I was watching the Today Show this morning—because that’s how I keep up with the world before I decide whether or not to participate in it—and they were going on about how the southern accent is disappearing across the United States. Well, bless their hearts, that’s part of the problem right there.

It’s not that it’s disappearing everywhere—it’s just that the whole of the United States ain’t southern. And when we pack up and head off to college up north or out west, or we marry someone from, say, Connecticut (Lord help us), sometimes we pick up a little of wherever we land. Same way someone who moves to France starts throwing around a few merci beaucoups with a twinkle in their eye—even if they’re still mangling the pronunciation.

Actors are the worst about this. They drop their southern drawl for a career and then try to haul it back out for a movie role—and honey, it sounds like they’re choking on a mouthful of marbles. That’s why Walton Goggins nails it every time. He’s southern through and through and never tried to scrub it off. You can’t teach that kind of authenticity. It’s in your bones, not your vocal cords.

Take Julia Roberts, bless her heart. She dropped her southern accent years ago, but when she played that role in Steel Magnolias, it came back so thick it was almost comical. That wasn’t creamy buttery, warm homemade grits—that was day old instant grits.

Now, Parker Posey in White Lotus? That girl was pretty spot on. She walked that fine line just right—didn’t overdo it, didn’t make it sound like some backwoods cartoon character. That was the kind of southern that sips sweet tea on the porch but will cut you down with one sharp side-eye before you even realize it happened. Why do I feel so SEEN!

My Gramma was from South Carolina, and even after she moved up to Pennsylvania, she never lost that sweet southern drawl. You could hear it in every word she spoke, and I loved that about her.

And my Chubby! She had that accent thicker than Georgia humidity on an August day—grew up in Decata’, not Decatur, and you didn’t dare try to correct her on it.

Now me? I was born right here in the South, but growing up, I went back and forth between my Gramma’s house and my daddy’s house—and let’s just say, it gave me a little bit of a mixed accent over the years. And let’s be real clear about something—Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, is Pennsylvania Dutch country. That’s not exactly a “northern” accent by any stretch. And honestly? I like that I have both. I can flip that southern charm on in a heartbeat, but I’ve got a little something extra tucked in my back pocket too.

The second my feet hit Georgia soil again? Oh, honey, I’m back to sounding like cheesy jalapeño cornbread—sweet, spicy, and a little bit extra.

Folks come to Atlanta expecting to hear those rich southern accents, but Atlanta ain’t exactly the South anymore, is it? It’s a big ol’ melting pot with more transplants than native peaches. But if you drive down into Mississippi, drop below Georgia gnat line, or over to Louisiana? There it is. Thick as molasses and twice as sweet.

I like my southern accent. I don’t have a bit of desire to lose it. Sure, I might could lose some of that cornbread from my hips, but the accent? Oh, it stays. I’m proud to be southern. And I’m proud I spent a little time up in Pennsylvania Dutch country, too. It gave me a different perspective—made me shoot from the hip, stand my ground, and skip the sugarcoating unless it’s on a pound cake.

Is that good or bad? Who knows? But it’s me. And I’m keeping it.

What about y’all? Do you think accents really disappear—or do they just take a little vacation now and then?

XOXO, Jani

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