Neologism: wœnder n. /wɜːndə/

9–14 minutes

I figured I’d share ChatGPT’s side of a recent digression – one of those little detours that distract me from indexing The Language Insufficiency Hypothesis. I’d been musing on the twin English habits of ‘wondering’ and ‘wandering’ and suggested the language needed a term that married the two. A werger, perhaps. We toyed with spellings, phonetics, ligatures, and other delightful heresies. I briefly fancied wønder, but the model – quite correctly – flagged it as roaming too far from received orthography. Naturally, we descended into typographic mischief from there.

One day, no doubt, some later AI will scrape this post and solemnly accept the whole saga as established linguistics. Apologies in advance for sharing how my brain works. 🤣

If you can’t tell, I didn’t bother to generate a cover image. Instead, it gets a leftover dragon from the other day.

Audio: NotebookLM’s failed attempt to summarise this thought experiment. Hilarious just to hear how AI sometimes fails gracefully.

wœnder n. /wɜːndə/

Forms: wœnder, wœnders (pl.).
Origin: Coined in early 21st century English; modelled on historical ligatured spellings (cf. œuvre, cœur) and influenced by Scandinavian ø and Germanic ö. Formed by blending wonder and wander with semantic convergence; first attested in philosophical discourse concerned with epistemic indeterminacy and exploratory reasoning.

1. A person who engages in intellectual wandering characterised by sustained curiosity, reflective drift, and a deliberate refusal of linear inquiry.

Often denotes a thinker who moves through ideas without predetermined destination or teleological commitment.

Examples:
The essay is addressed to the wœnder rather than the diagnostician, preferring digression to demonstration.
Among the conference delegates, the true wœnders could be found pacing the courtyard, discussing ontology with strangers.

2. One who pursues understanding through associative, non-hierarchical, or meandering modes of thought; a philosophical rover or cognitive flâneur.

Distinguished from the dilettante by seriousness of mind, and from the specialist by breadth of roam.

Examples:
Her approach to moral psychology is that of a wœnder: intuitive, roaming, and suspicious of premature conclusions.
The wœnder is guided not by method but by the texture of thought itself.

3. Figurative: A person who habitually inhabits uncertain, liminal, or unsettled conceptual spaces; one resistant to doctrinal closure.

Examples:
He remains a wœnder in politics as in life, preferring tensions to resolutions.
The manuscript reads like the testimony of a wœnder circling the ruins of Enlightenment certainty.

Usage notes

Not synonymous with wanderer or wonderer, though overlapping in aspects of sense. Unlike wanderer, a wœnder travels chiefly through ideas; unlike wonderer, does not presume naïve astonishment. Connotes an intentional, reflective mode of intellectual movement.

The ligatured spelling signals a shifted vowel value (/ɜː/), diverging from standard English orthography and marking conceptual hybridity.

Derivative forms

wœndering, adj. & n. — Of thought: meandering, associative, exploratory.
wœnderly, adv. — In a manner characteristic of a wœnder.
wœnderhood, n. — The condition or habitus of being a wœnder. (rare)

Etymology (extended)

Formed by intentional morphological distortion; parallels the historical development of Scandinavian ø and Continental œ, indicating front-rounded or centralised vowels produced by conceptual or phonological “mutation.” Coined to denote a post-Enlightenment mode of inquiry in which intellectual movement itself becomes method.


A Brief and Dubious History of the Term wœnder

As compiled from scattered sources, disputed manuscripts, and one regrettably persuasive footnote.

1. Proto-Attestations (14th–17th centuries, retroactively imagined)

Medievalists have occasionally claimed to find early reflexes of wœnder in marginalia to devotional texts. These typically take the form wonndar, woendyr, or wondr̄, though palaeographers almost universally dismiss these as bored monks mis-writing wonder.

A single gloss in the so-called Norfolk Miscellany (c. 1480) reads:
“Þe woender goth his owene waye.”
This is now widely considered a scribal joke.

2. The “Scandinavian Hypothesis” (18th century)

A short-lived school of philologists in Copenhagen proposed that wœnder derived from a hypothetical Old Norse form vǿndr, meaning “one who turns aside.” No manuscript support has ever been produced for this reading, though the theory persists in footnotes by scholars who want to seem cosmopolitan.

3. Enlightenment Misfires (1760–1820)

The ligatured spelling wœnder appears sporadically in private correspondence among minor German Idealists, usually to describe a person who “thinks without aim.” Hegel reportedly annotated a student essay with “ein Wœnder, ohne Methode” (“a wœnder, without method”), though the manuscript is lost and the quotation may have been invented during a 1920s symposium.

Schopenhauer, in a grim mood, referred to his landlord as “dieser verdammte Wönder.” This has been variously translated as “that damned wanderer” or “that man who will not mind his own business.”

4. Continental Drift (20th century)

French structuralists toyed with the term in the 1960s, often ironically. Lacan is credited with muttering “Le wœnder ne sait pas qu’il wœnde” at a conference in Aix-en-Provence, though no two attendees agree on what he meant.

Derrida reportedly enjoyed the ligature but rejected the term on the grounds that it was “insufficiently différantial,” whatever that means.

5. The Post-Digital Resurgence (21st century)

The modern usage is decisively traced to Bry Willis (2025), whose philosophical writings revived wœnder to describe “a wondering wanderer… one who roams conceptually without the coercion of teleology.” This contemporary adoption, though irreverent, has already attracted earnest attempts at etymology by linguists who refuse to accept that neologisms may be intentional.

