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Lex maniac

Investigating changes in American English vocabulary over the last 50 years

take to the next level

(1980’s | athletese? journalese (arts)? | “push myself (etc.) harder,” “move up,” “graduate”)

There was always a next level, of course. In any hierarchy, any given rank — except the top and bottom — has another above and below it. “Go to the next level” could be used easily in such a context: get promoted, or (less often) get demoted. It might even turn up in a building evacuation plan. It was an uncomplicated expression with little or no metaphorical dimension.

The form of the phrase is fixed, though the verb may vary (“go” or “move” frequently stand in). “Take to the next level” has two obvious interpretations which are not exclusive but which have much different significances. One is playing the same game better. Another is playing the same game in a better league. In athletese, the former usage has become the norm, but the latter is more common elsewhere. Take, for example, an outstanding college athlete joining the NFL or NBA draft; suppose he says “I’m taking my game to the next level.” My contention is that we would hear that to mean, “I’m going to improve as a player” rather than “I’ll be playing in a higher league.” In other cases — such as in a financial context, in entertainment journalism, even in international relations — it means being promoted, in effect; bettering your own or someone else’s performance, or just changing the situation so much that you break into a new stage, or provoke a new intensity. Often, the point of taking it to the next level is outdoing another person or overshadowing an earlier event. The expression turns up frequently in discussions of relationships, where taking it to the next level denotes getting serious — going steady or becoming engaged, for example. Such a usage may bear a hint of improving one’s performance as a romantic partner, but it partakes more of the idea of a different league.

Most people probably hear it now as an athlete’s expression, but there were some early instances in performance reviews, and in the earliest days it didn’t seem more likely to appear in one than in the other. I’m not sure who got hold of it first — artswriters or sportswriters — but by the end of the eighties one was already more apt to hear it from athletes. In either case, it suggests an advancement outside an established hierarchy, as in a team or player summoning resources not normally available for a big game or a stretch run. It might be a pitcher adding a new delivery that will fool hitters, or a guard taking extra shooting practice so she’ll be more reliable in game situations. On the one hand, it is something athletes are always trying to do: develop their abilities and win more often. Yet the phrase gets trotted out most often before a big game or series. One must reach deep inside oneself and find new strength and skill to defeat a formidable opponent.

The expression is quite similar to “raise your game” and is used in the same way at the same junctures. It has a bit more of a mystical side to it, I would say. You can prepare to raise your game on the practice field, but taking it to the next level requires finding something you didn’t know was there, an unguessed reservoir of will, adrenaline, and physical ability that leads to victory. That’s how I hear it, anyway. On the field there’s probably no way to tell preparation from inspiration, certainly not for the spectators, and maybe not for the players themselves.

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