Music: Conghano Scores

ya-ya-ya. If dogfish or other small sharks could speak, they would speak like this. Little girls have this pattern, because they have undeveloped vocal chords, but these are big girls. Is this pitch and tempo a way of self-infantilizing? When you add the rising inflection that ends all sentences, not just questions—ya-ya-ya-ya-ya?—the impression of timidity is strengthened. Yet there is a propulsive insistence to it. When you come in closer the language is normal English, except for the replacement of the verb to say with to be + like (So I was like, I don’t like this at all?). I remember being 20, and I think I remember what women of that age sounded like, but I don’t remember this. In all of the city, I know one young woman of that age with a sexy growl, but beside the fact that I am married, she is a lesbian. A twofer.

I sympathize with the ya-ya women of New York. Their lives are hard. They have to wear killer heels, or ugly sneakers. Their working uniform is the suit jacket and short skirt, black of course, suggesting some assembled creature of mythology, the centaur or the mermaid. They must simultaneously display competence and high earning power, plus nice legs. Pressure does weird things to the throat, any public speaker can tell you. I only wish it didn’t do this weird thing.

About the Author

Jay Nordlinger

Jay Nordlinger was a senior editor of National Review and a book fellow at National Review Institute.

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ya-ya-ya. If dogfish or other small sharks could speak, they would speak like this. Little girls have this pattern, because they have undeveloped vocal chords, but these are big girls. Is this pitch and tempo a way of self-infantilizing? When you add the rising inflection that ends all sentences, not just questions—ya-ya-ya-ya-ya?—the impression of timidity is strengthened. Yet there is a propulsive insistence to it. When you come in closer the language is normal English, except for the replacement of the verb to say with to be + like (So I was like, I don’t like this at all?). I remember being 20, and I think I remember what women of that age sounded like, but I don’t remember this. In all of the city, I know one young woman of that age with a sexy growl, but beside the fact that I am married, she is a lesbian. A twofer.

I sympathize with the ya-ya women of New York. Their lives are hard. They have to wear killer heels, or ugly sneakers. Their working uniform is the suit jacket and short skirt, black of course, suggesting some assembled creature of mythology, the centaur or the mermaid. They must simultaneously display competence and high earning power, plus nice legs. Pressure does weird things to the throat, any public speaker can tell you. I only wish it didn’t do this weird thing.