Most of us are seasoned social media users. And if you’re reading this, chances are you stumbled across it mid-scroll—maybe while dodging emails or waiting for your coffee. These days, whenever I open an app, I seem to take a deep breath and mutter fuck—sometimes out loud, sometimes just in my head. If the first post doesn’t do it, something in the next few scrolls probably will.

Once upon a time, social media was a welcome distraction. I would often hop on for a dose of fashion, dogs, art, travel, or someone’s questionable lunch. I’ve never made a habit of following political accounts or news pages, and yet somehow, it’s all there now. Even the lightest feeds are peppered with heavy truths. You’ll find a reel about global injustice sandwiched between someone’s yoga pose and another’s Aperol spritz. And yes, I’m just as guilty—sharing global grief between snapshots of sunsets and sweet moments with Birkin. No wonder doomscrolling feels like emotional whiplash.

Then, I came across a reel by Dr. Robyne Hanley-Dafoe (2024) that stopped me in my tracks. She explained that swearing—those spontaneous fucks, shits, and ffs—can actually be good for us. Not when hurled at others, but when blurted out as a release. A moment of relief in an overstimulating world. That got me thinking: could my British-born potty mouth be doing more good than harm?

So—is swearing vulgar, or is it secretly good for our wellbeing? And should we really give a fuck about how people react to how we react?

Think about the last time you stubbed your toe. Did you stop to consider the social ramifications of yelling at your coffee table? Probably not. Because in that moment, you weren’t being offensive—you were being human.

In a world this chaotic, maybe swearing isn’t about losing control. Maybe it’s about holding on. It’s expression. It’s honesty. It’s humour. Far from lazy or crude, swearing is a surprisingly powerful tool for coping, connecting, and staying emotionally afloat. And the best part? Science and history are on our side.

Swearing as Self-Soothing: What Science Says

That toe-stubbing scenario? It turns out, you were doing something rather clever. According to a study by Stephens, Atkins, and Kingston (2009), participants who swore while submerging their hands in ice water could tolerate the pain for longer than those who used neutral words like “table.” Why? Because swearing triggers our fight-or-flight response—it floods us with a burst of adrenaline and dulls pain. It’s like verbal paracetamol, just saltier.

Swearing also gets a bad rap for being aggressive, but Jay and Janschewitz (2008) found that most everyday swearing isn’t hostile—it’s emotional. People swear to express frustration, pain, surprise, or even delight. A whispered fuck after a long day isn’t a threat—it’s therapy. Swearing, then, is less about bad manners and more about managing life’s little meltdowns.

The Long Tradition of Colourful Language

Swearing might feel modern—edgy, rebellious, a bit rogue—but we’ve been dressing our language in sass for centuries.

Take Chaucer. Back in the 14th century, he was slipping bawdy jokes into The Canterbury Tales. In The Miller’s Tale, he writes, “And prively he caught her by the queynte”—Middle English for, well, something we won’t spell out here. Let’s just say it wasn’t innocent. Chaucer made crudeness poetic. (Chaucer, 2003)

And then, of course, there’s Shakespeare—the master of the veiled insult. From Henry V’s zinger, “Thine face is not worth sunburning” (Shakespeare, 2005), to the deadpan drama of “They have made worms’ meat of me” (Romeo and Juliet) and “I do desire we may be better strangers” (As You Like It), Shakespeare knew how to blend wit, rhythm, and just the right amount of verbal spice.

So really, from Chaucer’s cheek to TikTok tantrums, the intention behind our words hasn’t changed—we’re still using language to say what needs saying. Whether it’s a muttered fuck or a Shakespearean burn, the goal is the same: emotional release, comic timing, human connection.

Swearing as Social Glue

Let’s move from the poetic to the personal. Swearing isn’t just cathartic—it’s social. A bonding tool. A vibe-check in verbal form.

We all have different boundaries around when and where we swear. Personally, I’m not shy about a well-timed bullocks—but I’m selective. I wouldn’t drop one in a boardroom, but in a side-office debrief with a close colleague. 100%. With friends? Definitely. Family? Yes—but never, ever in front of my grandma.

