What Americans Don’t Know About Their Own Language Might Shock You.

While writing my book, I came across something of a dilemma – should I write in American English or British English? Being Australian, I chose British. Or English English if you like.

I’ve always found language fascinating—its quirks, its inconsistencies, and the way it evolves over time. But there’s one particular quirk that keeps me wondering: why do Americans spell words differently from the rest of the English-speaking world?

Take "color" versus "colour," "realize" versus "realise," or even "theater" versus "theatre." At first, I assumed there must have been some logical shift—perhaps a gradual evolution based on regional speech patterns. But when I dug deeper, I realised it wasn’t nature taking its course; it was a deliberate choice.

Back in the late 18th century, a man named Noah Webster—yes, the very Webster of dictionary fame—decided that American English needed to distinguish itself from British English. He felt that the British spelling conventions were needlessly complicated, influenced by French spellings, and inconsistent with pronunciation. So, in an effort to simplify and "Americanise" the language, Webster introduced changes like dropping the "u" from words like "colour" and changing "centre" to "center."

But why were British spellings influenced by French in the first place? That brings us to the Norman Conquest of England in 1066. When William the Conqueror defeated the Anglo-Saxon King Harold at the Battle of Hastings, French became the language of the ruling class, the courts, and official documents, while Old English remained spoken by the common people. Over time, this linguistic collision resulted in an influx of French words and spellings into English—many of which persist today in British English, whereas American English took a more simplified route.

What’s even more fascinating is that some Americans don’t realise their spelling conventions are, well, unique. It’s what they’ve grown up with. I’ve spoken to Americans who assume words like "theater" and "honor" are simply "correct" and don’t give a second thought to why others might spell them differently. In contrast, many Brits, Australians, New Zealanders and Canadians are quite aware that American spelling exists—they see it all the time in movies, books, and global media.

One of my favourite examples is the word "jail." Most Americans I’ve met don’t know that the original spelling was "gaol." The word traces back to Old French and was widely used in British English for centuries, but eventually, the simpler spelling "jail" took over in modern usage. Still, "gaol" lingers in some legal and historical texts, and every time I bring it up, my American friends are absolutely baffled—some even think I’m joking!

It’s not just spelling that sets the dialects apart, of course—pronunciation, vocabulary, and even grammar have diverged over the centuries. But the spelling debate always seems to spark a reaction. Some people hold onto their regional spelling preferences like a badge of cultural identity, while others simply roll their eyes at the inconsistencies of the English language as a whole. Bear in mind that besides the French influence, there was the Latin influence from the Roman occupation a thousand years earlier.

Personally, I think both systems have their merits. Webster’s logic in simplifying words makes sense, but there’s also something charming about the historical richness of British spelling. Either way, it’s incredible how much influence one person—armed with a dictionary and a vision—can have on the way millions of people write and communicate today.