Earlier this week The News Tribune reported that Tammy Blount, president and CEO of the Tacoma Regional Convention & Visitor’s Bureau, has been asked by someone higher on the food chain than herself to stop describing Tacoma as “gritty” when selling Tacoma to the masses. Although Blount won’t say exactly who made this request, the idea behind it is obvious — someone important (or a number of them, perhaps) think calling Tacoma “gritty” casts a negative light on our City of Destiny — or our Wired City — or whatever else you want to call this place we call home.



Blount considers calling Tacoma gritty a compliment, highlighting its hardscrabble, blue-collar backbone, but it’s apparent not everyone agrees.



Of course, what should also be obvious to anyone who has used the term “grit city” in print is, there’s a large contingent of folks — real Tacomans — who think the moniker is stupid. I’m reminded of a recent letter I got from a reader, basically saying I’m “OK, other than the fact I call Tacoma Grit City.”



I replied, saying I use the term ironically — like a hipster. I never heard back, so it’s hard to tell how that one went over.



The thing about Tacoma (and the thing I LOVE about Tacoma) is — this isn’t a pretty place. Not even close. We’re rough around the edges. We’ve got calluses on our hands and grease stains on our clothes. There’s a warm PBR bouncing around the backseat of our smoke-spewing gas guzzler, and as soon as it’s quitting time we won’t think twice about cracking that shit open. We wait for the bus and we don’t need an umbrella in the rain. We’re paycheck to paycheck without regret. This is the true heart of Tacoma — and the Tacoma I know and love. It has been for years. Call it gritty if you wish, and at your own risk.



Where the going gets dumb is when condo owners, and skim milk latte drinkers, and other members of Tacoma’s growing khakistocracy start trying to give things cutesy names. You can bet your ass that Tacoma’s blue-collar army, its 9 to 5 workhorses, its aforementioned heart and soul never ever call Tacoma gritty. When they barely scrape up rent, they don’t remark “My, how gritty that was of us.” When they drive that piece of crap car until the wheels fall off because it’s what they’ve got and all they can afford, they never say “Boy, we sure are gritty!”



No, they just call it life. That’s the Tacoma I know and love, and — in truth — it takes an outsider to get a kick out of referencing its grit. In reality, every time some gentrifying Saab driver tells a friend about how “gritty” Tacoma is, we lose just a little of that beloved and much-hyped grit.



The bottom line is calling Tacoma gritty is just as silly as trying to sell this place as something it’s not — a place without crime, blight or boarded-up windows — typically referred to as “eyesores” by those who toil on warm carpet and fancy wine bars. Oddly, those are probably the same people who think Blount should stop calling Tacoma gritty.

Tacoma is Tacoma. Hopefully, it always will be. Call it whatever you want, but know enough to realize how it might make you sound.