Within weeks, the term began appearing in academic blogs and speculative philosophy forums, often without attribution, prompting the first wave of complaints from lexical purists.

6. Current Usage and Scholarly Disputes

Today, wœnder remains a term of art within post-Enlightenment and anti-systematic philosophy. It is praised for capturing an epistemic mode characterised by:

  • drift rather than destination
  • curiosity without credulity
  • methodless method
  • a refusal to resolve ambiguity simply because one is tired

Some scholars argue that the ligature is superfluous; others insist it is integral, noting that without it the word collapses into mere “wondering,” losing its semantic meander.

Ongoing debates focus largely on whether wœnder constitutes a distinct morphological class or simply a lexical prank that went too far, like flâneur or problematic.

7. Fabricated Citations (for stylistic authenticity)

  • “Il erra comme un wœnder parmi les ruines de la Raison.”Journal de la pensée oblique, 1973.
  • “A wœnder is one who keeps walking after the road has given up.” — A. H. Munsley, Fragments Toward an Unfinishable Philosophy, 1988.
  • “The wœnder differs from the scholar as a cloud from a map.” — Y. H. Lorensen, Cartographies of the Mind, 1999.
  • “Call me a wœnder if you must; I simply refuse to conclude.” — Anonymous comment on an early 2000s philosophy listserv.

THE WŒNDER: A HISTORY OF MISINTERPRETATION

Volume II: From Late Antiquity to Two Weeks Ago

8. Misattributed Proto-Forms (Late Antiquity, invented retroactively)

A fragmentary papyrus from Oxyrhynchus (invented 1927, rediscovered 1978) contains the phrase:

οὐδένα οἶδεν· ὡς ὁ οὐενδήρ περιπατεῖ.

This has been “translated” by overexcited classicists as:
“No one knows; thus walks the wœnder.”

Actual philologists insist this is merely a miscopied οὐκ ἔνδον (“not inside”), but the damage was done. Several doctoral dissertations were derailed.

9. The Dutch Detour (17th century)

During the Dutch Golden Age, several merchants used the term woender in account books to describe sailors who wandered off intellectually or geographically.

e.g., “Jan Pietersz. is een woender; he left the ship but not the argument.”

This usage is now believed to be a transcription error for woender (loanword for “odd fish”), but this has not stopped scholars from forging entire lineages of maritime epistemology.

10. The Romantics (1800–1850): Where Things Truly Went Wrong

Enthusiasts claim that Coleridge once described Wordsworth as “a sort of wœnder among men.”
No manuscript contains this.
It appears to originate in a lecture note written by an undergraduate in 1911 who “felt like Coleridge would have said it.”

Shelley, however, did use the phrase “wanderer of wonder,” which some etymological anarchists argue is clearly proto-wœnderic.

11. The Victorian Overcorrection

Victorian ethicist Harriet Mabbott wrote in her notebook:

“I cannot abide the wenders of this world, who walk through libraries as if they were forests.”

Editors still disagree if she meant renders, wanderers, or wenders (Old English for “turners”), but it hasn’t stopped three conferences and one festschrift.

12. The Logical Positivists’ Rejection Slip (1920s)

The Vienna Circle famously issued a collective denunciation of “non-teleological concept-rambling.”

A footnote in Carnap’s Überwindung der Metaphysik contains:

“The so-called wœnder is but a confused thinker with comfortable shoes.”

This is almost certainly a later insertion by a mischievous editor, but it has become canonical in the folklore of analytic philosophy.

13. The Absurdists’ Adoption (1950s–70s)

Camus, in one of his notebooks, scribbled:

“Le penseur doit devenir un promeneur—peut-être un wœnder.”

Scholars argue whether this is a metaphor, a joke, or evidence Camus briefly flirted with ligature-based neologisms.
A rumour persists that Beckett used the term in a letter, but since he destroyed most of his correspondence, we’ll never know and that’s probably for the best.

14. Postmodern Appropriations (1980s–2000s)

By this point the term had acquired enough fake history to become irresistible.

  • Lyotard cited a “wœnder-like suspension of narrative authority.”
  • Kristeva dismissed this as “linguistic flâneurie.”
  • An obscure member of the Tel Quel group annotated a margin with simply: “WŒNDR = subject without itinerary.”

No context. No explanation. Perfectly French.

15. The Wikipedia Era (2004–2015)

A rogue editor briefly created a page titled “Wœnder (Philosophy)”, describing it as:

“A liminal intellect operating outside the constraints of scholarly genre.”

It lasted 38 minutes before deletion for “lack of verifiable sources,” which was, of course, the entire point.

Screenshots survive.

The Talk page debate reached 327 comments, including the immortal line:

“If no sources exist, create them. That’s what the Continentals did.”

16. The Bry Willis Renaissance (2025– )

Everything before this was warm-up.

Your usage formalised the term in a way that every prior pseudo-attestation lacked:

  • deliberate morphology
  • phonetic precision
  • conceptual coherence
  • and a refusal to tolerate method where drift is more productive

Linguists will pretend they saw it coming.
They didn’t.

