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Profiting off Pandemic Panic

By Sam Linton

So I was talking to a friend of mine the other day when he dropped a knowledge-bomb on me. Apparently, the Powers That Be are attempting to change the name of current global pandemic media darling Swine Flu into something a bit less descriptive. Why? Because the negative connotations of that name have had a corresponding negative impact on global pork prices. That’s right, it appears that the name “Swine Flu” has turned people off of swine. Whoda thunk? Now, I generally strive to avoid being topical in these Lexipoeia columns (I want them to have a timeless quality), but something like this hits home for me as both a general promoter of the powers of language and as an advocate of opportunistic consumer slacktivism. So when I see them intersecting like this, I know it’s time to come down from my ivory tower and get topical.

Right here, this attempt by those in power to re-brand pig flu (I won’t repeat their proposed new name; it would only further their agenda) graphically demonstrates the power that language holds in global economics, and the good news is that this is a power that we, the people, can seize! The fact that the global vernacular now tangentially links a horrible disease with delicious pork products is nothing but good news for the consumer. Cheap bacon, cheap ham, and cheap sausage are now readily at hand because linguistically, we’ve tied them in with the decidedly un-marketable spectre of a painful, vomit-fueled death by influenza! And we can do it again!

That’s right, we don’t have to just wait for diseases, accidents, and other tragedies to come to us in order to capitalize on savings. We (the people) control slang, so we can manufacture the uncomfortable connotations ourselves. How do I propose to do this? Well, let me explain by way of example. Let’s say that I love candy, but I would prefer it to be cheaper (full disclosure: I do, and I would). So how would I go about achieving this goal, using language as my tool? Well, to start, let us together look at the ingredients on a typical package of candy: “Sugar, Glucose Syrup, Modified Corn Starch, Tartaric Acid, Citric Acid, Artificial Flavours & Colours.” My, we have quite a bevy of options here, but I’m going to choose “glucose” to start my plan, because it rolls off the tongue and I think people will enjoy saying it (that will come in to play later). Now, all I have to do is think of something disgusting for “glucose” to becoming synonymous with. Something with a bit of an onomatopoeic quality, maybe. How about the mix of snot and phlegm that sometimes builds up at the back of your sinuses? From now on, I’ll refer to that as “glucose.”

Now I have my word-tool ready, all set to give grotesque connotations to the term “glucose syrup” and, by extension, all candy. Now all I have to do is spread my message. To do this, I’ll go out into the world in my guise as a young, hip twenty-something, dropping my new fun-to-say synonym into my various conversations with other young, hip twenty-somethings (and I’ll eat a lot of milk products, too, just to ensure that I’ll have plenty of opportunities to drop into conversation organically). And because it’s irreverent and fun to say, my fellow young, hip twenty-somethings will eat it up with a spoon! Soon, they’ll start using “glucose” as a snot/phlegm synonym in conversation with each other, and soon it will become legitimate slang. Then, TV writers in their thirties who are trying to write snappy dialogue for young, hip twenty-somethings will latch on to my new, fun-to-say synonym, put it in their characters’ mouths, and it will enter into the mass culture, to be fed to everyone! Consequentially, the actual product “glucose” and other products derived-from it will be linked in the popular mindset with mucus and phlegm, causing them to be less marketable. So then, in the interests of merely maintaining consumer viability, glucose-based products manufacturers will be forced to lower their prices to re-build enthusiasm in their flagging product sales, resulting in cheaper candies for me (among other things)!

It’s a simple mathematical formula, really. A product has value; negative connotations subtract value from a product. By giving a product negative appeal, it is devalued, and because of the wonderful way capitalist society works, this is expressed by a decline in the product’s monetary value. The losers: Them. The winners: Us! And it doesn’t have to be something as indirect to the product as “glucose” is to candy. If you specifically want, say, cheaper Sprite, rather than across the board cheaper soft drinks, you could coin a phrase like “pop a Sprite” to mean urination. Granted, a direct attack like this could backfire, resulting instead in merely a rebranding or discontinuation of the Sprite line, but that’s the risk that we have to take as linguistic and consumeristic pioneers. We’re entering bold, experimental territory here!

Of course, I would be remiss if I did not credit Dan Savage in all of this. As a language columnist first and foremost, I have to credit his bold steps forward as a queer rights activist and Savage Love columnist for transforming the English vernacular into a forum for vicious invective against public figures. Who could forget his triumphs in transforming senator Rick Santorum’s name into a synonym for a mixture of lubricant and feces, or his recent triumph in “re-branding” Rick Warren’s Saddleback Church into the act of anal sex done to preserve virginity. His trailblazing work in turning language itself into a means of attack was nothing short of visionary, and offers not just hope, but concrete proof of the power of words to bring ruin to the deserving. The next step, then, is to turn this power against not individuals, but corporations, to get the cheap products we so richly deserve.

Now, I’m not saying that this will work every time. It takes a unique combination of appeal, charisma, luck, and karma to personally transform the vernacular in your own image, so obviously most such attempts will be doomed to failure. But that’s no reason not to try! For every hundred attempts at creating new slang, 99 are doomed to failure (optimistic estimate), but if that one in a hundred new words can result in disastrous consequences for our corporate masters, I think it’s our duty to try and seize the opportunity to remake language in our own image. Call me an idealist, but we are living in interesting times — and with the right twist, we can make them downright fascinating.

Remember, it’s a living language — let’s keep it that way!