What it means to speak like a Mutt
Image Credit: Creative Commons
“You don’t have a typical American accent”
“What’s a ‘typical American accent then?”
“Something traceable, I guess. Yours is kind of like a mix of them, like a mutt.”
This was a conversation I had in my first few weeks being an international student here in Leeds. A ‘mutt’ is defined as unrecognizable, not belonging to any distinct breed and this seemed like the option to define my accent according to a classmate. Ever since then, the concept of speaking like a ‘mutt’ has settled in me like a rotten seed as I dwell on my distorted identity.
What does it mean to speak like a mutt?
I have lived in England for about two years and I have seen the cultural divide between the North and South and this game between them where people try to pinpoint you based on your regional accent. Being international, I of course do not qualify to play in this game. Yet, one of my classmates still attempted to place me, coming up empty handed as they could not tell the exact state I was from.
“I’m from Boston,” I had said when asked.
“You don’t sound like you are.”
This is where I felt an old regal bruise ache once more.
If you strip down what an accent means, you will find that it is a sub-feature of a language’s dialect. Showing through the tone of one’s voice, the cultural identity they carry.
Over the course of my childhood, I have lived in four states yet I cannot be traced back to any of my previous homes as they are not reflected in my accent. Massachusetts has been my home for the most part. We lived in the city briefly before moving to a small town on the south shore. We were six in this house—my parents, my grandparents, my brother and myself. My mother immigrated over from Mexico and my grandparent from France, and naturally, they wanted us to learn their native languages. As my brother and I progressed, we began speaking Spanish and French in school, not listening or answering to English when our teachers addressed us. Our accents fluctuated between the two. However, this was not an identity that our teachers wanted us to have, threatening to put my brother and I in Special Ed if we did not start speaking English. So my parents stopped.
Most of my family speaks English with either a Spanish or French accent which is attached to a heritage and cultural identity as well. A sort of imposter syndrome takes over as I converse with my family as I am not entirely fluent in either language. I have been told I am not Mexican or French enough due to my lack of fluency. I have not fully committed to learning my parent’s languages yet due to previous ignorant comments on my ethnicity. But even when I speak my broken version of either language now, my riddled accent peaks through and the mask of an identity I want so badly breaks.
I came to realize I will never have an identity that aligns with my mother or father, so I moved on.
As a kid I used to force a Boston accent, believing this identity was more obtainable. I hated knowing I did not sound like I was from Boston despite living here. In certain ways, you could hear a smidge of Boston in me, but I wanted more. I wanted to be a part of it, to actually have a full distinct accent and the identity that came along with it. I thought if I manipulated my voice to sound like the people around me, parroting them, I could feel some sort of patriotism and belonging that I had been longing for. But it never stuck and as childish as this practice was, I wish it did.
My English is covered in a bland Massachusetts accent which is just a nice way of saying:
I do not have a traceable nor distinct accent.
Now since living in England, I have been told I sound British—another accent to add to the pile. I found this to be comical, the fact that I picked up an accent I did not want so easily. I guess I’m more impressionable now than I was when I was a kid. I do not know if that is a good or bad thing if I’m honest.
I am somewhere in between the various hills of my accent, never fully mounting any, just remaining in their valleys.
But why is your accent so important?
Why do we attach such value to something so simple as the pitch of our voices?
It seems I am the one at fault for this unyielding burden. I have tried to obtain an identity through my accent, putting on a facade for others to enjoy when in reality I have no idea who I am. Some people are fortunate to have found their identity early on in life while others seem to never put down the shovel as they dig through caverns of insecurities and worn-out masks.
I would like to put down my shovel.
I have been through a perpetual identity crisis for so many years I have become blind to everything else. An identity is not something you curate but more something found within yourself, something that has always been there from the start. Most believe that to find your identity you need to find a purpose such as a certain career or hobby. For instance, some might be self-acclaimed artists or well renowned doctor but then this begs the question:
What happens when you attach your identity to something impermanent?
When you are fired from a job or grow tired of a particular hobby?
Your identity crumbles with it.
These traits can fall under the umbrella of your identity but it should not be the entirety of it. Much like a mutt, your identity should not be one distinctive breed but more of a mix of things that are beyond tangible.
Your identity should be something within your person, your core values like being kind, having a forgiving disposition or being empathetic in a world where apathy transpires. These are what I believe sew your identity together and it is something I, myself, need to grasp onto. My mutt of an accent should not consume my life as much as I have let it because my longing for a community is something more than my voice.
So again, what does it mean to speak like a mutt?
It means not shying away from your many homes that peek through your voice. And it means finding the beauty behind not having an ‘traceable’ accent as that means no one can define who you are, only you can.
Words by Olivia J Nivaud