Nice

My least favorite word in the English language?

“Nice.”

It’s a word we use these days to mean a vaguely pleasant time: “How was the date?”

“Oh it was nice.”

It’s a word we use to describe the weather when we don’t feel like going outside, instead merely looking out the window: “Oh, weather’s nice today.” It’s a word we use to describe approbation when we hear something that will hold our interest for approximately three minutes before moving on: “I scored with Julie last night!”

“Niiice.”

And of course, my biggest pet peeve of all—using “nice” as a word to describe people who are a vague mix of everything above: vaguely pleasant presences vaguely pressing our perceptions.

“Nice” is a kind of Orwellian platitude, a word that’s been used in so many contexts and in so many situations for so long that it’s lost all real meaning. Once a word with obsolete (but precise!) definitions in the English language, it was used as words should be: with care. Laurence tells Friar John of Juliet’s fateful letter to Romeo: “The letter was not nice [trivial], but full of charge…” he cries. When Mercutio falls bloody at the hands of Tybalt, Benvolio mourns to the prince: “How nice [silly] the quarrel was, and urged withal/ Your high displeasure.” Alas, the glory days for that word have gone. “Nice” deserves now to be in that infamous writers’ pantheon of utterly useless and misused words, joining its brethren: “very,” “never-ever”, “really”, “like.”

We’re wasting our breaths when we use such an empty word. What does it really mean, after all, when someone says the weather is “nice”? Is it sunny? Cloudy? Breezy? In using the word “nice” we are perpetuating not only the deep, abiding uncertainty of whether or not we’ll need a sweater today but also the deep abiding uncertainty of what the speaker really has to say. I’ll never know what kind of weather is “nice” to him. And chances are, I’ll never ask.

The situation becomes much direr when we inflict that infernal word on people. I should know. Growing up, I was the tall introvert with glasses, and when people asked who I was—invariably—they received this answer:

“Oh, her. She’s nice.”

And that would be the end of it.

Using that word reduces someone’s entire humanity to something absolutely meaningless, squeezed between the confines of the “n” and the “e.” Instead of actually taking the time to use the English language properly, thinking about words and their meanings, we slap on “nice” as filler, mad-libs style, adjective-plus-noun, hurling someone’s entire lifetime—all their experiences, feelings, thoughts, beliefs—into this whirling black abyss. Nice people are doomed to a doughy, shapeless kind of existence, and no matter how far or fast we run, no matter how interesting or social or attentive we attempt to be, we remain nothing but “nice.”

And we use this profane word to describe our friends, our family, the people we love most in the world! If you truly care about somebody—if you truly know them, I am absolutely certain that there are other, less insulting words to describe them. After all, if I asked you to describe Jesus, or Santa Claus, or Madonna, you certainly wouldn’t say “nice.” You might say instead “inspiring”, “jolly”, or “drop-dead sexy.” But never “nice.”

There is still an issue to address for my skeptical readers. What if you don’t know your target? Even I’ll fall into the trap of using “nice” to describe someone I don’t know very well. It’s an easy pitfall, especially in an age where brevity is becoming more and more valued, and thought less and less.

But even for those acquaintances, it’s trivial to think of better words to describe them than “nice.” Are you referring to their excellent manners in society? Use “polite.” Their eagerness to associate with others? Use “friendly.” Their willingness to give up their belongings for others? How about “generous” or “selfless” or “altruistic”?

“But,” you may be wondering, “what if I want to say something about my target less specific, to point to their general excellence of character?”

Well then, I implore you to use the word “kind” instead, a far more descriptive and meaningful word that says so much more about the warmth of spirit you are obviously encountering.

To my worst enemies alone will I reserve the word “nice,” because to them I say that they are not worthy of my thought and time enough to call or “revolting” or “contemptuous.” I won’t spit on my worst enemies—I won’t even acknowledge them. They are not worthy of the basic humanity that calls for me to listen to what they have to say, or understand who they are as people.

So then, to them and to them alone will I reserve that damned four-letter word, and if everybody on Earth were to do the same, the English language would be all the better for it.