What's wrong with yer man?

The other day I caught myself saying “yer man who sells the fruit and veg on the corner”. Confession: I’m not Irish. So why did I use that phrase? Why not “that man” or “that bloke”? Thinking about that tiny choice sent me down a rabbit hole about how English works.

One of the great strengths and joys of English is its capacity to collect useful words and concepts from other languages, not to mention coining new words. Chaucer is credited with the first recorded use of about 2,000 words in the English language. Many were borrowed from French, Latin, and Italian. Shakespeare is reckoned to have used 1,700 new words that he either invented or introduced.

Most of us could easily reel off a couple of dozen words that were unknown to our grandparents but we use regularly, without a moment's worry about being called out by a language purist: jazz, jet, teenager, computer, motorway, cappuccino, Internet, antibiotic, fast food, city break, facelift, spell check ...

The main sources of new words in English are the classical languages (Greek and Latin) and the Big Continental Languages: German, French and Italian. It's not just linguists like me who find them useful, and even relish them. Each word or phrase can evoke a certain special feeling.

Now, to return to my opening. Why did I use an expression that's common in Irish English even though I'm not Irish? I could probably think up a few plausible reasons (I had been listening to the David McWilliams podcast, I had been spending time with an Irish friend etc). Maybe, but the reason I occasionally use "yer man [X]" is because I like how it feels. I like the feeling of saying it.

I reckon we often pick our words not just for what they mean, but for how they make us feel, albeit fleetingly. The "yer man" phenomenon might be part of a broader pattern where we unconsciously curate our speech not just for meaning, but for the social and emotional effects that we want our words to create for ourselves and for others.

Words are never just words. Each one carries a charge of feelings, histories, and associations. “Yer man” carries a wink, a swagger and an exotic familiarity that's absent from the more typically British “that man”. We choose our language like we choose our clothes — not just for their basic function, but for how we want to feel in them.