Fluent or functional?

The Dutch have long understood something profound: language is first and foremost a vehicle. With just around 25 million Dutch speakers worldwide (most in the Netherlands and Belgium), the Dutch know that their mother tongue is not enough to navigate the world. English isn’t an ornament or an identity marker — it’s a practical necessity.

And they excel at it. The Dutch consistently rank among the best non-native English speakers globally. Not because they seek to sound like native Londoners or Californians, but because they don’t care if they do.

Dutch people speak English early, confidently, and often imperfectly — and that’s the genius of it. Mistakes don’t deter them. Instead, they prioritize clarity, humor, and confidence. Their English is often direct, sometimes charmingly awkward, and almost always effective.

This is not accidental. It reflects a cultural disposition: a preference for efficiency over elegance, function over form, and a suspicion of unnecessary formality. A Dutch CEO will give a pitch in English, full of enthusiasm and fractured syntax, without apology. The message lands — and that’s what matters.

Now contrast that with the French — whose relationship with English is far more complicated.

France, after all, has long had a love-hate relationship with English. Despite being the fifth most spoken language in the world, and with 220 million French speakers globally (including 66 million in France), many French people feel deeply ambivalent about embracing English — and even more so about speaking it imperfectly.

Here’s the paradox: many French people do want to speak English — and speak it well — but not just to be understood. They want to speak it flawlessly, often even with a native accent. There’s a desire not just to use the language, but to embody it — to be accepted as legitimate speakers, not learners.

This desire often backfires.

Where the Dutch throw themselves into conversation, the French often hesitate, afraid of making mistakes, of being judged, of losing face. In classrooms and boardrooms, many French speakers wait until they feel ready — but the truth is, fluency doesn’t come to those who wait. It comes to those who speak.

A Post-Colonial Shadow?

This difference isn’t just psychological. It’s cultural, historical, even political.

The Dutch were traders, seafarers, and dealmakers. Multilingualism was a survival skill. They saw language as currency — something to be exchanged and adapted. Their small linguistic footprint made flexibility necessary.

The French, by contrast, have historically seen their language not as a tool, but as a source of national pride and cultural prestige. French was once the language of diplomacy, literature, and European high society. To speak French was to be civilized.

This legacy casts a long shadow. The idea that one must speak a language “correctly,” elegantly, even perfectly, is embedded in the French educational system — and in the French psyche.

And while the French government has spent years trying to protect the French language from “Anglicisms,” the people themselves often find their relationship with English to be one of admiration and anxiety.

What If Perfection Is the Enemy?

Here’s the counterintuitive truth: the French often underperform in English not because they lack ability, but because they aim too high. They aim for native-level perfection, and in doing so, become paralyzed by self-doubt.

The Dutch, on the other hand, reach high levels of fluency precisely because they don’t care if they make mistakes. They speak first, fix later. They understand that language isn’t a performance — it’s a conversation.

This is why a Dutch student with a strong accent and a limited vocabulary may come across as more fluent than a French student who knows more grammar but speaks less.

Language, after all, is not just about words. It’s about rhythm, risk, and presence.

The Double Standard of “Fluency”

Here’s another surprise: studies show that non-native accents are often judged more harshly by fellow non-natives than by native speakers. In France, English spoken with a heavy French accent is sometimes mocked — not by Brits or Americans, but by other French speakers.

This internalized pressure can be crippling. It creates a silent rule: “If you can’t speak perfectly, better not speak at all.”

Meanwhile, the Dutch are telling jokes in English, pitching startups, making deals — all with thick accents and grammatical improvisations. And it works.

What Can the French Learn From the Dutch?

This isn’t about superiority. The French have deep linguistic talents — and when they do embrace English, they often become eloquent, subtle, and nuanced. But their relationship to the language is still weighed down by a need for mastery, for legitimacy, for native-like authenticity.

The Dutch don’t seek that legitimacy. They know something powerful: you don’t need to be perfect to be understood — or respected.

And that’s the secret.

Language is not a passport. It’s a toolbox. You don’t have to live in it. You just have to use it.

As English continues to dominate global business, science, and culture, the question is no longer whether to speak it, but how.

Will we treat it as a living thing — open to use, misuse, play, and evolution — or as a gatekeeper demanding flawless mimicry?

In this, the Dutch point the way. Their message is clear: Say it badly, but say it anyway.

Because in the end, language doesn’t belong to the native speakers. It belongs to those who use it — boldly, imperfectly, and with purpose.