Super Words From Around the Globe

Sometimes a word is more than a word, a boundary-busting portmanteau fusion with striking cultural scope and bite. Every nation has their own cool words.  But some countries stand out in this realm.

As usual, Germany scores highly. Look no farther than Treppenwitz. The Teutonic coinage with legs means “staircase joke”: a rejoinder concocted belatedly on the descent after chatting to someone who made a remark that left you speechless. The frustration-filled delayed Parthian shot echoes the French term esprit de l’escalier, which also evokes regret over clever comeback failure. The European Union neighbors prize sharp wit, it seems.

The semantic German battering-ram Backpfeifengesicht escalates proceedings, meaning a face that deserves a slap. Backpfeifengesicht suggests Germans have above-average pent-up rage but control it: instead of following through, you are just meant to vent – smack your palm, say.

The language of Goethe and Merkel seems tailor-made for compound words with a payload, as the senior transcriber at the digital business McGowan Transcriptions, Neil Wright drives home.

Wright pinpoints another German gem with a dark vibe, Geschichtsmude. Meaning “weary of history”, Geschichtsmude refers to the weight of the Old Continent (Europe), its age, and many historical layers.

“It may also carry a sense of guilt with it – especially after the Second World War – and even a sense of tiredness that the weight of history can never be escaped,” Wright says.

In contrast, the Japanese fret about transience evoked by a wistful term redolent of falling cherry blossom, mono-no-aware (物の哀れ).

“This expression refers to an awareness  — and the sadness  — of the impermanence of time. It is at the same time a nostalgic and bittersweet feeling, a feeling of having been witness to the dazzling circus of life, knowing that none of it can last,” Wright says.

Japan’s four seasons underscore transience and convey how much moments count, says South African essayist David Buchler in a BBC report that also highlights ikigai, which goes deep too, meaning “a reason for being” — your morning motive for jumping or crawling out of bed.

Ikigai is paralleled by the Gallic phrase raison d’etre, which fits because it is often said the French have a word for it. The meme implies the French care so much about the mot juste — nailing je ne sais quoi — that they insist on expanding the world’s supply of nuance (“cloud shading”).

The double-edged Gallic adjective attachiante melds attachant (“charming”) with chiant (“irksome”). Possibly misogynistic, attachiante means “lovely yet unbearable”, suggesting the woman in question is a diva, which comes from the Latin for “goddess”.

In contrast, Frappadingue, which echoes Backpfeifengesicht, dispenses with ambiguity. The plosive low-level insult means someone so nuts they must have been badly concussed. In which case, the détracteur/trice may brand the person not sortable — you can’t take the said walking embarrassment anywhere.

A la française, those fathers of deep thought, the Greeks, exult in nicety and have shock, surprise, and a host of moods covered. Take charmolypi. The Hellenic paradox signifies “joyful mourning” or — to echo Juliet farewelling Romeo – “sweet sorrow”.

In a similarly sensual vein, petrichor — based on petra (“stone”) and īchōr (“god blood”) — means the pleasing earthy scent yielded when rain hits dry ground. When, say, a plate strikes the ground, accidentally or otherwise and shatters, the event may trigger the use of the drolly accepting exclamation opa!, which goes right back to Homer. Truly, the Greeks have a word for it.

So, it transpires, do the Indonesians, through their bahasa lingo. An Indonesian playboy or womanizer is imaginatively called buaya darat or “land crocodile”. If in touch with his feminine side, the reptile may experience gemas: the urge to pinch, squish, even eat a cute human such as a baby.

Certainly, Indonesians love a laugh — irrespective of how corny a witticism is, judging by Jayus. Like the idea of something being so bad it’s good, Jayus means a lame joke so badly told that the audience cannot help laughing. Jayus evokes a caring keenness to encourage attempts at mirth, however amateur. Awkwardness as a virtue, the slang term signals respect for fast failure that might jibe with growth mindset-geared Silicon Valley types.

The playful Finns, who invented everything from mobile-phone-tossing to wife-carrying derive joy from an equally unlikely source, “springiness”. Witness the awesome coinage hyppytyynytyydytys. In the same league as poronkusema (“distance a reindeer can travel without stopping to pee”), the former Twitter word of the day means “bouncy cushion satisfaction” — primal merriment amid the blond wood.

In contrast, nearby Norway grimly classes joy at a love affair’s start as forelsket. The killjoy classification smacks of skepticism towards romance — the hint is the bliss fueled by bouncing around in bed cannot last and ranks as infatuation.

The dour Nordic nation has also stoked the rise of the hygge meme, notes creativity coach Kristina Deminick. Deminick, who has Danish conjugal ties, says Norway coined it and the Danes adopted it around the 18th century.

She frames hygge as the Danes’ claim-to-fame popularised around the world.

“As always it doesn’t have a direct translation, but the best way to describe it is ‘cosiness with friends’. It’s hallmarked by friends, candlelight, that warm-and-fuzzy feeling of a special experience with people you love.

“You wouldn’t really use the word hygge with acquaintances, so the word seems to me like a representation of the safety and security of belonging to a community,” she says.

The word reflects Danish lifestyle in which culture, family time, and leisure time are prioritized, she says.

“The home is an important place to the Danes — as are close relationships and friendships. Some foreigners, myself included in the beginning, mistake this for the Danes being cold and unfriendly, but far from it. It’s just the value they place on those closest to them.”

Back at base, with its mudlarks and moonrakers, the Anglosphere enjoys an easily overlooked wealth of words with wide horizons.

A la Mark Dion, a mudlark is more than a gadabout — it means someone who scavenges low-tide riverside mud for valuables. A moonraker, as in the 1979 spy film, is a small square sail and a native of the Western county of Wiltshire, thanks to some legendary hicks trying to rake the moon’s reflection from a pool of water.

Other British standouts include humdudgeon (“imaginary illness”), keek (“peep sneakily” in Scottish), lollygag (“loaf”) and the similarly indolent velleity, which graces the TS Eliot poem Portrait of a Lady, and means “a wish too weak to spur action”. Slackers take note.

The diversity bespeaks an affection for, well, “wordfulness”, embodied by polymath novelist Anthony Burgess and virtuoso Stephen Fry who must shine at pre-staircase repartee and retorts.

Oh to end this audit of marvellous coinages with a Treppenwitz.

Instead, let’s settle with the Anglo-Greek formulation callipygian. From kallos (“beauty”) and pūgē (“buttocks”), the Hellenic humdinger means having a shapely behind — likely belonging to someone attachiante.

In a bonus, the answer to the reindeer question is 7.5 kilometers.