Mind Fcuk
I don’t want to get too excited by the miss-spelt expletive plastered in giant capitals on the citylink expressway as I risk being shot down by an uncoolatron, sin binned for not committing any; I might also be suspected of being a baby boomer (although I am gen X on the cusp!). But there is something that can be said, needs to be said, about that Great Gatsbyesque crudity floating in the sky on the way to the airport.
The censorship that I’m against is the private type; public space - in as far as I could control it - I would prefer to leave to nature. However, since I am probably not going to see a reigning in of neon signs and billboards in my lifetime I am left with an occasional objection to bad taste. And more than bad taste is the fashion label, “Fcuk”, which is a particularly deceptive post-modern neologism.
The first deception is that the non-word “fcuk” is a genuine acronym. An acronym is a new word made from the first letters of a name. An acronym is not genuine if the original words have been strung together to give a result that was predetermined. “Fcuk” is ostensibly an acronym but has obviously been contrived to be a simulacrum of “fuck”. “French Connection United Kingdom” is an obviously awkward combination. But, as with all acronyms that result in a known word, or a simulacrum thereof, the foundation words are often forgotten, their usefulness having been spent. However, I imagine that the copywriter who thought of it would not have been able to contain his joy when a group of synapses sparked “fcuk” into his consciousness!
I don’t want to get too excited by the miss-spelt expletive plastered in giant capitals on the citylink expressway as I risk being shot down by an uncoolatron, sin binned for not committing any; I might also be suspected of being a baby boomer (although I am gen X on the cusp!). But there is something that can be said, needs to be said, about that Great Gatsbyesque crudity floating in the sky on the way to the airport.
The censorship that I’m against is the private type; public space - in as far as I could control it - I would prefer to leave to nature. However, since I am probably not going to see a reigning in of neon signs and billboards in my lifetime I am left with an occasional objection to bad taste. And more than bad taste is the fashion label, “Fcuk”, which is a particularly deceptive post-modern neologism.
The first deception is that the non-word “fcuk” is a genuine acronym. An acronym is a new word made from the first letters of a name. An acronym is not genuine if the original words have been strung together to give a result that was predetermined. “Fcuk” is ostensibly an acronym but has obviously been contrived to be a simulacrum of “fuck”. “French Connection United Kingdom” is an obviously awkward combination. But, as with all acronyms that result in a known word, or a simulacrum thereof, the foundation words are often forgotten, their usefulness having been spent. However, I imagine that the copywriter who thought of it would not have been able to contain his joy when a group of synapses sparked “fcuk” into his consciousness!
The company,
French Connection, claims that Fcuk is an anagram, but this is disingenuous as
to be an anagram the letters of one word are transposed to form another
existing word, not a non-word.
The second deception is that the resultant construction, if it were spelt correctly, would say “fuck”. The minimal error in the spelling is designed to leave it open to no other meaning as we, no different from a dyslexic who may see the correct spelling, see in a glance the word “fuck”. It could hardly be called subliminal, yet this shared deception, consisting of a purposefully staged disingenuity – this is not the word “fuck” - masks a complex of deceptions, some semi-submerged, and some hidden by the others.
So the second deception is the linguistic one that we can see, the one that self consciously parades as cleverness, the smart transposing of the U and the C, the trick that is being openly celebrated. It is the verbal Trojan horse that has been wheeled in past the censor’s gate and represents a victory for the new “obscene chic” that seems to so titillate a callow culture to whom it is being played.
It is the “honesty” of this second deception that confounds the intellect and leaves it open for possession by another deception, the third and hidden one: this is not the word “fuck”at all. How can it be? It is not constituted by the correct spelling of that word. It cannot be that word, is not that word. It is another word, a neo-word, an alien and revolutionary construction of letters that forms a piece of post-modern text, it is anti-meaning. It fails to mean anything but presents itself to us in a cloud of confounding half meanings. It appears to be an acronym (and is a false acronym, contrived from a premeditated foundation name that is forgotten, having been overcome by the resultant simulacrum for “fuck”). The appearance of an acronym suggests a cause, but what? It appears to be an ancient word, perhaps of Roman origin, lending it the exotic mystery of a hieroglyphic palimpsest. It appears to be a futuristic word. Its alienness gives it a cryptic authority. It appears uber-modern. It appears to be code. It appears to be the failing-taboo curse word “fuck”. It is a fashion label.
All these confused subliminal meanings, this constellation of vague familiarities, half thought, each numbing the other at the moment of cognition, gives FCUK the feeling of a fascist symbol. It feels like a fascist symbol - masquerading as a fashion label - in that the inchoate resonances and obverse undertones, representing proactive bamboozlement, contrives to silence the observer. It is a surrupticious imposition of dullness. It is “Fascion”, the point at which the materialistic impulse triumphs over the imagination.
The second deception is that the resultant construction, if it were spelt correctly, would say “fuck”. The minimal error in the spelling is designed to leave it open to no other meaning as we, no different from a dyslexic who may see the correct spelling, see in a glance the word “fuck”. It could hardly be called subliminal, yet this shared deception, consisting of a purposefully staged disingenuity – this is not the word “fuck” - masks a complex of deceptions, some semi-submerged, and some hidden by the others.
So the second deception is the linguistic one that we can see, the one that self consciously parades as cleverness, the smart transposing of the U and the C, the trick that is being openly celebrated. It is the verbal Trojan horse that has been wheeled in past the censor’s gate and represents a victory for the new “obscene chic” that seems to so titillate a callow culture to whom it is being played.