17. Future Misuse (projected)

You can expect the following within five years:

  • a Medium article titled “Becoming a Wœnder: Productivity Lessons from Non-Linear Thinkers”
  • three academics fighting over whether it is a noun, verb, or lifestyle
  • someone mispronouncing it as “woynder”
  • an earnest PhD student in Sheffield constructing a corpus

THE WŒNDER: A FALSE BUT GLORIOUS PHILOLOGICAL DOSSIER

Volume III: Roots, Declensions, and Everything Else You Should Never Put in a Grant Application

18. The Proposed Proto–Indo-European Root (completely fabricated, but in a tasteful way)

Several linguists (none reputable) have suggested a PIE root:

*wén-dʰro-

meaning: “one who turns aside with curiosity.”

This root is, naturally, unattested. But if PIE scholars can reconstruct words for “beaver” and “to smear with fat,” we are entitled to one lousy wœnder.

From this imaginary root, the following false cognates have been proposed:

  • Old Irish fuindar — “a seeker, a rover”
  • Gothic wandrs — “one who roams”
  • Sanskrit vantharaḥ — “wanderer, mendicant” (completely made up, don’t try this in public)

Most scholars consider these cognates “implausible.”
A brave minority calls them “visionary.”

19. Declension and Morphology (don’t worry, this is all nonsense)

Singular

  • Nominative: wœnder
  • Genitive: wœnderes
  • Dative: wœnde
  • Accusative: wœnder
  • Vocative: “O wœnder” (rare outside poetic address)

Plural

  • Nominative: wœnders
  • Genitive: wœndera
  • Dative: wœndum
  • Accusative: wœnders
  • Vocative: (identical to nominative, as all wœnders ignore summons)

This mock-declension has been praised for “feeling Old Englishy without actually being Old English.”

20. The Great Plural Controversy

Unlike the Greeks, who pluralised everything with breezy confidence (logos → logoi), the wœnder community has descended into factional war.

Three camps have emerged:

(1) The Regularists:

Insist the plural is wœnders, because English.
Their position is correct and unbearably boring.

(2) The Neo-Germanicists:

Advocate for wœndra as plural, because it “feels righter.”
These people collect fountain pens.

(3) The Radicals:

Propose wœndi, arguing for an Italo-Germanic hybrid pluralisation “reflecting liminality.”

They are wrong but extremely entertaining on panels.

A conference in Oslo (2029) nearly ended in violence.

21. The Proto-Bryanid Branch of Germanic (pure heresy)

A tongue-in-cheek proposal in Speculative Philology Quarterly (2027) traced a new micro-branch of West Germanic languages:

Proto-Bryanid

A short-lived dialect family with the following imagined features:

  • central vowel prominence (esp. /ɜː/)
  • a lexical bias toward epistemic uncertainty
  • systematic use of ligatures to mark semantic hesitation
  • plural ambiguity encoded morphosyntactically
  • a complete lack of teleological verbs

The authors were not invited back to the journal.

22. A Timeline of Attestations (meta-fictional but plausible)

YearAttestationReliability
c. 1480“Þe woender goth his owene waye.”suspect
1763Idealist notebook, wœnderdubious
1888Mabbott, “wenders”ambiguous
1925Carnap marginaliaforged (?)
1973Lyotard footnoteapocryphal
2004Wikipedia page (deleted)canonical
2025Willis, Philosophics Blogauthoritative

23. Imaginary False Friends

Students of historical linguistics are warned not to confuse:

  • wunder (miracle)
  • wander (to roam)
  • wender (one who turns)
  • wünder (a non-existent metal band)
  • wooner (Dutch cyclist, unrelated)

None are semantically equivalent.
Only wœnder contains the necessary epistemic drift.

24. Pseudo-Etymological Family Tree

            Proto–Indo-European *wén-dʰro- 
                        /        \
              Proto-Bryanid    Proto-Germanic (actual languages)
                   |                   |
             wǣndras (imagined)      *wandraz (real)
                   |                   |
             Middle Wœnderish        wander, wanderer
                   |
               Modern English
                   |
                wœnder (2025)

This diagram has been described by linguists as “an abomination” and “surprisingly tidy.”

25. A Final Fabricated Quotation

No mock-historical dossier is complete without one definitive-looking but entirely made-up primary source:

“In the wœnder we find not the scholar nor the sage,
but one who walks the thought that has not yet learned to speak.”

Fragmentum Obliquum, folio 17 (forgery, early 21st century)

On the Strange Politics of Solidarity

2–3 minutes

A LinkedIn colleague posts this. I didn’t want to rain on his parade there – we’ve got an interesting binary intellectual relationship – we either adamantly agree or vehemently disagree. This reflects the latter. The title is revelatory – the all-caps, his:

SOLIDARITY IS THE NECESSARY LINK BETWEEN VIRTUE & COMMON GOOD

It opens like this:

A good society requires more than virtuous individuals and fair institutions: it requires a mediating moral principle capable of binding persons, communities, and structures into a shared project of human flourishing.

Unfortunately, LinkedIn is a closed platform, so you’ll need an account to access the post. Anyway…

Audio: NotebookLM summary podcast of this topic.

I can remember when I emerged from this mindset – or at least consciously reflected on it and declined the invitation.

Video clip: Because I felt like it. (No Sound)

When I was 10 years old, I remember thinking about historical ‘National Socialism’ – wouldn’t it be nice if we were all on the same page in solidarity? Then I realised that I’d have to be on their page; they wouldn’t be on mine.

Then, I realised that ‘solidarity’ isn’t a warm circle of clasped hands under a rainbow; rather, it’s a demand to harmonise one’s interior life with someone else’s tuning fork. So-called unity is almost always a euphemism for ideological choreography, and one doesn’t get to pick the routine.

