Karly

Before anything else, I want to make a small note. I lived in Scotland for a year, I studied Scots and Scottish English at the University of Edinburgh, and I deeply admire the linguistic and cultural richness of the country. This post is written with respect, affection, and genuine academic and personal interest.

It is the first of December, and you are not seeing a Christmassy post, and I know I had promised London content, but while I get my act together and take the photographs that will do those stories justice, we are going on a trip much further north and talking about the Scottishisms in Outlander. This feels like an entirely reasonable pivot, because my brain has been somewhere between the Highlands and the eighteenth century ever since I watched Blood of My Blood on my return from London, which, of course, led me to revisit the earlier seasons and fall straight back into my favourite linguistic rabbit holes.

This has also surprised me because my Scots and Scottish English module at the University of Edinburgh traumatised me to the point where I genuinely believed I would not return to the subject unless someone paid me to do so. It was one of those courses that lives rent-free in your mind, not because it was formative but because it left a tiny academic bruise. Yet rewatching Outlander has helped me put that aside and remember that I am a linguist, and if I want to revisit Scots via Jamie Fraser, I am more than welcome to. Sometimes scholarship returns in unexpected ways.

One of the things that has always fascinated me about Outlander is the way it uses Scottishisms to build atmosphere and identity. These are not throwaway expressions. They carry history, regional specificity, and the emotional weight of a community that survived political suppression, cultural erasure, and language policing. Even in a dramatised context, these words do a remarkable amount of narrative work, and they offer a small but powerful window into how Scots persisted despite everything working against them after 1746.

While rewatching, I started a little list in my head, and since Nonsense & Lit is built on the principle that a hyperfixation can absolutely become a blog post, here is a small selection of Scottishisms you hear in Outlander, along with what they mean and how they function linguistically or culturally. Consider it a tiny field study for the first day of December.

A Table of Outlander Scottishisms

Word / Phrase	Meaning	Notes
aye	yes	One of the most recognisable Scots features, with roots in Middle English. Retains its affirmative strength in dialogue and adds regional texture immediately.
ken	to know	Verb still used in Scots varieties today. Carries strong sociolinguistic signals of Scottishness and rural identity.
dinna fash	do not worry	From “fash,” meaning fuss or bother, originally from Old French “faschier.” Its survival in Scots shows the fascinating layers of contact and retention.
bairn	child	Shared across Scots and Northern English dialects and tied closely to family and community structures.
sassenach	literally “Saxon,” applied to an English person	From Scottish Gaelic, Sasannach, meaning ‘English person’. Sasann means England. Historically loaded, affectionate or biting depending on context.
wee	little, small	The most iconic Scottish adjective. Extremely productive. Adds tenderness, humour, or emphasis depending on usage.
no’ / nae	not / no	Negative forms that preserve older Scots structures and instantly shift the rhythm of dialogue.
lass / lad	girl / boy or young woman / man	Signals age, familiarity, and social register. Often used affectionately in the show.

These words may seem simple on the surface, but each one carries centuries of linguistic and historical resonance. After the Battle of Culloden, the British state attempted to suppress Highland culture through legal, educational, and social policies that discouraged or outright punished the use of Gaelic and certain forms of Scots. Outlander leans into this tension, sometimes subtly and sometimes directly, by allowing its characters to speak in ways that foreground their identities even when their political circumstances seek to silence them.

From a linguistic perspective, these Scottishisms are functional markers of characterisation because they position characters within specific social worlds. Jamie saying “aye” is never just Jamie agreeing to something. Claire being called “sassenach” is not simply a tease. “Dinna fash” is not merely a comforting phrase. Each of these expressions contextualises relationships, establishes power dynamics, and reflects ongoing negotiations of identity. They are small linguistic choices that shape entire emotional landscapes.

There is a reason why these words survive in the collective imagination long after viewers forget individual plot points. They are portable pieces of cultural memory. They belong to a real linguistic ecosystem that continues to evolve today, from Doric to Glaswegian to contemporary urban Scots, and hearing them in a show like Outlander reminds us that language does not disappear quietly. It adapts, persists, and grows with its speakers, even when history makes survival difficult.

So while everyone else steps into the season of fairy lights and holiday markets, I find myself stepping into the season of Scottish lexicon analysis, which feels more honest to my current emotional landscape. London content is coming, but for now, I am happy to begin December with a head full of Scottishisms, a healing from my academic trauma, and a renewed fascination with how language holds history in its smallest corners.

If you want more linguistic deep dives, whether about Outlander, Culloden, or the politics of Scots language, let me know. I have a feeling this winter is going to be very research heavy.