it can usually be replaced by the simpler terms teaching or educational theory, and second, it’s a real clunker of a word; it looks and sounds clumsy. I recently heard two people―two architects, of course―each say the word in one evening, and they pronounced it differently (pedagahjy and pedagohjy). When a word looks this ugly, and people aren’t sure how to pronounce it, that’s not a good sign.

Typology: I’m sure this sounds familiar: “A high-rise is an appropriate building typology for an urban office building.” Remember how –ology means “the study of”? Same thing applies to typology. If we’re talking about “a doctrine or theory of types,” or the “study of or study based on types,” then typology is the word we want. But 99% of the time (I’m being generous; what I really mean is 99.99% of the time), the word type (or nature, sort, group, brand, form, or category) does the job more efficiently and effectively.

Before I come off sounding dogmatic―or, rather, now that I’ve already come off sounding dogmatic―let me call your attention to the asterisk in this article’s title. To say we should never use these seven words is too extreme. We may encounter situations where these are exactly the words we need, in which case we should by all means use them. But those situations are rare. Whenever we habitually write one of these seven words in our drafts, we should consider why we’re using it. Is it the exact word we need, or are we using it because we think it makes us sound smarter? If it’s the latter, then we may want to reach for a simpler but more appropriate word.

These seven words are hardly the only ones we architects should avoid. I could have written this article about, for example, architectonic, fenestration, functionality, generative, holistic, morphology, and pristine. In fact, I’m sure you could come up with your own words architects should avoid. If you think of words to should be add to the list, submit them as a comment to this article.

Finally, do I honestly think I’m going to stop architects from using these seven words? Of course not. A quick Google search shows how pervasive they (the words, not the architects) are: Dynamic has 33,500,000 hits, followed by parameter (30,200,000 hits), methodology (28,200,000), paradigm (24,900,000), pedagogy (17,100,000), typology (6,140,000), and materiality (4,010,000). But if just a few of us avoid these words and choose simpler, more direct words to express ourselves, we can achieve a small but significant win against academese.

Follow the author on Twitter @bill_schmwil.

Footnotes:

[1] From his album Class Clown (1972). Carlin later added more words to the list. Even in these anything-goes days of cable television, the original list still applies to free network TV.

[2] Instead, their origins are, in the order that Carlin listed them, Old English, Old French, Middle Dutch, Old Norse, Old English, Old English/Middle Dutch, and Old English. Rather than saying, “Pardon my French,” perhaps we should say, “Pardon my Old English.” This also brings to mind my high school Spanish teacher, Mr. Burke, who said that you don’t really know a language until you find swearing in it satisfying.

[3] My favorite anti-parameter quote is by Dick Cavett, a popular talk show host from the 1970s: “Anyone who uses the words ‘parameter’ and ‘interface’ should never be invited to a dinner party.”