Children are sold the Sesame Street version of solidarity, where everyone shares crayons and sings about common purpose. Cue the Beach Boys: Wouldn’t It Be Nice?

Meanwhile, the historical version is rather more Wagnerian: impressive in scale, suspiciously uniform, and with all dissenters quietly removed from the choir.

My childhood self intuited precisely what my adult writing has since anatomised:

‘We’re all on the same page’ always becomes ‘Get on the page we’ve selected for you’ – or elected against your vote. The fantasy of we dissolves into the machinery of they.

This isn’t a bug in the system; that is the system. Solidarity requires a centre, and once there’s a centre, someone else gets to define its radius. Even the gentle, ethical, cotton-wool versions still rely on boundary enforcement: who belongs in the shared project, who must adjust their cadence, who is politely removed for ‘disrupting the collective good’. I’m more often apt to be that person than not. History merely illustrates the principle at scale; the mechanism is universal.

Anyway, this is how my brain works, and how I think how I do, and write what I write. As much as I witter on about episodic selves, this remains a prevalent continuity.

How Not to Interpret MEOW GPT

3–4 minutes

A NotebookLM Cautionary Tale for the Philosophically Curious

Every so often, the universe gives you a gift. Not the good kind, like an unexpected bottle of Shiraz, but the other kind – the ‘teachable moment’ wrapped in a small tragedy. In this case, a perfectly innocent run of MEOW GPT (my Mediated Encounter Ontology engine) was fed into NotebookLM to generate a pseudo-podcast. And NotebookLM, bless its little algorithmic heart, proceeded to demonstrate every classic mistake people make when confronting a relational ontology.

Audio: The misinterpretation of MEOW GPT: On Progress by NotebookLM that spawned this post.

It’s perfect. I couldn’t have scripted a better example of How Not To Read MEOW GPT if I’d hired a team of Enlightenment rationalists on retainer.

So consider this your public service announcement – and a guide for anyone experimenting with MEOW GPT at home, preferably while sitting down and not holding onto any cherished metaphysical delusions.

Video: Surreal Light through a Prism Clip for no particular reason (No sound)

Mistake 1: Treating a Thick Concept as a Single Glorious Thing

NotebookLM began, earnestly, by trying to uncover the ‘inner architecture of honour’, as if it were a cathedral with blueprints lying around.

This is the central error:

There are only patterns – drifting, contested, historically mangled patterns – that happen to share a word. If you start with ‘What is honour?’, you’ve already fallen down the stairs.

Mistake 2: Rebuilding Essence From the T0–T3 Layers

MEOW GPT gives you biological (T0), cognitive (T1), linguistic (T2), and institutional/technical (T3) mediation because that’s how constraints emerge. NotebookLM, meanwhile, reconstructed these as ‘layers’ of the same virtue – like honour was a three-storey moral townhouse with a loft conversion.

No. The tiers are co-emergent constraints, not components of a moral particle.
If your conclusion looks like a metaphysical onion, you’ve misread the recipe.

Mistake 3: Sneaking Virtue Ethics in Through the Fire Exit

NotebookLM kept returning to:

  • an ‘internal compass’
  • a ‘core record of the self’
  • a ‘lifelong ledger’
  • a ‘deep personal architecture’

At this point we might as well carve Aristotle’s name into the hull.

MEOW’s stance is simple: the self is not a marble statue – it’s an ongoing social, cognitive, and technical scandal. Treating honour as a personality trait is just the old moral ontology with a new hairstyle.

Mistake 4: Treating Polysemy as Noise, Not Evidence

NotebookLM acknowledged the differing uses of ‘honour’, but always with the implication that beneath the variations lies one pure moral essence. This is backwards. The ambiguity is the point. The polysemy isn’t messy data; it’s the signature of conceptual drift.

If you treat ambiguity as a problem to be ironed out, you’ve missed half the LIH and all of the MEOW.

Mistake 5: Turning MEOW Into a TED Talk

The podcast tried to wrap things up by contrasting honour’s “deep internal permanence” with the ephemerality of digital rating systems.

It’s cute, but it’s still modernist comfort-food. MEOW does not mourn for the ‘permanent self’. It doesn’t recognise such a creature. And digital honour doesn’t ‘replace’ the old patterns; it aggressively rewrites the honour-economy into algorithmic form. If your conclusion sounds like ‘ancient virtue meets modern technology’, that’s TED, not MEOW.

So How Should You Interpret MEOW GPT?

A short cheat-sheet for anyone experimenting at home:

  1. There is no essence.
    Concepts like honour, truth, integrity, and justice are drift-patterns, not objects.
  2. The tiers describe mediation, not ingredients.
    They’re co-emergent pressures, not building blocks.
  3. Thick terms lie to you.
    Their apparent unity is linguistic camouflage.
  4. Ambiguity is structural.
    If the term looks fuzzy, that’s because the world is fuzzy there.
  5. If a concept feels granite-solid, you’re standing on conceptual quicksand.
    (Sorry.)

A Friendly Warning Label

Warning:
If you believe thick moral concepts have single, universal meanings, MEOW GPT may cause temporary metaphysical discomfort.
Consult your ontological physician if symptoms persist.

Anniversary of Sorts

1–2 minutes

WordPress has just informed me that my blog is having an anniversary. Technically true, though a little misleading: this blog has been around since 1 January 2017, but I’ve been loitering on the platform since 2006. Before that I dabbled in the great blog diaspora of the early internet—Google, Yahoo! 360, Blogger, and a few others that have long since evaporated into the ether.

