The Oxford comma is overrated

Alternative title: “Oxford Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Obsessing and Become Ambivalent About the Serial Comma”

When it comes to writing, I have strong opinions.

I loathe passive voice, especially when police departments abuse it in their press releases to exonerate their brutality (e.g., “an unarmed man was killed in a police-related shooting”). I encourage all writers to break every arbitrary rule they learned in grammar school by starting sentences with conjunctions, ending them with prepositions and splitting those smug infinitives clean in half. And nothing — NOTHING! — is sexier than a nice set of em dashes, like a long pair of sun-soaked legs cascading from a summer dress.

However, I am ambivalent about one topic that is polarizing in the writing world: the Oxford comma.

The Oxford comma, also known as the serial comma, is a stylistic convention, not a grammatical one, meaning it is open to divergent interpretation and usage. Major house styles differ on serial comma usage: The Chicago Manual of Style more or less mandates it, while the Associated Press (AP) Stylebook encourages writers to kick the habit.

This fundamental stylistic difference cultivates tribalistic loyalties, akin to political parties, mafia families, or street gangs. The Onion published a hilarious piece titled “4 Copy Editors Killed In Ongoing AP Style, Chicago Manual Gang Violence.” Though it’s purely satirical, this piece also feels vaguely prophetic because — mark my words — blood will likely spill someday during an Oxford-related tragedy. Lynn Truss, author of Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation, characterized this divide when she wrote:

There are people who embrace the Oxford comma and those who don’t, and I’ll just say this: never get between these people when drink has been taken.

I, on the other hand, am surprisingly ambivalent about the Oxford comma. Yes, even Mr. Opinion-About-Everything can take it or leave it when it comes to the serial comma.

How did I get here?

I didn’t start in the middle. Like many Oxford enthusiasts, I, too, was hopelessly devoted to the serial comma. I was young, dumb and in love with the serial comma. And, much like the rest of Team Oxford, my adoration was unconditional and uncritical.

However, I noticed that most arguments favoring the Oxford comma were — for lack of a better word — baloney. And, in reality, these arguments don’t exactly amount to a preponderance of evidence but rather the same bad-faith argument repeated ad nauseam. Oxford comma apologists trot out the same recycled formula to propagate their argument and justify their stylistic preference — and it’s time to dismantle it.

The Bogus Formula of Oxford Cultists

Here’s every argument ever used by Oxford cultists:

Here are two sentences:

• The first is a list that includes three items, two commas (including my beloved Oxford comma), and all the clarity in the world.
• The second (which looks just like the first) might be a list — or maybe an appositive with a nonrestrictive clause — that also includes items, one comma and a sinister world of ambiguity.

Their claim is simple: Without the Oxford comma, our world would lack not only clarity but also sanity.

But this argument is usually contrived and ridiculous — a strawman for Oxford enthusiasts to beat up on so they can self-righteously declare themselves the victor.

Thankfully, we can easily refute this model.

The problem with their model isn’t a lack of a comma; it is almost always context. No amount of punctuation can fix a sentence lacking context. The best medicine, from an editor’s standpoint, is to rewrite the sentence, not add a comma.

Once you learn to rebut this model, you’ll also learn how oversimplified and cultish the devotion to the Oxford comma truly is. Hopefully, you become ambivalent about it like me.

So, let’s disassemble this model, shall we?

Example #1: Mandela’s dubious legacy

I’ll lead off with one of the few examples of this bullshit model that occurred in real life. I’ll go into greater detail on this one, entirely unpacking how the Oxford cultists continue to get this one wrong. (Also, this specific example introduces a recurring theme I noticed in the model: Oxford fans love to kink-shame heads of state in their model.)

This sentence appeared in a Times of London article about Peter Ustinov, a jet-setting documentarian, and his happenstance encounter with the first president of South Africa, Nelson Mandela:

Highlights of his global tour include encounters with Nelson Mandela, an 800-year-old demigod and a dildo collector.

Oxford cultists want you to think that everything after the comma (“an 800-year-old demigod and dildo collector”) can also function as a nonrestrictive clause modifying Mandela, suggesting that maybe we didn’t know the South African leader as well as we initially thought.

