The Right Life

Last week, with his usual verbose perspicacity, Màrius Serra commented on the omnipresence of the expression "in the end" in the statements of athletes—including female athletes—which has replaced "the truth is that." It was the phrase that Andrés Iniesta elevated to the status of a pop gem and for which his imitators are so grateful. Without data or scientific studies to corroborate this, I suspect that the expansion of digital media and the exaltation of immediacy over current events have multiplied the rhetorical vices of spontaneous declarations.

Red carpets, mixed zones, parliamentary corridors, courthouse and funeral home entrances and exits, intercoms besieged by paparazzi, burned or flooded towns, concert queues, riots of all kinds—all contribute to creating a territory in which the subject questioned by a street reporter understands that it will be easier to get out of the situation with any urgent statement than to refuse to speak and be besieged, as happened to Isabel Pantoja and Julián Muñoz in Jesús Gil's corrupt Marbella.

The "in the end" Serra referred to is part of that media language that, through contagion, functions as a communicative handout, and which often incorporates the same lexical precariousness of those who, on their own initiative or because they are forced, ask the questions.

If you are asked how your life is going, answer “correct” and you will maintain a certain privacy.

Since hunting for colloquial vices is a community sport, I offer my contribution: I detect a gradual growth in the use of the adjective "correct." It's a promising resource, not to be confused with the more classic meaning of "correct," referring to individual or collective integrity. Correct, understood as a means of eloquence to get through a generally banal conversation, is a different story. Someone asks you how your life is going? Answer "correct" and you'll maintain an acceptable level of privacy. In a restaurant, the chef insists on knowing what you thought of the food? Answer "correct" and you won't satisfy—or offend—your interlocutor's expectations. As you leave the theater, an impatient viewer insists on knowing how many stars you'd give the film you're still digesting? Answer "correct" and you won't participate in the comparative fever of categorical praise or vituperation.

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Correct isn't just an adjective: it's a moral choice, a distant relative of the scribe Bartleby's "I'd rather not." In a world that rewards strong opinions, using an adjective that describes something "not straying from the rules, free from error or flaw" provokes bewilderment and disappointment among those who, compulsively moving their thumbs up and down, feed, without nuance, on the unbridled bile and flattery.