The English language has many ways of making simple things sound far more serious than they need to be. Add ‘ism’ to the end of a word and suddenly it is no longer a habit, opinion or slightly annoying personality trait. It is now a doctrine, complete with imaginary followers, a mission statement and possibly a podcast.
Capitalism. Socialism. Feminism. Stoicism. Romanticism. Surrealism.
These are big, important words used by philosophers, politicians, artists and people who have read half a book and are now determined to explain society to everyone at a barbecue, usually while holding a sausage in one hand and pointing aggressively with the other.
The suffix ‘ism’ comes from the Greek ‘ismos’ and the Latin ‘ismus’, both used to describe a system, condition, belief or practice. In other words, humanity has been attaching ‘ism’ to things for thousands of years, probably because saying, ‘That is just how Gerald behaves,’ did not sound academic enough.
In its official form, an ism describes a belief system, movement or philosophy. Capitalism is an economic system. Feminism advocates equality for women. Realism portrays life as it is. Surrealism portrays life as it might look after eating cheese immediately before bed and then falling asleep with the television on.
There are political isms, religious isms, artistic isms and philosophical isms. There is existentialism, which asks why we are here. Stoicism, which tells us to stop complaining about it. Romanticism, which adds dramatic lighting and someone staring sadly out a window. And modernism, which removes the lighting entirely, paints one wall grey and charges $38 admission.
But the true beauty of the ism is what happens when ordinary people get hold of it.
An ism can also be a personal quirk, strange habit, catchphrase or highly specific behaviour unique to one person. It is the thing they do so often that their name eventually becomes part of the diagnosis.
‘Why does John clap twice before opening the fridge?’
That is just one of his John-isms.
‘Why does Debbie say ‘interesting’ whenever she clearly means ‘absolutely not, and I may never forgive you’?’
Classic Debbie-ism.
‘Why does Dave reverse into every car space, even when there are twelve cars waiting behind him and one person has started ageing visibly?’
‘Dave-ism. Advanced stage.’
Everyone has isms. Families are especially good at identifying them, preserving them and mentioning them loudly in front of new partners. Some people hum while concentrating. Some cannot walk past a cushion without karate-chopping the top of it. Others pronounce a word incorrectly for twenty years, then become deeply offended when anyone suggests the dictionary may know better.
Isms are not necessarily bad. They are the strange little habits that make people memorable. Without them, we would all be perfectly predictable and emotionally balanced.
So do not make fun of someone’s isms too harshly. Observe them, name them and quietly catalogue them for future family gatherings, weddings and any occasion involving a microphone.
Because once you call it an ism, it stops being weird and starts becoming a philosophy.
Because an annoying habit is just bad behaviour, but an ism is practically a family tradition.
Because every strange habit deserves a respectable title and at least one dedicated follower.
Because calling it an ism is much nicer than calling it the reason everyone avoids sitting beside you.
Because without our isms, we would simply be normal—and where is the fun in that?
writerunblockedrepublic 
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