Americans Pretending to Be British

August 28, 2008 at 7:41 pm 11 comments

I’m gonna file this entry under the category, “You Know What Really G’s and G?” as in, “grinds my gears,” “gets my goat,” and “gripes my Grandma.” And I’ll tell you what G’s my G – Americans pretending to be British. Let’s begin. 

So it seems like everyone has at least one person in their life who makes a sad attempt at being something other than American when we all know damn well they were born and raised in McBurgerland and putting on a fake accent ain’t gonna do nothin’ to change it. I know at NYU there was an infamous character by the name of “Fake British Rob” who I personally never encountered, and everyone’s got at least one (if not several) person(s) from their high school who wanted desperately to move to Japan so they could work in a Hello Kitty Factory, watch anime, be accepted by their peers (good luck!) and compete on Most Extreme Elimination Challenge (that is what they do over there, right?)  But aside from those incredibly obvious (and somewhat desperate and sad) attempts to pull off another national identity, I’ve noticed an ever-increasing, yet subtle, trend amongst the speech and behavior of young Americans that I can only assume is meant as an effort to appear more worldly and learned, ipso facto*, British

If there’s anything we’ve learned from Arrested Development, it’s that English people are smart, cultured, and have an innate fashion sense (and are not mentally retarded females) that could only demand envy from us slack-jawed American yokels across the pond. Popular media has also taught me that British people will use any excuse, a simple entrance or exit, for example, as a reason to hug and kiss you, and that they often address other human beings as “love,” “lovely,” or “darling,” when really I’ve only just met them, they’re actually Belgian, and I’ll thank them to keep their waffle-loving paws off of me. Case in point, I’ve noticed many blatantly American Americans referring to one another as “love” and also hugging and kissing for no good reason. That’s a great way to get mono, people, and I don’t know about you, but I can’t just be slobbering all over strangers and then miss a month of work. Now I’m told that in England, or “Great Britain,” if you will, there is no disease among the non-sailor population, unicorns are abundant, and the local chipper is flagrantly and intentionally incorporating as much trans fat as possible into their food. And let me tell you, I certainly don’t want to live in a hellhole like that.**

I’m sick and tired of fat lazy Americans trying to escape the reality of their dull lives by injecting some fabricated wonder and culture into their vocabulary and ends of typed messages or notes, with a stock “xxx.” If you’re not British and you’re not writing to someone British, please keep to the standard American closing message of “Fuck you, you dirty rat bastard.” Look, the fact is, we’d ALL rather be British, but we’re not and we’ve got the Second Amendment to keep it that way. I’m perfectly happy not paying an exorbitant tax on tea, and if you want to keep your arsenal of guns and dental insurance, well then you better stick to the good old American way of doing things – hurriedly, miserably, and without affection. Pretending to be something you’re not will only make you interesting, mysterious, and more attractive to the opposite sex. Thank you, and good day.

And for a closing disclaimer, I suppose all of this suppositioning doesn’t apply to people who are actually British and now living in America, residents of Little Britain, those who are romantically involved with Brits, or Americans who have moved to England (you gotta talk the talk if you wanna survive in the rough streets of London.) And it doesn’t apply to me because my boyfriend is Irish, thereby earning me the right to use phrases like, “What are you on about?” and “Were the bleedin’ lads slagging you off?” and “Your fanny’s fookin’ deadly!” Betty is also exempt because her boyfriend is British and e’s a right lovely chap, ‘e is.

*I’ve already proven that I’m worldly and learned by using the phrase “ipso facto” also sparing me from pretending I’m British.

**I wish I lived in Britain. Please someone take me away from this horrible place.


Entry filed under: Alison, You Know What Really G's My G?. Tags: , , .

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11 Comments Add your own

  • 1. parkrangerolivia  |  August 28, 2008 at 10:54 pm

    WHAT? i NEVER want to move to England. I fucking hate a country with consistently poor quality of food, shit weather, and a really high cost of living. You anglophiles can keep your motherland. I’m swimming across the channel to be with the French Frogs.

  • 2. Betty  |  August 29, 2008 at 12:53 am

    I had a friend in high school who insisted on spelling it “colour” and “favourite”, which was both irritating and kind of sad.

    My boss makes us buy Walker’s chips (sorry, CRISPS*) instead of Lay’s, though, because apparently they don’t have trans fat. Which is it?!

    *I typed Crips which, despite having more street cred than crisps, is not nearly as tasty.

  • 3. Seresecros  |  August 29, 2008 at 8:38 am

    Yay for England! It is pretty crap here, though, although I’d like to state now that our food is GREAT.

    Also, to parkrangerolivia – you don’t need to call them “french frogs”. Just the word frog on it’s own is enough to distinguish which country you’re talking about – it’s the same with Germans, who are ‘krauts’ or Australians, who are ‘the enemy’.

    You just got your grammar corrected by an snobby Englishman! Aren’t stereotypes fun?

  • 4. neekaps  |  August 29, 2008 at 11:43 am


  • 5. alisaurus  |  August 29, 2008 at 12:00 pm

    firstly, betty your boss might be crazy. secondly, there’s trans fat at the CHIPPER which is actually french fries and fish, and not “chips” (or “crisps”) as we know them. goddamn you brits!! thirdly, that fact was in the same sentence as the word “unicorn” and is thereby void.

  • 6. parkrangerolivia  |  August 29, 2008 at 1:35 pm

    Hmm Serescross, that’s all well and good, but as someone who’s had the misfortune of visiting your country 5 times now, I have yet to have a delicious and well priced meal that doesn’t consist of chicken tikka masala, and was prepared by someone that has the proper immigration papers.

    I remember a while ago I was at a hotel in London when their kitchen caught on fire during breakfast. The only problem with this scenario is that they kitchen didn’t cook anything, as the food consisted of toast, baked beans, and canned tomatoes.

  • 7. Ryan  |  August 29, 2008 at 3:37 pm

    That’s where you went wrong, Olivia. You expected a hotel restaurant to serve food. Are you crazy? People need those places to sleep when they can’t find their own homes because they’ve been too busy binge drinking – the kitchen is merely there as a formality, like tinsel on a christmas tree or the weekly visit to the old folks home.

  • 8. ahmedfernando  |  August 30, 2008 at 12:19 am

    My mum and dad studied in England and lived there for about 5 years. If they had waited two freaking months, I would have been born over there. I am Mexican. Their best friends were in the exact same situation, but their fucking son was born in England. He went to school with me and I was always bitter I wasn’t a brit like him.

    I spent my teenage years pretending to be British. I’m sorry.

  • 9. ɹǝƃƃolquǝʞoʇ  |  August 30, 2008 at 1:31 pm

    Ah, but Breaking Away is such a classic pholks were bound to imitate it.

  • 10. Seresecros  |  August 31, 2008 at 9:27 am

    Miss Parkrangerolivia, it sounds like your problem is that you’ve only ever gone to London – of course the food sucks in London! Everything sucks in London. You should come to the North! Sure, we ritually burn half of all tourists who enter Yorkshire inside gigantic wicker men, and we’re all coarse and prone to inbreeding, but we make a damn fine fish and chips.

  • 11. ihatefakebrits  |  October 24, 2010 at 7:06 pm

    recently i came across black or mexicans pretending to be brits this is really getting sad and out of hand just shove your head upr your ass if you have to stoop this low


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