I never thought I would move to the South and still have people comment on my accent daily.
Realizing it is a pure Appalachian Kentucky accent and very “thick,” as they say, I have never even begun to “shed” it. No matter where I’ve lived, it has remained. I also have never tried to shed it, so there’s that.
In most places I’ve lived, with my hometown in Eastern Kentucky and its surrounding areas being the exception, my accent has been a sort of trademark. People knew who it was as soon as I spoke on the phone. The mayor of Ironton, Ohio, once told me my accent was so noticeable that he could hear it in my texts and emails. Of course, he had the accent, not I.
I recall being about 4 years old, and my cousins from Ohio were visiting. In a tradition that continues today, they ultimately began commenting on the accents of their kinfolk from Kentucky. I asked my paternal grandmother, born and raised in Appalachian Kentucky, “Mawmaw, why are they laughing at the way we tawk?” She said, “Honey, they’re just jealous because we sound like cornbread, and they don’t.” Trust me, that made a lot of sense then and still does.
In a previous job, I wrote news stories for a TV station’s website in Lexington, Kentucky. To drive traffic to the website, the bosses decided to have the anchors do “talkbacks” with the digital reporters on TV. Only two of us were in Kentucky: myself and a California-born New York-educated guy who lived in Louisville. I thought, “They’ll never ask me to do one because of my accent.”
I was wrong.
We each ended up doing our first talkback and soon got a call from my boss.
“I need to talk to you about your talkback,” she said.
“Let me guess,” I responded. “I’m not doing anymore because of my accent.”
“No,” she replied. “After yours aired, we got hundreds of emails and phone calls from people who said they love it, so we need you to do at least two a day.”
“OK. That’s not where I thought that was going,” I told her.
Yep. They love it,” she said. “So many of the comments we got were from people who were thrilled to hear someone on TV who sounds like they do.”
I am unapologetically proud of how I talk because few dialects are as evocative and distinctive as the Appalachian accent. Living with an Appalachian accent isn’t merely about speech patterns and pronunciation — it’s about embracing a diverse and profound cultural heritage.
For those of us who call the Appalachian mountains home, our accent is more than just a way of speaking; it’s a badge of honor, a connection to our ancestors who carved out lives in the hollers and hills. Every drawled vowel and softened consonant is a testament to our shared history, shaped by the trials of poverty, the beauty of nature and the warmth of community.
But living with an Appalachian accent isn’t always easy, especially in a world where homogenized speech patterns dominate media and popular culture. We may face stereotypes and misconceptions, with our accents sometimes being unfairly associated with ignorance or backwardness. Yet, those who take the time to listen will discover a richness and depth to our way of speaking that defies most assumptions.
Appalachian is a way of speaking passed down through generations like an heirloom. Just as the Appalachian mountains are varied and complex, so are the accents cultivated in their valleys and hollers (not hollows). My accent is part of my identity, and I appreciate the beauty and richness of living with it.
Also, it’s Appa-latch-uh, not Appa-lay-shuh.
