Ilima in Vancouver, Canada, reports not everyone understands when she tells them she’s vegetarian. Some people assume, for example, that she doesn’t eat red meat but may enjoy chicken. Part of the issue may involve what linguists call prototype theory. If you’re asked to think of a bird, the image that pops into your head is likely something that resembles a robin or a sparrow, not a penguin or an ostrich, even though those animals are birds as well. Our mental groupings often have central prototypes of very common, ordinary items, and then fuzzier edges of rarer, more unusual items, so when it comes to meat, there’s the prototype of beef and pork, but then less clearly delineated categories of animal flesh, such as fish, shellfish, and chicken. Many people avoid red meat, but make exceptions for some of the other varieties of meat. Sometimes there’s a similar lack of clarity when it comes to vegan versus vegetarian. Someone whose consumption of animal flesh is limited to fish is a pescatarian. Is there a specific word for someone who eats poultry and fish but not red meat? Pollopescatarian, maybe? This is part of a complete episode.
I loved this discussion and am now fascinated with prototype theory. I thought of an exchange I witnessed between two family members at a holiday meal. We’ll call them Doris and Aunt Bertha.
Doris: Hey kids, don’t forget to eat your vegetables.
Aunt Bertha: They are eating their vegetables. They’re eating potatoes. [The potatoes were mashed, BTW, which involved butter and sour cream, and they were covered in gravy.]
Doris: You know what I mean. Eat your green beans and salad.
Aunt Bertha: But you said “eat your vegetables.” Potatoes are vegetables.
Doris: Sure, technically. But I consider them a starch.
Aunt Bertha: But they’re vegetables.
And on it went, most of Aunt Bertha’s sentences beginning with “but.”
My question is, had I known about prototype theory at the time and explained it to them, would that have defused the situation, or would it have been completely unhelpful? In other words, I’m happy to know about prototype theory, but where can I use this newfound knowledge in my everyday life?
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Daniel from Gardnerville, Nevada, remembers his aunt had a habit of responding to anyone who left the word so hanging there in mid-conversation with, Sew a button on your underwear. It’s is one of a whole family of playful rejoinders, including Sew...
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I loved this discussion and am now fascinated with prototype theory. I thought of an exchange I witnessed between two family members at a holiday meal. We’ll call them Doris and Aunt Bertha.
Doris: Hey kids, don’t forget to eat your vegetables.
Aunt Bertha: They are eating their vegetables. They’re eating potatoes. [The potatoes were mashed, BTW, which involved butter and sour cream, and they were covered in gravy.]
Doris: You know what I mean. Eat your green beans and salad.
Aunt Bertha: But you said “eat your vegetables.” Potatoes are vegetables.
Doris: Sure, technically. But I consider them a starch.
Aunt Bertha: But they’re vegetables.
And on it went, most of Aunt Bertha’s sentences beginning with “but.”
My question is, had I known about prototype theory at the time and explained it to them, would that have defused the situation, or would it have been completely unhelpful? In other words, I’m happy to know about prototype theory, but where can I use this newfound knowledge in my everyday life?