When something changes its name, has it really changed? They used to be called “fuseau”; today they’re “leggings.” “Phard” has become “blush.”
Facial cleansing has become “skincare.” Blow-drying has become “hairstyling.” We haven’t invented new habits—we’ve often simply given them new names. The hooded sweatshirt has become a “hoodie,” the raincoat a “trench coat,” lip gloss “lip gloss,” and highlights “highlights.” Gymnastics has become a “workout,” gym shoes “sneakers,” an afternoon snack “snack,” and a milkshake “smoothie.”
Even everyday language has adapted: a self-portrait has become a “selfie,” publishing has become “posting,” an outfit has become an “outfit,” a gathering has become a “meeting,” a phone call has become a “call,” and a photo shoot has become a “shooting.” Even an “inauguration” is no longer an “inauguration”—it has become an “opening.” Because perhaps today it’s no longer enough just to open something; you have to turn it into an experience, preferably with an international-sounding name. Language changes—that’s normal. But perhaps it’s worth asking what this constant replacement of terms tells us.
Because sometimes it seems that a simple, understandable Italian word has to give way to an English term in order to gain value. As if “skincare” were more sophisticated than “cura della pelle,” as if “workout” were more effective than “allenamento,” as if “outfit” made the way we dress more interesting. Perhaps we’re not just changing words—we’re changing the way we perceive things. We’re turning everyday actions into experiences to sell, talk about, and share. The risk? Confusing the new with the new name. Because behind a “blush” there’s still an old “phard,” behind “skincare” there’s still a face cream, and behind a “shooting” there’s still a photograph.
Words evolve. But are we sure that every change is truly an evolution?
[📷 Courtesy of Gucci]