And the research agrees. Feldman, Lian, Kosinski, and Stillwell (2017) found that people who swear more often tend to be more honest. Swearing, in this context, signals authenticity—you’re saying what you mean without the fluff. So, if someone curses around you, it might actually mean they trust you enough to speak plainly.

Jay (2009) goes one step further, arguing that taboo words serve emotional and social functions: we use them to emphasise, connect, joke, and make our messages land harder. It’s the difference between “Oh no” and “Oh shit.” One is polite. The other feels real.

Lights, Camera, Cussing: Swearing in Media

If Chaucer and Shakespeare were the original wordsmiths of sass, today’s torchbearers hold scripts and drop f-bombs in 4K. From Absolutely Fabulous to Archer, Schitt’s Creek to The Real Housewives, profanity is part of the dialogue—and not just for shock value. Swearing has become shorthand for emotion, conflict, and character.

Jay and Janschewitz (2008) noted that swearing in media plays a role in how we learn to express ourselves. Watching characters use profanity to navigate chaos, anger, or humour normalises swearing as a tool for managing emotion. It becomes something we absorb and reflect—often without realising.

Then came social media, and we weren’t just watching people swear—we were the ones swearing. Platforms like TikTok, Instagram, and Twitter transformed language into a fast, fluid, and highly expressive playground. As Maity, Sahni, and Mukherjee (2018) found, social media encourages linguistic innovation, including the use of profanity, because it’s casual, emotional, and always on display.

Is this a learned behaviour through cultural transmission? Absolutely. But it’s also a feedback loop: media reflects us, we reflect it back, and round it goes. In a world where everything is louder, faster, and more fraught, swearing has found a permanent place in our emotional toolkit.

So, where does that leave us? I would say somewhere between a poetic rebellion and primal relief. Swearing, it turns out, isn’t just shouting into the void—it’s one of the most human ways we manage life. It helps us cope with pain (Stephens et al., 2009), express emotion (Jay & Janschewitz, 2008), build bonds (Feldman et al., 2017), and speak with sincerity (Jay, 2009).

From medieval poetry to memes, Netflix to heartfelt rants, the story is the same: swearing, in context, is more than acceptable—it’s expressive, effective, and deeply human.

We don’t need to swear constantly. But we also don’t need to feel guilty when we do. Because sometimes, when words fail and feelings rise, the most honest thing we can say is exactly what we feel.

So, here’s to the well-timed fuck, the unexpected shit, and the occasional bollocks—our small, sweary lifelines in a world that rarely makes sense. Long may they fly when needed.

References

Chaucer, G. (2003). The Canterbury Tales (N. Coghill, Trans.). Penguin Classics. (Original work published c. 1400)

Feldman, G., Lian, H., Kosinski, M., & Stillwell, D. (2017). Frankly, we do give a damn: The relationship between profanity and honesty. Social Psychological and Personality Science, 8(7), 816–826. Click here

Jay, T. (2009). The utility and ubiquity of taboo words. Perspectives on Psychological Science, 4(2), 153–161. Click here

Jay, T., & Janschewitz, K. (2008). The pragmatics of swearing. Journal of Politeness Research, 4(2), 267–288. Click here

Maity, S. K., Sahni, A., & Mukherjee, A. (2018). Quantifying controversy on social media. ACM Transactions on the Web (TWEB), 12(3), 1–27. Click here

Shakespeare, W. (2005). Henry V, Romeo and Juliet, & As You Like It. In S. Greenblatt (Ed.), The Norton Shakespeare (2nd ed.). W. W. Norton & Company.

Stephens, R., Atkins, J., & Kingston, A. (2009). Swearing as a response to pain. NeuroReport, 20(12), 1056–1060. Click here

Hanley-Dafoe, R. [@drrobynehd]. (2024, April). Fuck is actually good for you [Video]. Instagram. Click here