You will know of course, that language is the great democracy: a set of abstract noises to which we have collectively attached ideas. So, as the ideas change in the ever flowing world, so the meaning of the words change—pragmatically and semantically. It is an impossible task to direct this flow, however much one may wish to stand on the bank shouting instructions.
The Académie Française is the great exception—or, perhaps, the most entertaining qualification—to this idea of language as a democracy. It represents the most sustained attempt in history to undemocratise language, or, more accurately, to influence the direction in which the linguistic tide should run. It has not entirely succeeded. Words acquire extensions of meaning, become polysemous and wander off in directions their inventors never anticipated.
A child can alter the meaning of a word without the slightest intention of doing so. A group of teenagers can invent a usage that, after sufficient repetition, becomes respectable. A technological invention can demand an entirely new word. A metaphor can become literal. Immigrants can bring thousands of words with them. All any of us can really do is put on our Speedos and go with the flow. But, here I am about to stand in the flood and protest. And I know it won’t work, but I have a gripe.
In the old days there were graphic design companies and there were advertising agencies. The latter has always been a tad more glamorous and more prosperous. As a result, graphic design companies looked across the small divide enviously and decided to appropriate the word ‘agency’ for themselves. Yet, what are graphic designers agents of? Advertising were agents for space, graphic designers aren’t agents of anything. We actually create the design work ourselves.
And so, in a moment of linguistic Quixotism, I would like to suggest that we stop calling ourselves agencies.
But here is where linguistic democracy comes back to bite me. Once design agency became established, the original etymology ceased to be decisive. Usage won. The fact that I object is itself evidence that the meaning has already changed. The community of speakers has effectively voted.
And once competitors began calling themselves agencies, there was an obvious commercial pressure to follow suit. Nobody wanted to sound smaller or less sophisticated than the competition. That is precisely how linguistic change often happens. It isn’t imposed by an academy. It emerges from status, imitation, competition.
Perhaps I can offer a wee nudge. Perhaps we could adopt design studio. Studio conveys something attractive, a place where creative work is actually made, airy, relaxed, creative. Studio has a much better emotional and conceptual character. Studio suggests a place rather than an intermediary; a place where ideas are explored, things are drawn, type is set, materials are considered and the creative work is carried out. And I like its lack of pretension.
Design studio—a place where creative work is actually done. This gives studio a meaning beyond merely being an alternative label. It becomes a statement about the nature of our work.
Of course, this is all hopeless. The linguistic democracy has spoken. Design agency is bobbing quite happily downstream. Revenons à nos moutons, my quest has failed already.