It is the “honesty” of this second deception that confounds the intellect and leaves it open for possession by another deception, the third and hidden one: this is not the word “fuck”at all. How can it be? It is not constituted by the correct spelling of that word. It cannot be that word, is not that word. It is another word, a neo-word, an alien and revolutionary construction of letters that forms a piece of post-modern text, it is anti-meaning. It fails to mean anything but presents itself to us in a cloud of confounding half meanings. It appears to be an acronym (and is a false acronym, contrived from a premeditated foundation name that is forgotten, having been overcome by the resultant simulacrum for “fuck”). The appearance of an acronym suggests a cause, but what? It appears to be an ancient word, perhaps of Roman origin, lending it the exotic mystery of a hieroglyphic palimpsest. It appears to be a futuristic word. Its alienness gives it a cryptic authority. It appears uber-modern. It appears to be code. It appears to be the failing-taboo curse word “fuck”. It is a fashion label.
All these confused subliminal meanings, this constellation of vague familiarities, half thought, each numbing the other at the moment of cognition, gives FCUK the feeling of a fascist symbol. It feels like a fascist symbol - masquerading as a fashion label - in that the inchoate resonances and obverse undertones, representing proactive bamboozlement, contrives to silence the observer. It is a surrupticious imposition of dullness. It is “Fascion”, the point at which the materialistic impulse triumphs over the imagination.
You can envisage
it on those flags and banners being held up in formation marches and grand
parades: FCUK. It has the right
appearance and the visceral onomatopoeia of a fascist symbol. It has that hammer hardness, the same mind
blocking effect: it is a hate fuck. What
is displayed is the simple, clean, monosyllabic echo of the solitary word
disembodied of context and of sentence, as if that were all the meaning that
was needed.
Conversely and
paradoxically, by transposing the U and the C it also presents itself as a soft
fuck, one that appears to remove the offence, but in so doing cons authority and
constituency, and ironically, destroys the primitive fecundity in “fuck”.
In cannibalising the word “fuck” this corruption has drained it of meaning. In allowing this trick, this distortion, we have done ourselves a disservice. In the neat, minimal switch of the U and the C that appears to give legitimacy to the pronunciation of the word “fuck”, we have rather, subtracted something from the language. It seems trite to have to say that even its expletives are meaningful and constitute a means of authentic communication.
I don’t know who the relevant authority is, or if there is an authority, but are they seriously trying to say that they would not have allowed the word “fuck” but have been duped into believing that “FCUK” is an acronym and not designed to be a simulacrum? Critical to our trade practices, copyright and patents law is the concept of “holding out”. You can not hold out a logo or a sign if the public would reasonably believe that what you are displaying is the original. The rightful owner would sue, and successfully. But who is the rightful owner of the language? And can’t we object if a party is holding out to be represented by the word “fuck”. And what of the hypocrisy when the company who owns the “FCUK” label sues another company who has decided to use the word “FUCK” as a fashion label after the word is finally denuded of all its ribald, passionate and fecund sexuality?
“FCUK” embodies all of the deception, all of the spin that has famously disempowered the language in recent years. If that sign said “FUCK!” I would be much happier. At least that would mean something. It would be at the same time irreverently comical and an existential expression of frustration and the realization that something has been lost. The familiar primal curse would be much more satisfying.
In cannibalising the word “fuck” this corruption has drained it of meaning. In allowing this trick, this distortion, we have done ourselves a disservice. In the neat, minimal switch of the U and the C that appears to give legitimacy to the pronunciation of the word “fuck”, we have rather, subtracted something from the language. It seems trite to have to say that even its expletives are meaningful and constitute a means of authentic communication.
I don’t know who the relevant authority is, or if there is an authority, but are they seriously trying to say that they would not have allowed the word “fuck” but have been duped into believing that “FCUK” is an acronym and not designed to be a simulacrum? Critical to our trade practices, copyright and patents law is the concept of “holding out”. You can not hold out a logo or a sign if the public would reasonably believe that what you are displaying is the original. The rightful owner would sue, and successfully. But who is the rightful owner of the language? And can’t we object if a party is holding out to be represented by the word “fuck”. And what of the hypocrisy when the company who owns the “FCUK” label sues another company who has decided to use the word “FUCK” as a fashion label after the word is finally denuded of all its ribald, passionate and fecund sexuality?
“FCUK” embodies all of the deception, all of the spin that has famously disempowered the language in recent years. If that sign said “FUCK!” I would be much happier. At least that would mean something. It would be at the same time irreverently comical and an existential expression of frustration and the realization that something has been lost. The familiar primal curse would be much more satisfying.
The message sent by this sign hides behind the twin ideas of "Fuck spelt wrong" and a glib fashion label. I’m guessing its creator, in his post seratonic stupor, hasn't reckoned on its consequences for public taste as manifested by its implicit prescience: "Fuck, where do we go from here?"
The conceit about this whole FCUK fashion label issue is that it is being said in public. It is the elevation of the infantile to the mainstream, the exploitation of post-pubescent experimentation with a mix of nascent sexuality and testing rebellion, a tasteless formalization of meaningless graffiti onto higher public space.
I am driving along a sterile counter-efficient concrete expressway, together with thousands of other drivers, pumping greenhouse gasses into the atmosphere, and where I would expect to see the word “STOP” I am confronted instead with a single non-word, under the cover of being a logo, containing an etymological corruption that is so perverse and insidious that it heralds a new fascism by debasing the word “fuck”.
