Dope
It was the late ‘80s/early ‘90s. The details are blurry, but we were watching The Arsenio Hall Show. Rosie Perez was on. Perhaps, the beloved Nuyorican was promoting her breakout role as Tina in Spike Lee’s “Do the Right Thing.” Maybe, she talked about “White Men Can’t Jump,” where she played Gloria Clemente. “Foods that start with the letter Q, Alex.”
Time has smudged my memory, but one thing is clear. My dad and I hung on to her every word. During the episode, the exuberant Boriqua explained the latest New York street slang to the then-late-night king. How not to get dissed, why being dope was fresh, and where to get your jimmy hats.
Dad tried on a word as if it were a baseball cap. It was an odd fit. “How do you think that’s spelled,” he asked. I cringed. Nothing kills cool quicker than middle age. That’s why I no longer bother. Slang is a youth sport I prefer not to play, but don’t get it twisted (do people still say that?). I’m not entirely out of touch. As a writer, I know language is more than a trivial pastime. Our jargon is packed with cultural and historical meanings—evidence of who we are—space and time.
“Dope” in 1807 was gravy. In the ‘70s, the word was a synonym for a bottle of soda. The noun was defined as narcotics a decade later. In the ‘90s, it became an adjective that described anything exceptional.
The years haven’t been kind to “diss” or “jimmy hats,” but like baggy slacks, “dope” is back. But here’s some privileged information—the inside dope. Like a Starbucks that signals gentrification, the “Dope Mom” sweatshirt I saw the other day portends something ominous. The versatile word’s time is likely up. That’s the transient nature of slang and linguistics in general.
No single language in human history has survived longer than 10,000 years. Ancient Egyptians, Mayans, and other past civilizations used symbols to archive anything of significance. Mesopotamia’s Code of Hammurabi, written in wedge-shaped characters called cuneiform, was one of the earliest legal codes. Is it far-fetched to think that one day we’ll return to hieroglyphics?
I’m not saying the future will be emojis and befuddling abbreviations, but these new carriers of meaning are proving to be more than a fad. The 2022 Word of the Year wasn’t a word at all. Linguists chose FAFO, which stands for “fuck around and find out.” Take that for a test drive during your next staff meeting. YOLO! LOL
Trying to understand the latest slang slung about high school cafeterias is a noble pursuit, but be warned—like time, language is undefeated. Incidentally, my dad was much younger than I am today when he tried to build a bridge between our generations. I thought it was corny back then, but now I think it’s pretty dope.