So, what would happen if we added the Oxford comma?

Highlights of his global tour include encounters with Nelson Mandela, an 800-year-old demigod, and a dildo collector.

Though Team Oxford is cheering, their excitement is premature. The comma didn’t fix the sentence. Their original claim — a nonrestrictive clause besmirched Mandela’s legacy — still persists. Can’t I make the exact same argument that a nonrestrictive clause still exists? Doesn’t “an 800-year-old demigod” still modify Mandela? Now, Mandela is just an ancient deity sans the kinky hobby.

The problem with this sentence boils down to a complete lack of context. How many people are we talking about here? There are three possibilities:

• There is one person: Mandela, who is also an 800-year-old demigod and dildo collector.
• There are two people: Mandela, who is an 800-year-old demigod, and an anonymous dildo collector.
• There are three people: Madela, an anonymous 800-year-old demigod and an anonymous dildo collector.

Notice the comma usage in the last two sentences. The last sentence involves more people (three) than the penultimate sentence (two) but employs fewer commas (one and two, respectively). Oxford cultists would have you believe that more list items necessitate more punctuation (mo’ stuff, mo’ commas). However, as demonstrated, that’s not true.

We don’t need more punctuation; we need context. Without the main clause preceding each colon (e.g., “There is one person,” “There are two people”), it is unclear how many people are involved.

And if adding extra words isn’t your cup of tea, you can also improve clarity by simply reordering the list:

Highlights of his global tour include encounters with an 800-year-old demigod, a dildo collector, and Nelson Mandela.

(If you wanted to be a stickler for parallel structure, you should probably change Mandela to “the first president of South Africa” to make it consistent with the other two list items. But, for the sake of demonstration, we’ll leave it as is.)

Now, take away the Oxford comma from the reordered list:

Highlights of his global tour include encounters with an 800-year-old demigod, a dildo collector and Nelson Mandela.

Did anything change? Other than that distant high-pitched scream you hear from Team Oxford, nothing changed.

This is clearly a list of three. The original ambiguity regarding nonrestrictive clauses is nonexistent. Thus, the Oxford comma isn’t necessary to improve the clarity of this sentence, so feel free to drop it.

Once again, writers can improve clarity — and Nelson Mandela’s legacy — by rewriting rather than adding commas.

Example #2: Stripping down JFK and Stalin

Here, we have an admittedly hilarious meme that juxtaposes two evocative images: one with John F. Kennedy and Joseph Stalin standing next to two exotic dancers, the other with the deceased leaders sporting fishnet knee-highs and nipple pasties. (Note, again, the kink-shaming of heads of state.)

This humorous image includes two sentences:

With the Oxford comma: We invited the strippers, JFK, and Stalin.

Without the Oxford comma: We invited the strippers, JFK and Stalin.

The latter sentence is ambiguous: Is this a list of three separate items or a noun with a nonrestrictive/appositive clause listing two scantily clad items as additional information?

Again, this confusion boils down to a lack of context. Let’s give this sentence the Mandela treatment by reordering the list:

We invited JFK, Stalin and the strippers.

Shuffling the order makes it painfully clear that this is a list, not a noun with a modifying clause. JFK, Stalin and the strippers are uniquely defined and demarcated nouns.

And we did all without the Oxford comma — or two prominent historical figures fighting over singles on stage two.

Example #3: The ambiguously dedicated book

Another pro-Oxford example that we can fix with a simple shuffle is the following apocryphal author dedication:

This book is dedicated to my parents, Ayn Rand and God.

The implication, of course, is the infamous Objectivist and the Great Almighty birthed and raised this imaginary doting author.

Again, rewriting this purposefully obtuse example would fix it:

This book is dedicated to God, Ayn Rand and my parents.

Again, no Oxford comma is necessary.

In fact, adding the Oxford comma would introduce ambiguity into this sentence:

This book is dedicated to God, Ayn Rand, and my parents.

The additional comma converted Rand into an appositive, ironically deifying the outspoken atheist. Libertarians and right-wingers already think Atlas Shrugged is holy writ, so let’s not add fuel to this cultish fire, shall we?