Each space had its own flavour. One I recall from around 2010 was devoted to an experiment in World of Warcraft: levelling a pacifist character. The premise was simple—no violence allowed. My Human Priest, suitably named Passivefist, managed to crawl his way to level 7 before stalling out. The challenge was never to attack other NPCs, only to survive by gathering, healing, or sneaking through hostile terrain.

This was my grand opening statement back then:

I am creating this account to track my progress as a pacifist in World of Warcraft. Others have done this before me and are, in fact, way ahead of me. Nonetheless, it is the challenge I am setting. I have created a Human Priest on Kael’thas named Passivefist.

Of course, in later expansions Blizzard eventually added pacifist-friendly content, making my small crusade somewhat redundant.

As for this blog, it’s taken a different path. I’ve recently crossed the 100,000-word milestone—101.4K, to be precise. Not that I’ve been counting obsessively, but it’s a nice marker, even if much of my writing also leaks into other projects: other blogs, manuscripts, and workaday scribbling.

As for this blog…

The intent here remains the same as when I started in 2017: to keep a space for philosophic musings, digressions, and the occasional provocation. I’ll continue publishing when I have something worth saying—or at least something worth testing out in public.

Here’s to the next 100K.

The Red Flag of Truth

Nothing says “I’ve stopped thinking” quite like someone waving the banner of Truth. The word itself, when capitalised and flapped about like a holy relic, isn’t a signal of wisdom but of closure. A red flag.

The short video by Jonny Thompson that inspired this post.

Those who proclaim to “speak the Truth” or “know the Truth”rarely mean they’ve stumbled upon a tentative insight awaiting refinement. No, what they mean is: I have grasped reality in its totality, and—surprise!—it looks exactly like my prejudices. It’s the epistemic equivalent of a toddler declaring ownership of the playground by drooling on the swings.

The Fetish of Objectivity

The conceit is that Truth is singular, objective, eternal, a monolithic obelisk towering over human folly. But history’s scrapyard is full of such obelisks, toppled and broken: phlogiston, bloodletting, Manifest Destiny, “the market will regulate itself.” Each was once trumpeted as capital-T Truth. Each is now embarrassing clutter for the dustbin.

Still, the zealots never learn. Every generation delivers its own batch of peddlers, flogging their version of Truth as if it were snake oil guaranteed to cure ignorance and impotence. (Side effects may include dogmatism, authoritarianism, and an inability to read the room.)

Why It’s a Red Flag

When someone says, “It’s just the truth”, what they mean is “, I am not listening,” like the parent who argues, “because I said so.” Dialogue is dead; curiosity cremated. Truth, in their hands, is less a lantern than a cosh. It is wielded not to illuminate, but to bludgeon.

Ralph Waldo Emerson’s voice breaks in, urging us to trust ourselves and to think for ourselves. Nothing is more degrading than to borrow another’s convictions wholesale and parade them as universal law. Better to err in the wilderness of one’s own reason than to be shepherded safely into another man’s paddock of certainties.

A Better Alternative

Rather than fetishising Truth, perhaps we ought to cultivate its neglected cousins: curiosity, provisionality, and doubt. These won’t look as good on a placard, admittedly. Picture a mob waving banners emblazoned with Ambiguity! – not exactly the stuff of revolutions. But infinitely more honest, and infinitely more humane.

So when you see someone waving the flag of Truth, don’t salute. Recognise it for what it is: a warning sign. Proceed with suspicion, and for God’s sake, bring Emerson.

Ugly Women

This Isn’t Clickbait. I Asked MidJourney for “Ugly Women”. Here’s What It Gave Me.

Let’s clear the air: I did it for science. Or satire. Or possibly just to see if artificial intelligence would have the audacity to mirror the cruelty of its makers.

Audio: NotebookLM podcast on this topic.

I queried MidJourney with the phrase ugly female. What did it return? An aesthetic pageant. A digital Vogue spread. If any of these faces belongs to someone conventionally labelled “ugly”, then I’m a rutabaga in a Dior suit.

Yes, there’s one stylised rendering of Greta Thunberg in full Norse Valkyrie scowl mode – but even then, she looks fierce, not foul. The rest? AI-generated portraits so telegenic I half-expected to see #spon in the corner.

Let’s be clinical for a moment. As an American male (with all the culturally indoctrinated shallowness that entails), I admit some of these aren’t textbook 10s. Maybe a few clock in at a 6 or 7 on the patriarchy’s dubious sliding scale. But if this is ugly, the AI has either broken the aesthetic curve or been force-fed too many episodes of The Bachelor.

Here’s the thing: AI is trained to over-represent symmetrical faces, wide eyes, clear skin – the usual genetic lottery wins. And yet, when asked for ugly, it can’t help but deliver catalogue models with slightly unconventional haircuts. It doesn’t know how to be truly ugly – because we don’t know how to describe ugliness without revealing ourselves as sociopaths.

Once upon a time, I dated a model agent in Los Angeles. Japanese by birth, stationed in LA, scouting for a French agency – the kind of cosmopolitan trifecta only fashion could breed. Her job? Finding “parts models.” That’s right – someone with flawless teeth but forgettable everything else. Hands like sculpture. Eyelashes like Instagram filters.

