Unraveling the mysteries of one of Germany's favorite words
Over time, I’ve noticed a particular phenome-non in Germany that is simultaneously prevalent and feared. It is the act of aspiring to be absolutely average—not keeping up with the Joneses, but rather being as much like the Joneses as conceivably possible.
This particular way of life is not simple. It is a complex cocktail of vaguely conflicting qualities, such as complacence, Gemütlichkeit, busybodyness and inevitability. When combined, these traits result in an ordered and pleasant (albeit boring and predictable) life. Many Germans I know do their hardest to resist succumbing to this existence, which is often marked by guaranteed employment, a row house and well-planned vacations in South Tyrol.
The German language wraps this entire concept into one neat little adjective: spiessig. Be warned, however. This is a loaded term, weighed down by heavy connotations of all that is good, bad and truly questionable about the German national character. Webster’s German-English dictionary gracefully avoids the issue entirely by translating the term into French: “petit bourgeois.”
Thankfully, as my years in Germany add up, I rely less and less on my dictionary and I am confident in my knowledge of at least this: a Spiesser is the consummate German straight arrow. But this short definition begs more questions: what is the German definition of straight arrow? What is this guy really about? What’s his day like? And why do so many of my German friends aspire to be like him while simultaneously cringing at the thought?
I decided to bring up the topic at my Wednesday night Stammtisch and see what I could glean from the conversation. Not surprisingly, the topic of garden gnomes was discussed first and at length. Garden gnomes are the ultimate signifier of one’s Spiesser status. They are no accident. Gnomes are displayed proudly and with intent. Their purpose is to communicate a clear endorsement of the Spiesser life.
What I didn’t know about garden gnomes is that their presence, placement and number reflect subtleties—a gradient. Likewise, the state of being spiessig is a continuum. It’s not a question of simply being or not being spiessig. Most Germans will readily admit that they, despite their best efforts, have aspects of spiessig-ness in their character, behavior and lifestyle. I mean, honestly, who hasn’t vacationed at Lake Garda in the last year?
“So what, aside from garden gnomes, identifies a Spiesser?” I asked, leaning into the Stammtisch table as the second round of Weissbier arrived. My informants began with the expected: the inevitable purchase of a suburban row house, a white church wedding, two (but absolutely not three) children, a life-long appointment as a civil servant, a sedan, at least one club membership, a clear preference for folk music and a penchant for Schweinsbraten.
The true Spiesser is a mythical character of sorts, which I suspect is embodied by very few living Germans. He avoids taking risks, adheres neurotically to rules, is clean beyond reason and comforts himself in the face of chaos (i.e. life) by striving constantly to maintain the all-important Ordnung. Because the true Spiesser doesn’t have time for hobbies (which could call unpleasant attention to his individuality), he busies himself by making sure that his neighbors also adhere to cultural norms, rules and laws.
To accomplish this, the Spiesser spends a fair amount of time in front of his row house washing his car, manicuring the garden and perhaps caring for gnomes. From his neighbors a Spiesser expects strict adherence to the quiet-hour laws (which include not only evenings but a pause in the middle of the day between 1 pm and 3 pm) and other important regulations, such as those regarding jaywalking and the recycling of glass bottles during specified hours. The Spiesser is concerned with keeping up appearances, but he is not a hypocrite—he plays by the rules, too. In fact, he’s an all-around decent guy.
As the conversation became livelier, I started to pick up titbits about how a Spiesser’s hair should not brush his ears and that a true Spiesser insists that his guests wear slippers during dinner parties. I learned about special types of bookcases that maximize space and make it possible for some Spiesser types to hide their fri-volous CD and cassette collections behind the first row of German literary classics. There were some good belly laughs as the conversation continued and I realized that my German friends were laughing at themselves (and rather enjoying it).
Finally, someone pointed out, “Actually, what we’re doing now is pretty spiessig: sitting around a Stammtisch on Wednesday night, drinking beer and talking about what it means to be a Spiesser.” And to that, everyone raised a glass and toasted the Spiesser in all of us.