Also, what if the author grew up in a single-parent household?

This book is dedicated to my mother, Ayn Rand, and God.

See how it is unclear if this author’s mom was Rand or not?

Oxford apologists will say I’m moving the goalposts, and maybe I am. But one absurd strawman deserves another.

Example #4: Oxford commas ruin my breakfast

Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, so I don’t appreciate Oxford cultists messing with it, which they do in the following pairing:

I had eggs, toast, and orange juice.

I had eggs, toast and orange juice.

This example suggests that a lack of an Oxford comma somehow anthropomorphizes your juice-soaked toast, with whom you are conversing about your egg-centric breakfast.

Not even revision can fix this. If this scenario seems plausible to you, I would recommend either therapy or detox. No amount of editing is going to unmash those potatoes in your head.

Here’s another perfectly delicious breakfast ruined by Oxford cultists. In an article titled “The Oxford Comma Controversy,” the editorial staff of Writer’s Relief wrote:

My favorite breakfast is fresh pears, pancakes, syrup, and bacon and eggs.

“Without the Oxford comma,” Writer’s Relief claimed, “you would end up with syrup all over your bacon and eggs.”

Huh?

To arrive at this conclusion, one must answer several other questions first:

• First, based on this article’s logic, every comma-separated noun in that sentence is a standalone breakfast item. This assumption implies that the syrup is an individual food item instead of, as is the convention, something smothering the pancakes. So are we supposed to, like, drink the syrup?
• If Writer’s Relief is so concerned about cross-contaminating food items, why didn’t they pair syrup and pancakes with a coordinating conjunction as they did with the bacon and eggs?
• Furthermore, why did the author pair bacon and eggs? Aren’t these separate food items? Or are we supposed to mix them like some diced-bacon omelet?
• Also, why wouldn’t you want to add syrup to this mouth-watering omelet? That sounds like the perfect combination of salty and sweet. I don’t appreciate Writer’s Relief being so judgmental of my personal choices.

While this example certainly makes me hungry, it sure as hell doesn’t convince me — or anybody, for that matter — that the Oxford comma improves clarity.

Once again, we can fix this early-morning mess with rewriting. Let’s keep it simple by combining the pancakes and syrup into a compound modifier. Also, the author modified the pears (remember how fresh they were?). To maintain parallel structure, we should do the same with the other items. So here’s my rewrite:

My favorite breakfast is fresh pears, syrup-smothered pancakes, crispy bacon and muted eggs.

Again, no Oxford comma is necessary.

Also, I opted to silence my eggs so that you Oxford weirdos aren’t tempted to strike up a conversation with them.

Example # 5: Amanda’s wild Winnebago ride

Liz Bureman and Sue Weems delivered this spurious example in their essay titled “Why You Need to Use the Oxford Comma (or Not)”:

Amanda found herself in the Winnebago with her ex-boyfriend, an herbalist and a pet detective.

Amanda found herself in the Winnebago with her ex-boyfriend, an herbalist, and a pet detective.

“One comma makes the difference between an awkward road trip with two people and a potentially hilarious road trip with four people,” wrote Bureman and Weems.

Based on that logic, though, the second sentence can also imply three people: Amanda, the ex-boyfriend (who also moonlights as an herbalist) and Ace Ventura.

The first sentence — the one without the Oxford comma — is arguably clearer. If we assume parallel structure, each noun in the list has a coordinating modifier: her, an and a. These pronouns and articles demarcate each item. If you dropped the last article — the a in front of pet detective — then the two nouns could be interpreted as paired, making that case the ex-boyfriend moonlights as both an herbalist and pet detective. But even that would make most copy editors itchy behind the ear.

Again, let’s shuffle the list:

Amanda found herself in the Winnebago with an herbalist, a pet detective and her ex-boyfriend.

Hopefully, you’re getting the point by now. But let’s do one more, just for fun.

Example #6: Going postal

My final example provides arguably the most honest defense by Oxford apologists.

Aeryn Kauffman, copy desk chief and opinion editor for The Observer, wrote,

If you write, “postal carriers deliver in rain, snow, sleet and hail,” it is natural to expect a comma after “sleet.”

