This past weekend, the infectious chant of “Ring-ding-ding-ding-dingeringeding!” echoed through my house, courtesy of my sons enthusiastically embracing the viral hit, “What Does The Fox Say?” by the Norwegian comedic duo Ylvis. Having been introduced to this quirky video by a student just the week before, I managed to earn some parental points by joining their chorus. “You know that song?” my son Zac asked, astonishment evident in his voice, to which I confidently responded with my best, “Joff-tchoff-tchoffo-tchoffo-tchoff!”
Like millions across the globe, I was instantly captivated by the video’s peculiar charm and its undeniably catchy tune. It’s the kind of sing-along anthem that burrows into your brain, a phenomenon I hadn’t experienced with such fervor since my Girl Scout days. As Devon Maloney astutely observed in Wired‘s Underwire, the song is more than just an earworm; it’s a mind-bender, prompting existential ponderings that have perplexed philosophers and poets for ages.
These questions range from the self-aware – “Why am I utterly ensnared by this ridiculously catchy song about animal noises?” – to the epistemological – “Should I reconsider my fundamental understanding of animal vocalizations? Do elephants actually ‘toot’?” And, of course, the ultimate, unavoidable question: “Wait a minute, seriously, what sound does a fox make?”
My son Luke offered a pragmatic, almost scientific answer: “We actually know what a fox says, Mom. They scream, and it sounds a lot like a human scream.”
While Luke’s empirical observation might satisfy the scientifically inclined, it doesn’t quite unravel the semiotic puzzle at the heart of the song. “What Does the Fox Say?” isn’t really about accurately depicting animal sounds. Instead, it’s about the human endeavor to represent these sounds with language, our often clumsy attempts to bridge the gap between the natural world and our linguistic systems. The song celebrates, and gently satirizes, our enduring fascination with onomatopoeia, those words that mimic the very sounds they denote. Animal noises are prime examples of onomatopoeia, often among the first words babies learn, uttering “moo” and “quack” almost as soon as “mama” and “dada.” The video’s subtle inclusion of an elderly man reading to a child underscores this connection to early language acquisition. Part of the sheer fun and appeal of “What Does the Fox Say?” lies in watching sophisticated adults at a cocktail party, champagne flutes in hand, wholeheartedly indulging in this childlike impulse to imitate the animal kingdom.
Adding to the video’s comedic genius is the deliberate disconnect between the human performers and the animals they’re supposed to represent. This isn’t the hyper-realistic, sometimes unsettling anthropomorphism of Cats, with its disturbingly adult undertones. “What Does the Fox Say?” resides firmly in the realm of children’s picture books, where humans are clearly humans, even in costume. By the time the “elephant man” nonchalantly descends the porch steps proclaiming “toot,” we realize that his “toot” is about as representative of an elephant as his makeshift costume – which is to say, not very much at all. The animal costumes and sounds in “What Does the Fox Say?” aren’t mimicking real animals; they’re mimicking the simplified, cartoonish icons we use to symbolize animals.
In this playful way, “What Does the Fox Say?” delivers a surprisingly sophisticated lesson about language itself. It throws into sharp relief the persistent human longing for a “pure” language, where words would have an inherent, almost magical connection to the objects and sounds they represent. Yet, it simultaneously exposes the fundamental myth of such a pure language. Linguists, like Ferdinand de Saussure, have long taught us about the arbitrary nature of language – that words don’t possess any intrinsic link to what they signify. There’s nothing inherently “cat-like” about the word “cat.” “Cat” refers to a cat simply because, within the English language system, it isn’t “bat” or “hat” or any other word. Similarly, the sounds “neigh” and the word “horse” aren’t inherently closer to the equus ferus than if they were represented by, say, “morse” code – a point subtly emphasized by the video’s whimsical question of whether a h0-0-0-0rse would recognize its name in mo-0-0rse code. Words derive their meaning from their place within a complex system of signifiers, not from some innate connection to reality. The very fact that onomatopoeic words differ across languages – a dog says “ouah-ouah” in French and “wan-wan” in Japanese – demonstrates that even these “sound-alike” terms are shaped by linguistic conventions rather than purely mirroring natural sounds.
The term “onomatopoeia” itself originates from the Greek words for “name” + “making.” It reflects that fundamental human drive to name things – to capture and communicate the essence of the world around us. However, the etymology also reveals the inherent challenge: we make the names; we don’t simply discover some pre-existing, perfect label. Despite our deep-seated desire to know things “as they truly are,” our attempts to name and categorize them are always, to some extent, approximations. Still, this drive to know and to name persists, as potent as ever. “What is your sound… Will we ever know?” the lead singer croons, lamenting – or perhaps celebrating – the fact that what the fox says “will always be a mystery.” In this light, the viral video “What Does the Fox Say?” truly does engage with the existential questions that have occupied philosophers and poets for centuries, all wrapped up in a catchy, utterly unforgettable tune.