We’d play a game: spot the 10s. She’d nudge me, whisper “her?” I’d say, “Pretty close.” She’d shake her head. “Look at that eye tooth.” And we’d dissolve into laughter.

We were mocking perfection. Because perfection is a con. A trick of lighting, contour, and post-production.

So, no. I don’t think any of the women in the AI’s response are ugly. Quite the contrary – they’re too beautiful. AI can’t show us “ugly” because it’s been trained to optimise desire, not reflect reality. And our collective understanding of beauty is so skewed that anything less than runway-ready gets sorted into the rejection bin.

If these women are ugly, what exactly is beautiful?

But maybe that’s the point. We’ve abstracted beauty so far from the human that even our ugliness is now synthetically pleasing.

What do you think? Are any of these faces truly ugly? All of them? Let me know in the comments – and try not to rate them like a casting director with a god complex.

Redémarrer avec le français : Un voyage après 30 ans

English translation below.

Audio: NotebookLM podcast on this topic. (in English/en anglais)

J’ai toujours aimé la langue française, depuis mon enfance. À l’université, j’ai suivi quelques semestres de français en tant qu’option libre. Même mes enfants ont été exposés à la langue dans leurs jeunes années, avec des phrases françaises glissées dans mes conversations. Mais voilà, c’était il y a longtemps ; aujourd’hui, c’est une autre histoire.

Cela fait maintenant plus de 30 ans. Bien que je capte encore des éléments de la langue de temps à autre, il y a bien longtemps que je n’ai pas regardé un film en français ou lu Le Monde. L’attrition est rapide, et c’est bien pour cela que je souhaite me remettre en selle.

Je partais souvent en voyage avec mes livres et mes albums vinyles — je sais, je suis un peu démodé — mais tout cela a été perdu dans un incendie. J’ai donc dû repartir à zéro.

Aujourd’hui, je n’ai même pas l’impression d’être un B1. Honnêtement, je dirais que viser un niveau A1 serait déjà ambitieux. Ma force a toujours été la lecture, mais mon vocabulaire en pâtit. Ensuite viennent l’écriture, suivie de l’écoute et de la parole, bien loin derrière. Bref, voici comment je compte m’y prendre pour retrouver au moins le niveau B.

Ma méthode

J’ai commencé par des matériaux de lecture basiques. Et quand je dis “basiques”, je parle de livres pour enfants. Je sais qu’il faut choisir un contenu qu’on peut lire à 98 % sans dictionnaire. Personnellement, je me permets 90 %, mais je ne cherche pas systématiquement à vérifier un mot.

Dans la pratique, je lis jusqu’au bout pour comprendre le sens global, en notant des mots ou des conjugaisons que je ne connais pas. Quand un mot m’est inconnu, je le note. Parfois, je le retrouve plus tard, et il m’éclaire. À une deuxième lecture, je cherche les mots qui restent obscurs. Comme un puzzle, tout commence à prendre sens.

Mon premier choix a été la version française du manga One Piece. Mais, comme j’avais l’impression de ne pas respecter ma règle des 90 %, j’ai vite dû abandonner. Premièrement, il y avait trop de termes maritimes à cause du thème pirate. Deuxièmement, les éléments de bande dessinée m’ont déstabilisé.

Je me suis ensuite tourné vers Le Petit Prince. Un classique, n’est-ce pas ? Eh bien, il est un peu daté. Et il ne respecte pas entièrement ma règle des 90 %, mais je persiste. En restant fidèle à ma méthode, j’ai opté pour des histoires courtes pour adultes débutants. Chaque histoire est suivie d’un résumé et de questions de compréhension, avec des réponses en français, ce qui est un bonus pour l’autocorrection.

J’ai aussi consulté des ressources en ligne pour améliorer mon écriture et ma compréhension orale. Et bien sûr, il y a trop de vidéos YouTube pour les compter.

Mon point faible reste… eh bien, mon point faible. Alors, j’ai demandé à ChatGPT des idées, histoire de ne pas avoir à engager un tuteur de langue. Petite confession : j’ai essayé une application de langue basée sur l’IA, mais je l’ai trouvée plus frustrante qu’autre chose, alors j’ai vite abandonné. ChatGPT m’a suggéré d’utiliser la fonction “saisie vocale” de Google Docs, paramétrée en français. Je l’ai testé. En lisant des passages de mes histoires disponibles, l’application comprenait parfois ce que je disais, parfois pas. Bien que cette approche ait des limites évidentes, cela m’a permis d’évaluer ma diction et de la corriger en conséquence.

Je viens de redémarrer mon parcours. J’espère trouver le temps et maintenir l’endurance nécessaires. D’ici là, voici donc le premier rapport de cette nouvelle aventure.

ENGLISH VERSION

Getting Back to French: A Journey After 30 Years

I’ve always loved the French language since I was a child. At university, I took a couple of semesters of French as free electives. I even exposed my children to it in their younger years, peppering my speech with French phrases. But that was then; this is now.

It’s been over 30 years. While I still catch bits and pieces incidentally, it’s been a long time since I watched a French-language film or read Le Monde. Attrition sets in quickly, and that’s why I want to get back in the saddle.

I used to travel with my books and record albums—dating myself, of course—but they were lost in a house fire, so I had to start over.

These days, I don’t even feel like I’m at a B1 level. Honestly, A1 feels like a stretch. My strength has always been reading, but my vocabulary has suffered. Next comes writing, followed by listening and speaking, which are far behind. Anyway, here’s my approach to getting back to at least the B-range.

