Within innumerable facets of life, consistency is key. Whether it be athletics, academics, or any other human endeavor, there are truly few instances in which inconsistency reigns supreme.

Given this glaringly apparent universal truth, why is it, then, that we tolerate—and oftentimes promote—brazen and unnecessary inconsistency? Verily, we tell you all, we harbor a growing grudge against the English language and its rampant inconsistency.

There exist within English far too many of these minute fragments, these unintentionally metaphoric statements possessing only superficial thought.

Exhibit A: The Usual Suspects

• The word “read”—present and past tense indistinguishable in writing—necessitates unnecessary cognition for clarity.
• The french fry: a delectable shard, a modern symbol of ingenuity and indulgence alike, neither wholly French nor in any way meaningfully fried in France, yet we drape it in borrowed nationality. It is potato. Potato.
• The driveway, upon which we park.
• The parkway, upon which we drive.
• The colonel, pronounced as though it were “kernel”—a phonetic travesty of the highest order.

This is all without mentioning the additional myriad of phonetic, grammatical, and punctuational differences between British and American English—which brings us to our chief complaint today.

The Breaking Point

Our linguistic breaking point came with a certain beloved member of the metric system. Completely disregarding the fact that Americans have attempted to do away with these measurements (seemingly in the spirit of disobedient inconsistency), Americans have stolen, botched, and downright bastardized one of the metric system’s golden children: the kilometer.

You, a dirty Yankee, beyond a shadow of a doubt read that in your mind as “KUH·LAA·MUH·TR,” with stress on the second syllable.

But this seemingly harmless articulation is, in fact, a blatant appropriation of its initial pronunciation as intended by the Anglo-Saxons. Any sensible linguist will undoubtedly prescribe its pure and correct form:

“KI·LUH·MEE·TR” (stress on the first syllable)

A Study in Symmetry

Given the pure, intended pronunciation we have so graciously enlightened you with, linguistically indoctrinated reader, why must we Americans be so recklessly inconsistent?

We say METER. 

centiMETER. 

milliMETER. 

nanoMETER. 

deciMETER

A low-entropy system, surely?

But alas, like a barbarian sacking Rome, like a Mongol besieging Baghdad, arrives the—ironically enough—American “KUH·LAA·MUH·TR” to annihilate linguistic peace and tranquility.

Why must the stress defect?

Why must “meter”—the nucleus of common uniformity—be demoted to a murmured afterthought, a forgotten syllable?

Surely, surely I reason, you would never utter “KUH·LAA·GRUM,” nor would you orate inquiries regarding “MILL·IMM·IH·TR”s or “CEN·TIM·IH·TR”s, and yet “KUH·LAA·MUH·TR” remains unchallenged, accepted in perfect, rhythmic complacency.

It is KI·LUH·MEE·TR.