Down With the Tyranny of Cute : There is a four-letter word that Shakespeare could live without. It describes Molly and Macaulay, but not Marlene and Joan.

Nora Ephron once remarked that she was “constitutionally incapable of truly relating to anyone whose favorite adjective is ni “

Even worse is the current epidemic use of cute . How often have you shown a friend something you like--a sleek new outfit, a recently redecorated room or maybe an elegant antique chair--and your friend, expected to utter approval, says, “Cute!” How has it come about that for a good many of us, cute is the only adjective we have for something we sanction aesthetically?

Allow me, briefly, to be historical. In the 18th Century, there was a great deal of interest in defining aesthetic categories. Scholars, poets and critics made strong distinctions among the Sublime, the Beautiful and the Picturesque. Artists worked consciously in one of those three modes and argued for its merits. Late in the century, however, an art form that did not fit any of these styles became popular--a genre best represented by portraits of children. Think of Gainsborough’s “Blue Boy,” Lawrence’s “Pinkie” and thousands of lesser contributions.

The taste for such works has expanded enormously over the last 200 years and has become the most prevalent aesthetic category. Indeed, it has almost swallowed up all other artistic classifications in the popular imagination. And this new category is what we now call the Cute.

It’s difficult to define “cuteness” because it is so pervasive, but there are a few basic characteristics:

* Anything fluffy, small and soft.

* Any baby--human, feline, reptilian, whatever.

* Almost anything produced by the Disney Studios. Uncle Walt was one of the great purveyors of cute, and through a process of multiplication (not one vertically challenged person, but Seven Dwarfs; not one puppy, but 101 Dalmatians), he hit the cuteness jackpot.

Mass culture has been nurtured on the cute for so long that all other aesthetic responses are disappearing. We often label as “cute” objects that have nothing to do with cuteness. Moreover, because the public desires cut-rate cute, industry creates products that live down to public taste. A few years back, stones became “pet rocks.” Even machines were made adorable when some airlines painted huge, fatuous grins on the nose cones of their jets to make flying seem a “cute” experience. For awhile, cars were given diminutive names--”Gremlins,” “Colts,” “Rabbits.” Detroit’s image makers have changed their tune, but many drivers continue to express their own philosophies of the Cute with corpulent, suction-footed cats or personalized license plates (4EVER 21, B FOXY.)

Nothing is safe from creeping cuteness. Tyrannosaurs used to be powerful, flesh-eating creatures. Today we have Barney, who is purple, cuddly and sticky sweet. Edvard Munch’s painting “The Scream” is one of our century’s great icons of Angst. Yet now we are able to purchase a 4-foot, inflatable plastic “Scream” doll for a mere $29.50. Terror turned into a toy. Cuteness can even become dangerous when it takes the form of a cartoon character like cool Joe Camel, charming youngsters into lighting up those cute little coffin nails.

We have come to expect people--including Presidents--to be cute as well. Unlike Richard Nixon, Jimmy Carter (note the first name and remember those sweaters) was able to make political hay out of the cute. Now we have boyish Bill as head of the Hug Administration. And recent photos show Hillary, who looks just the teensiest bit like Miss Piggy, singing cheek-to-cheek with Kermit the Frog.

Why are there so few replacements for the polished and mature movie stars of the ‘30s and ‘40s--Marlene Dietrich, Joan Crawford, Charles Boyer? Our current celebrities--Michael J. Fox, Molly Ringwald, Macaulay Culkin--seem suspended in the tousled naivete of adolescence. But perhaps this crop has been replaced. Permanent cuteness does not guarantee permanent popularity. The public soon demands fresh emptiness. (Just who is Marky Mark, anyway?)

Some things are deservedly cute--like kittens--and one need not object to their being described as such. It is the tyranny of the cute, its exclusion of other categories, that is depressing. It’s as if a child has become the world’s aesthetic arbiter, reducing everything to the level of a Smurf. We have narrowed our vision, for once something is labeled cute , it can never be profound or ironic or intellectual.

A few antidotes to counteract the cult of the cute:

Expunge the word from your vocabulary. Shakespeare avoided it entirely. So can you. The only time the word should drop from your lips is when it is preceded by an “a” and describes an angle less than 90 degrees.

Don’t call someone “cute” just because she or he is short. Small stature does not warrant trivialization.

Cut from your friendship list anyone who finds Michelangelo’s Sistine frescoes “cute.”

And, finally, turn off the radio whenever “Achy Breaky Heart” comes on.