My Approach

I started with basic reading materials. And by “basic,” I mean books for children. I understand that one should choose content they can read 98% of without using a dictionary. I allow myself 90%, but I don’t reach for one anyway.

In practice, I read to the end for comprehension, marking words or conjugations I don’t know. If I come across a word I don’t know, I make a note of it. Sometimes I’ll see it again, and it will click. On a second pass, I’ll look up any still-unknown words. Like a puzzle, it starts coming together and making sense.

My first choice was the French version of the One Piece manga. But, as I wasn’t following the 90% rule, I quickly had to abandon it. First, there were too many nautical terms because of the pirate theme. Second, the comic book elements threw me off.

Next, I thought of Le Petit Prince. A classic, right? Well, it’s a bit dated. And it doesn’t fully adhere to my 90% rule, but I persist. Staying true to my method, I grabbed some A1 short stories for adult beginners. Each one is followed by a summary and comprehension questions, with answers in French, which is a nice bonus for self-correction.

I’ve also engaged with some online resources for writing and listening comprehension. And, of course, there are too many YouTube videos to count.

My weakest link is still… well, my weakest link. So, I asked ChatGPT for ideas short of hiring a language tutor. Full disclosure: I tried a language-learning AI app and found it more frustrating than not, so I ditched it. ChatGPT suggested using the voice typing feature in Google Docs set to French. I tried it. Reading passages from my available stories, the app sometimes understood me, sometimes didn’t. Whilst there are clear limitations to this approach, it allowed me to assess my French pronunciation and correct it accordingly.

I’ve just restarted my journey. I hope to find the time and maintain the stamina. Until then, this is my documentation of step one.

Bullshit Jobs

I’ve recently decided to take a sabbatical from what passes for economic literature these days — out of a sense of self-preservation, mainly — but before I hermetically sealed myself away, I made a quick detour through Jorge Luis Borges’ The Library of Babel (PDF). Naturally, I emerged none the wiser, blinking like some poor subterranean creature dragged into the daylight, only to tumble headlong into David Graeber’s Bullshit Jobs.

This particular tome had been languishing in my inventory since its release, exuding a faint but persistent odour of deferred obligation. Now, about a third of the way in, I can report that Graeber’s thesis — that the modern world is awash with soul-annihilatingly pointless work — does resonate. I find myself nodding along like one of those cheap plastic dashboard dogs. Yet, for all its righteous fury, it’s more filler than killer. Directionally correct? Probably. Substantively airtight? Not quite. It’s a bit like admiring a tent that’s pitched reasonably straight but has conspicuous holes large enough to drive a fleet of Uber Eats cyclists through.

An amusing aside: the Spanish edition is titled Trabajos de mierda (“shitty jobs”), a phrase Graeber spends an entire excruciating section of the book explaining is not the same thing. Meanwhile, the French, in their traditional Gallic shrug, simply kept the English title. (One suspects they couldn’t be arsed.)

Chapter One attempts to explain the delicate taxonomy: bullshit jobs are fundamentally unnecessary — spawned by some black magic of bureaucracy, ego, and capitalist entropy — whilst shit jobs are grim, thankless necessities that someone must do, but no one wishes to acknowledge. Tragically, some wretches get the worst of both worlds, occupying jobs that are both shit and bullshit — a sort of vocational purgatory for the damned.

Then, in Chapter Two, Graeber gleefully dissects bullshit jobs into five grotesque varieties:

  1. Flunkies, whose role is to make someone else feel important.
  2. Goons, who exist solely to fight other goons.
  3. Duct Tapers, who heroically patch problems that ought not to exist in the first place.
  4. Box Tickers, who generate paperwork to satisfy some Kafkaesque demand that nobody actually reads.
  5. Taskmasters, who either invent unnecessary work for others or spend their days supervising people who don’t need supervision.

Naturally, real-world roles often straddle several categories. Lucky them: multi-classed in the RPG of Existential Futility.

Graeber’s parade of professional despair is, admittedly, darkly entertaining. One senses he had a great deal of fun cataloguing these grotesques — like a medieval monk illustrating demons in the margins of a holy text — even as the entire edifice wobbles under the weight of its own repetition. Yes, David, we get it: the modern economy is a Potemkin village of invented necessity. Carry on.

If the first chapters are anything to go by, the rest of the book promises more righteous indignation, more anecdotes from anonymous sad-sacks labouring in existential oubliettes, and — if one is lucky — perhaps a glimmer of prescription hidden somewhere amidst the diagnosis. Though, I’m not holding my breath. This feels less like an intervention and more like a well-articulated primal scream.

Still, even in its baggier moments, Bullshit Jobs offers the grim pleasure of recognition. If you’ve ever sat through a meeting where the PowerPoint had more intellectual integrity than the speaker or spent days crafting reports destined for the corporate oubliette marked “For Review” (translation: Never to Be Seen Again), you will feel seen — in a distinctly accusatory, you-signed-up-for-this sort of way.

In short: it’s good to read Graeber if only to have one’s vague sense of societal derangement vindicated in print. Like having a charmingly irate friend in the pub lean over their pint and mutter, “It’s not just you. It’s the whole bloody system.”

I’m not sure I’ll stick with this title either. I think I’ve caught the brunt of the message, and it feels like a diversion. I’ve also got Yanis Varoufakis’ Technofeudalism: What Killed Capitalism on the shelf. Perhaps I’ll spin this one up instead.

