There’s a good reason why Towie outshines its scripted reality rivals – the language. It’s well educational

The reality TV show is an unlikely place to look for linguistic intrigue. Egocentricity requires very little diversity of diction; the only narrative is the first person and the only tone is audaciously brash to conceal the utter lack of talent. Nuance is a total stranger.

The Only Way Is Essex is a glowing exception – not in subtlety (far from it), or even content. It’s in the language. Essex has developed its own lexicon that reflects its unique character and self-perception. The show has given us a glimpse into that microcosm and encouraged the wider population to adopt some of its creative, quirky and cheeky neology.

The Towie franchise has even embraced its pronounceable acronym, one of many neologisms that set it apart from its posh counterpart Made in Chelsea, which never gets called MiC.

What strikes me about Towie is the sheer character that oozes from every letter of every phrase the Essex clan use in their everyday parlance. Often, tongues are placed firmly in cheeks. Sometimes, we’re treated to endearing malapropisms. Every time, more aplomb is exuded for the viewer than any other reality programme on the box. As a result, the show’s popularity continues to grow: filming is even under way for a film adaptation.

It’s perhaps an unsurprising obsession. We’re still a class-fixated nation. As they emerge, new classes arouse intense intrigue. The nouveau riche of Essex were satirised by Birds of a Feather. Now we have a class set we’ve never seen before: the offspring of the nouveau riche – the first people of this class who were born into money. Their working-class parents toiled hard (or deftly ducked and dived) for their fortune. Towie depicts their children coming of age in a very different way: without necessarily having to go out and immediately work for their money. Or if they do, they have more options about what they do for employment, and when they start it. The “gap yar” is no longer the exclusive domain of the traditional middle classes. Their parents are almost as wedged-up as those on Made in Chelsea – but these days what you spend your money on is as indicative of your class as how much of it you have. Rather than horses, maids and skiing, it’s chihuahuas, vajazzles and Marbs.

This context sets the stage for a new and exciting lexical adventure. With Made in Chelsea – “Oh fiddlesticks! I, like, totally left the keys to the Bentley at the country club again. Chortle!” – we’ve heard it all before, delivered in clipped RP through the ages.

Strip out all the glottal stops and give me the colloquialisms spoken down Faces nightclub any day. For the language of this new class is what I’m going to call nouveau cockney. Unlike its old-school counterpart, it doesn’t rhyme. But it is just as curiously mellifluous. The cockney dialect now stretches way beyond Bow bells – down among the oast houses of Kent and mock Tudor detached homes of Essex. If it weren’t televised, nouveau cockney would have been as exclusive as all cryptolects – which is why Essex is “the only way”. So the glimpse into this identity-forming lingo is as enlightening as it is playful.

For the unacquainted, here’s a beginner’s guide to nouveau cockney, as spoken by Towie’s finest – delivered, of course, with a cheeky wink.

And there you have it: often succinct or abbreviated; sometimes comical and always charismatic – Towie’s nouveau cockney brings linguistic innovation to a new generation. Reem.

Media: Mind your language | theguardian.com http://www.theguardian.com/media/mind-your-language/2013/aug/02/mind-your-language-nouveau-cockney