According to my youngest brother, I'm about to show my age. Being a millennial, he probably has an app to avoid that, but I don't see much point in resisting. I'm ready for a confrontation, young(er) people: henceforth, please quit it with the term "squad."
If you're yet to hear it, congratulations. In its latest usage, the term means "group of friends." Squad life is being promoted by pop behemoth Taylor Swift, who bestows squad membership on her girlfriends. Together, the Swift squad has #squadgoals, i.e. goals; they run "squad deep," i.e. socialize in the same place at the same time.
I know that I'm talking about twentysomethings and I realize that enthusiastic groupthink is a common twentysomething phase. I like slang and I love dialects, which keep language vibrant and playful and real. Despite all that, the bubbling up of "squad" is getting on my last nerve.
Like most bits of American cool, the idea originated with African-Americans – as a hip-hop term it's existed for decades. And, like most bits of grassroots African-American culture, its mainstreaming erases its history. Black Americans have a long history of needing the strength that's found in numbers, and travelling with a squad invoked a protective, community feel. Ms. Swift's squad is more cheerleader than military, and therefore less challenging to the status quo.
Popular sentiment is that the Swift squad is all about girl power, promoting female solidarity over transient boyfriends and record label b.s. Uh huh: last July, after Nicki Minaj voiced her opinion that her physicality (she's neither thin nor white) was a factor in her lack of an MTV video award nomination, Ms. Swift and Miley Cyrus (the first a nominee, the second a host) were quick to take offence. Creating an in-crowd requires having outsiders, and it's rarely surprising how those lines are drawn.
My unease with "squad" taps into a deeper mistrust of belonging, an essential question that's almost always contentious, whether the community at hand is a country, a movement or an almost-famous rock band (poor Pete Best).
For a Canadian example, take universal suffrage, otherwise known as women's right to vote. It's widely believed that the right was granted in the First World War era, but in fact, it wasn't that universal at all. As per usual, belonging was sided with an asterisk: British subjects seen as deserving of a vote long before immigrants; Asian and indigenous women had to wait the longest, some until the second half of the 20th century. More recently, take the repulsive Donald Trump and his racist rhetoric – and how eager a large number of Americans are to gather under his hateful umbrella, be part of his squad.
Of course a pop culture popularity contest is less crucial than the idea of personhood; of course neither Ms. Swift or her rap music forebears invented the concept of tribalism. The popular usage of "squad" is far more annoying than dangerous, and cliques more often leave hurt feelings in their wake rather than barbed-wire borders. I still think the fun phase of a squad is fleeting, and I find it sad to witness such an overt desperation to belong, to have meaning bestowed by whoever wields influence in this passing moment.
Enjoy your vernacular, millennials, as soon enough your tongue, too, will be dated. As for users of my vintage (or even older!), you should know better than to start making in and out lists. A squad is just another name for a clique, after all, and as Judy Blume taught me in my own lost youth, clique membership involves toeing the party line or getting the boot.