The only natural thing I see in this sentence is the weather, Aeryn. What exactly makes the Oxford comma just as natural as precipitation?

“I don’t have a great argument for this,” Kauffman concluded, “except it just looks right.”

I appreciate Kauffman’s sincerity. But, once again, this isn’t a robust defense of the serial comma.

Kauffman sounds like my youngest son, who only wants an ice cream sandwich for dinner. When I ask why, his go-to argument is simple and straightforward: “Because, Dad, I want one.”

The best arguments for the Oxford comma

To be clear, I don’t think the serial comma is useless.

The Oxford comma has more or less become the standard. Already habituated to this style, readers may pause at an Oxford-less list and ponder usage, interrupting the flow and undermining the connection between the author and the audience. The Oxford comma is the literary world’s version of Pascal’s Wager: We might as well use it because why risk it? What’s the harm, right?

Besides, commas aren’t a rare commodity with a fixed supply. Back in the day, removing the Oxford comma was a way for penny-pinching publishers and editors to save on ink and paper. But what’s the point of this self-imposed austerity in our digital era? With unlimited terabytes of cloud space, we can print our own money with a single keystroke. The laws of macroeconomics are powerless and lack jurisdiction in our stylistic polity, so we should feel free to churn out commas with reckless abandon without fear of inflation.

“I loathe excess,” wrote Robert Lee Brewer, senior editor of Writer’s Digest, “but the consistent use of the Oxford comma actually makes language — reading and writing — so much easier to comprehend; and that’s why I love it!”

I know it seems like I’m walking back my thesis here. But my beef isn’t with the Oxford comma itself but rather its overstated power — especially that espoused by its overzealous fanbase. Simply put, the Oxford comma isn’t the be-all, end-all piece of punctuation that its cultists purport it to be.

Serially ambivalent

I have a confession to make: I use the Oxford comma. Like, almost always.

Before you shout “hypocrite,” please allow me to explain.

I mostly use the Oxford comma because it pays me well. My biggest client developed an in-house style guide that mimics AP style — everything except, of course, the Oxford comma. This client loves the serial comma. Coincidently, I love receiving big checks from them. It’s a match made in heaven.

Yes, I am a shill for Big Comma. My opinion of the serial comma belongs to the highest bidder. And I’m proud of it, too.

This is common in American markets because, as it turns out, Oxfordism is as big of a belief system as Protestantism. The serial comma is as American as Hulk Hogan, so U.S.-based authors, writers and editors better learn to use it.

Therefore, I don’t find my Oxford usage hypocritical in the slightest. I’m just along for the ride that allows me to feed, clothe and house my family.

Oxford enthusiasts might be surprised to know that I initially used the serial comma when writing the first draft of this essay. Yes, even while ranting and raving about Oxford comma cultists, I was still using the object of their affection.

After reading the first draft, I realized I needed more credibility. Three sentences into this piece, I used an Oxford comma. I imagined the Oxford cult taking one look at the opening paragraph and immediately mocking me.

“Check out this hypocritical asshole,” they would post on social media. “He writes 3,000+ words about why the Oxford comma is overrated, but he uses it 35 times.”

So, during the editing process, I intentionally removed all iterations of the Oxford comma, except for intentional examples (e.g., “the strippers, JFK, and Stalin”). It was a fun exercise that made me reexamine what I originally wrote and see if the comma's removal changed the meaning. I am happy to report that—as I expected—my writing maintained clarity with and without the Oxford comma, which was the entire point of writing this piece.

The Oxford comma is neither the grammatical silver bullet nor the moralizing quandary that its cheerleaders make it out to be. If one comma can completely undo the clarity of your writing, your writing was not clear in the first place. No amount of commas can mask such lousy writing.

It’s okay to you use the Oxford comma, but you must acknowledge that it is nothing more than a preference. No amount of bad-faith memes can justify your preference. It’s not dogma nor a solid foundation for your personality.

I, on the other hand, can take it or leave it. And I feel zenful in my state of serial ambivalence. In fact, I’m trying to figure out how to apply this lesson elsewhere in my life.

Who knows — maybe I can become less of an insufferably opinionated jerk who writes 3,000+ words about commas.