COMMENTARY
The bromance is over. What not so long ago was just another way to say “man” or “buddy” or “dear fellow,” or as they say across the pond, “mate,” has become shorthand for a smug, self-centered asshat.
Former U.K. Prime Minister David Cameron once bragged that Barack Obama called him “bro.” I’m not sure anyone would brag about it these days. Except maybe a bro.
Let’s be clear that “bro” has completely slipped the etymological moorings of its parent “brother” — either as a black thing or as a religious-order thing, signifying a form of kinship in either case. (Note that our former prez did not call his Brit counterpart “brother.”)
Thanks to young and entitled tech-industry people — and by people, I mean mostly men — bro is also now intimately associated with the Bay Area. Tech bros, CE-Bros … San Francisc-bro!
Let me offer an alternative, dude. Even if you’re not a dude, it’s OK. How often have you heard this:
Young Woman No. 1: “Are you kidding me? That shit is straight-up sick.”
Young Woman No. 2: “Dude, seriously!”
Would Young Woman No. 2 ever say “Bro, seriously”? It apparently happens, but it’s hard to imagine. It’s not just that “bro” is short for “brother.” It’s that “dude” has shed some of its gender baggage. Not all — it’s certainly not gender neutral — but its relationship to maleness is softer, more complex. To describe a person, “dude” as an epithet has sat around a while. Smoked a bowl or two. Contemplated the fog just offshore, appreciated the differences between sandpipers and the other bird-dudes with the funny beaks. (Curlews, maybe?) Dude has been around the block. It has mellowed out.
It was once an insult that meant “dandy,” probably tracing back to the use of “duds” as clothes. To country folk it also meant “laughable city slicker,” but now when greenhorns grab a saddle and lasso and cowboy up for vacation, they go to a dude ranch — which is not said with a snort and snicker, but with pride. Just ask the Dude Ranchers Association.
In the 1970s, David Bowie wrote “All the Young Dudes,” which some including Lou Reed considered a gay anthem (“Jimmy looking sweet / Though he dresses like a queen”).
Here, compare the two:
“Relax, dude.”
“Relax, bro.”
The first is like a friendly hand on the shoulder, perhaps with a reassuring squeeze. Connoisseurs of dudeology might argue that “Relax, dude,” and “Dude, relax” have different overtones. But no one would argue that “Relax, bro” contains any mellowing agents within. You might as well say to someone — and by someone, I mean a guy — “Knock it off, dickhead.”
A comet flares across the obsidian night; a dolphin pops out of a wave; a tree branch falls, narrowly missing an innocent pedestrian. The wonder of the cosmos can be expressed thusly: Duuude, with a slight, husky elongation. The tongue lingers upon the front of the palate for the second D.
A politician resigns in disgrace; an outfielder misses an easy fly ball; your co-worker doesn’t contribute to the team project on time. A slight shake of your head, a tightening of your lips: Dude. Short, perhaps muttered under your breath, with the second D clipped.
Sure, we can use “man” just as flexibly, often with “oh” appended. (“Oh man, what a week.”) It’s a little more square, a little less signifying of place. “Dude” is no longer like totally Californian, but if you use it in certain ways —like in a dude sandwich — odds are still good. We know where you’re from, dude.
It’s too bad that “girl” or “sis” or “chica” is not used universally as an expression of wonder or incredulity or emphasis, but that’s gender-warrior work for another day. For all of us in fractured, frazzled San Francisco, whether you’re native or not, “dude” isn’t a bad place to find common ground. Think of it as a rug that ties the room together. And by room, I mean the city.
Photo of “Little Lebowski” by Gabe McIntyre via Creative Commons 2.0 license.
