What Do You Eschew?

A Word That Sounds Like a Nut

It's rare—borderline miraculous—that I stumble across a writer online who actually captures my attention. Most of the internet feels like a nonstop sales pitch. I’m not anti-commerce (someone’s gotta pay thebills), but it’s wall-to-wall persuasion. Some of it’s obvious. Most of it is sneaky. Algorithms with suspect intentions slowly luring the innocent, and the not-so-innocent, down the slick funnel of somebody’s master marketing plan.

So, there I am, innocently enjoying a smart, witty, even refreshing blog post. And then it happened. One word. One pretentious, uninvited, linguistic curveball: eschew.

I stopped reading. Hard stop. Like I’d just stepped on a Lego barefoot. The rest of the post sounded like static—elitist, tweed-jacket-with-patch-elbows static. I never returned to that site, can’teven remember the guy’s name or what his blog was called. All because of eschew.

I don’t know what it is about that word, but it makes me gag slightly—like a cashew that went rogue in my throat. And no, I’ve never heard anyone say eschew out loud in a real conversation. Not even in college. Maybe in some crusty Victorian novel, but even then, those guys get a historical exemption. Sort of like powdered wigs and marrying your cousin.

Still, eschew gnaws at me. Was the writer just flexing? “Look at me. I use words no one uses. Behold my literary plumage!” Should I try it too? Would people respect me more if I casually dropped an eschew over dinner?

No. I can’t do it.

My dad, a huge Johnny Cash fan, taught me to eschew arrogance, and ironically, the word eschew feels exactly like that: arrogance in a turtleneck. It smells like mahogany and self-importance. The verbal equivalent of a monocle.

I eschew eschew. Do you?