I’m a self-proclaimed grammar snob. I have an intuitive sense for punctuation; it’s only a minor exaggeration to say that I get a shiver down my spine when a comma is misplaced. I have been known to critique texts, emails, ads, Tweets, teachers’ PowerPoints, and flyers taped to the back of bathroom stall doors.
When I was young, I would do it aloud, pointing out errors to whoever had written them. Sometimes, it was an attempt to be helpful. Sometimes it was an attempt to feel superior. I certainly believed that criticizing people’s grammar was a valid response to their arguments. Now, I mostly make edits in my head, but I do make them.
I’m trying to break myself of this habit. When I read a long, thoughtful Facebook post about politics or a Tweet thread about someone’s personal experiences, I’m still tempted to bypass their point and wrestle instead with their homonyms.
Which is absurd.
Good grammar and perfect syntax are signs of subtle privilege. I’m a native English speaker whose parents read to her until she could read on her own. I had a rigorous academic education while learning to read and then again while learning to read analytically, and I’m continuing the latter in college. I also have a natural ear for the rhythm of sentences, something that often eludes even those with access to all of the above.
Some people have none of the above. That doesn’t mean they’re unintelligent or careless. And it certainly doesn’t mean they don’t have good ideas worth expressing.
It’s awfully condescending to prioritize how people are saying something over what they are saying, especially when what they are saying is important.
There are times when grammar should be as polished as possible for clarity or for professionalism (academic papers, official publications, complicated instructions, novels), or where the person writing is actively seeking editorial input, but most things on the Internet do not meet these qualifications. Neither do quick texts and basic flyers.
Rarely is something completely unintelligible due to mistakes. If the message is clear, what does anyone gain from pointing out minor problems?
It’s not really a question of preserving the English language, because most people making these errors are not doing it to start a grammar rebellion. They may not have the rules memorized, but they know they must follow the rules or face criticism. They encounter enough snarky corrections to understand that. We grammar snobs do a very thorough job of putting ordinary operators of language in their place.
Because at its most fundamental level, critiquing grammar—especially that of strangers—is an exercise in asserting dominance. “I know something you do not,” we’re saying with an asterisk and a revision. “I am better at this than you.” And, underneath that smugness, “What you are saying does not matter. With one mistake, you have forfeited your right to receive my respect and my attention.”
I have been that person more often than I care to admit. It’s almost never been a conscious effort to undermine people; the toxic effects of my fastidiousness seemed inconsequential because they were just expressions of devotion to the language I love and its conventions.
That doesn’t change the fact that being that person is pretentious and, ultimately, pointless.
So I’m trying to cap my metaphorical red pen unless it’s specifically requested. I owe the people around me a better response than that.