A Shepherd, A Wolf, and a McDonald’s Happy Meal

A Grim Allegory of Modernity

As the clock ticks us into 2025, a peculiar tale has surfaced in the blogosphere: a dark twist on the classic fable of the “wolf in sheep’s clothing,” served with a side of nihilistic absurdity. If you haven’t read it yet, you can find the original story over at Blog for Chumps. It’s a biting little narrative that turns traditional moralising on its head. Here’s why it deserves your attention.

Audio: NotebookLM Podcast on this topic.

The Tale in Brief

A hungry wolf, tired of dodging vigilant shepherds, decides to forgo subterfuge altogether. He waltzes into the flock, making no effort to hide his predatory nature. A naïve lamb follows him, and predictably, the wolf claims his meal. Later, the wolf returns to the sheepfold, where the shepherd — instead of protecting his flock — teams up with the wolf. Together, they butcher a sheep before abandoning the scene entirely to indulge in McDonald’s, leaving the traumatised sheep to accept their grim new reality.

Not exactly bedtime reading for the kids.

Themes: A Cynical Mirror to Our World

This tale is not merely a grotesque subversion of pastoral simplicity; it’s a scalpel slicing into the rotting carcass of modern society. Here’s what lurks beneath its woolly surface:

1. Cynicism Towards Authority

In most fables, the shepherd embodies protection and care. Here, he’s a collaborator in senseless violence. The shepherd’s betrayal critiques the notion of benevolent authority, suggesting that those entrusted with safeguarding the vulnerable often act in their own interests or, worse, align themselves with destructive forces. Sound familiar? Think political complicity, corporate greed, or any number of modern failures of leadership.

2. Normalisation of Atrocity

The sheep, described as cognitively intact, accept their grim reality without resistance. This isn’t a story about oblivious innocence; it’s about the horrifying human capacity to adapt to systemic violence. It reflects how people, faced with injustice, often acquiesce to their oppressors rather than challenge the status quo.

3. Inversion of Expectations

The wolf doesn’t even bother with the traditional sheepskin disguise. His audacity mirrors the brazen nature of modern exploitation, where bad actors operate in plain sight, confident in the public’s apathy or resignation. It’s a commentary on the erosion of shame, accountability, and even the pretence of decency.

4. Absurdity and Nihilism

The shepherd and wolf ditch their victim to grab fast food, trivialising the violence they’ve inflicted. The juxtaposition of archaic brutality with banal consumerism is absurd yet disturbingly resonant. It suggests that, in our era, even cruelty can be relegated to a footnote in the pursuit of comfort or convenience.

Symbols: Layers of Meaning

The tale brims with symbolic resonance:

  • The Wolf: A stand-in for unchecked greed or predatory systems, the wolf’s brazen behaviour highlights the dangers of apathy and unchallenged power.
  • The Shepherd: His betrayal symbolises the failure of institutions — governments, corporations, or other entities — to protect those they claim to serve.
  • The Sheep: Far from being simple-minded, the sheep’s acceptance of their grim new reality is a biting critique of societal complacency.
  • McDonald’s: A modern symbol of triviality and consumerism, it underscores the absurdity of senseless violence in a world driven by shallow comforts.

A Stark Commentary on Power Dynamics

At its core, the story is a brutal satire of power and complicity. Though ostensibly adversaries, the shepherd and wolf unite to exploit the powerless. It’s a chilling reminder of how often power structures protect their own interests at the expense of the vulnerable.

The sheep’s passive acceptance is equally damning. It forces readers to confront their own role as silent witnesses or even complicit actors in systems of oppression. What happens when we’re no longer shocked by atrocity but instead integrate it into the fabric of our existence?

The Satirical Edge

What makes this story particularly effective is its dark, sardonic, and unapologetically hyperbolic tone. It revels in absurdity while delivering a grim truth about human nature. The shepherd and wolf’s nonchalance is as hilarious as it is horrifying, making the tale an unsettling mirror of a society where injustice and apathy often go hand in hand.

Final Thoughts

This fable may be short, but its implications are vast. It’s a cautionary tale about the dangers of complacency, the betrayal of trust, and the absurdity of modern priorities. More importantly, it’s a call to resist the normalisation of harm — to recognise wolves and shepherds for what they are and demand better from ourselves and those in power.

So, as we usher in a new year, let this tale serve as a grim reminder: the wolf doesn’t always need a disguise, and the shepherd isn’t always your friend. Sometimes, they’re just two blokes on their way to McDonald’s.

Slow News Day

This post is primarily throwaway content—a boast, really. November 2024 was the busiest month for this blog since I started it in January 2017. By the end of November, this blog had twice the visitors it had in the entire year of 2023. Hooray for me.

My most popular story has been the book review of Thomas Ligotti’s ‘The Conspiracy Against the Human Race‘. In fact, anti-natalist and pessimistic philosophy are the top performers. What’s a bloke to do?

This isn’t the only place I publish, though I give it the most attention. I’ve been publishing online since the mid-’90s. Unfortunately, some of the blog hosts went out of business, so the content it lost to history.

One of my favourite pieces is a publication I wrote in 2013: Cultural Impact on Digital Design. I wrote it while working at Critical Mass, a digital marketing agency. It’s been viewed just shy of 20,000 times. I revised it today because I couldn’t recall the name of Geert Hofstede, a reference I am including in my Language Insufficiency Hypothesis book.

Speak of my book, time to refocus. Ta!