It dawned on me today that I will never have the luxury of anonymity again. When I moved to the UK 15 years ago, I first experienced what it is to really stand out. In those days, it was my clothes and my mannerisms as much as my accent — Americans dress very differently from Europeans, and it took me a while to assimilate. But even though I eventually began to blend in visually, my accent always marked me out from everyone else around me.
Most of the time, it didn’t cause any problem — it was just quirky. People knew it was me as soon as I said hello on the phone. I never had to introduce myself to them. And people remembered me: if I ordered something in a shop, I rarely had to give a reference number when I went to pick it up — I just opened my mouth. Handy that way.
But sometimes, it was a nuisance. That dawned on me one day when I realised I hadn’t been to confession in months and months… because there was no anonymity for me. Whatever I said was mine and no denying it. And not just in confession: if I wanted to get some information incognito — the daily cost of overdue library books when I discovered one long-languishing under the bed — I had to admit it to a friend and ask her to do it instead. When I fell in love with a man whom I wasn’t sure loved me back, I couldn’t make secret phone calls to him on the sly just to hear his voice — the chance of my opening my mouth and being discovered was too great (nothing to hide behind… no use trying… I got brave and just told him instead).
Blessing and curse that it was, I always carried the assumption that it would disappear when I returned to the US. I would slip quietly back into the crowd. For fifteen years I carried that assumption, even as my accent gradually changed, shaped by the sounds of the people around me. But it’s a rare expat whose accent doesn’t change at all — the simple need to be understood ensures that. I was at a party once, just after I’d arrived in Britain, and the beer had gone through me fast. I asked the host where the bathroom was — the standard American phrasing — and he laughed out loud and said, “What are you going to do, take a bath? We don’t call it the bathroom! We call it the toilet, or the loo, or the bog, or…” I was dancing a jig by now and felt like yelling, “THERE WAS A REASON I ASKED THE QUESTION!!!” Instead, I said, “O-ok, could you tell me where the loo is, then?” I got the answer and learned a lesson — and it’s been loo ever since. Accent change, step 1.
So, really, it was never going to be possible for me to slip back into anonymity. I don’t sound the way I used to anymore. In Britain, they think I sound American. In America, they ask me what part of Britain I am from. In truth, I don’t sound truly like either — I now have my own peculiar accent that reflects my unique expat experience, and sounds like no-one else’s in the world.
Anonymity lost, but a rich verbal patina gained in its place. There are times when it is inconvenient to stand out but, on balance, it’s not a bad trade-off. It’s part of who I am.
The British accent with a stiff upper lip can come in very handy in US if you ever need to intimidate someone. I intimidated a lawyer so well and was so proud of myself. Sometimes I can put on a very posh British accent. It comes from working in an office and speaking to loads of rich old English ladies. Apparently, American lawyers become powerless within earshot of a posh British accent.
I wonder if your accent will sound more American the longer you’re there though.
My family moved to Virginia when I was 6 and I gradually took on a southern accent. We left Virginia when I was 18 and I don’t think I sound southern at all anymore.
Then again, with a British spouse, perhaps you’ll keep your unique hybrid accent!
Being a confirmed Anglophile, but living in the U.S., I would love to have a decidedly British accent – preferably Yorkshire because that is the area I love the most. I think in Yorkshire dialect but I can’t seem to make it come out that way, so I don’t even try. I do use idioms that are distinctly British since almost everything I read or watch on the telly (thanks BBC!) is British. I almost never even hear or think in American dialect anymore.
We watched the (British) TV show McCallum recently with that lovely John Hannah, and his thicker-than-sea-fret Scottish accent was just heavenly. I’d love to have a thick Scottish accent all built-in, as well. I’d say you are lucky to have a combination of both. Consider it one of your blessings in life…rather than an annoyance, but I do understand.