 The process of preening ourselves to look smart, tidy or stylish, has any number of labels. Here are a few.
Since the late 1800s we can get duded up (or dooded/doodied up if preferred). This term came about in the late 1800s from the word dude (city slicker). The Proto-Indo European word *sleigh- meant to glide smoothly, & gave us the English word slick, which made its way across the pond to America, where one variant came to mean preening oneself to look smart, tidy or stylish -- slicked up. We can also get spruced up. This idiom seems to have been born of the fancy leather jerkins worn by Prussian soldiers back when the word spruce used to refer to Prussians. In the early 1800s a fancily dressed individual could be referred to as a spiff, which gave birth to the late 1800s idiom spiffed up. And since the 1940s we’ve had the term gussied up. Though nobody’s certain of its origins, it may have come from a familiar name for Augustus (Gussie), or from the word gusset. In the early 1800s when one tidied oneself, the verb tidivate came along (from the word tidy + verb ending -vate). It soon shifted to titivate. So, next time you need to look fancy, what term will you use for the process of getting there? My thanks go out to this week’s sources: the OED, Etymonline. Free Dictionary, Merriam Webster, Collins Dictionary, Oxford Dictionary, & Wordnik
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 The word narcissist has been getting a lot of attention the last few years. Narcissist appears to have been coined by Coleridge in 1822, but didn’t catch on until 1905. Narcissism means to show extreme love & admiration for oneself. The word comes from the Greek story of Narcissus, a young man who fell in love with his own reflection.
Related terms or idioms & their meanings include: To be full of oneself is to be annoyingly self-focused. To have a swelled head is to have an exaggerated sense of self-importance. The word egotist arrived in 1714 meaning one who makes too-frequent use of the first person. Since then it has morphed into meaning one who is boastful & conceited. As of 1969, we began to say a person enthralled with him/herself was on an ego trip. Or there’s the academic term from 1890 — egocentric -- meaning limited in outlook or concern to one’s own activities or interests. A more colorful term arriving in the 1520s is cocksure, a person as assured of himself as a barnyard rooster. A century or so later cocksure began to mean arrogant & overconfident to the point of annoyance. It seems DH Lawrence offered a “feminine version” of this word, but for some reason hensure never caught on. And back in 1835 Davy Crockett gave us too big for your britches/breeches, an idiom he applied to General Andrew Jackson, a man Crockett believed overvalued himself. In 1991, we received a contemporary version of too big for your britches courtesy of the British musical group Right Said Fred. Their first hit song was inspired by the self-infatuation of mirror-gazers at the gym & gave us the idiom too sexy for your shirt. Comments? You know what to do. Big thanks to this week’s sources: the OED, Etymonline, Merriam Webster, & Wordnik, Free Dictionary, Collins Dictionary, Phrases.org, CDUniverse  I’ve always assumed that — like most homonyms — the verb to bear & the noun bear came from different sources & managed to land in English with the same spellings but different meanings.
Apparently not. They each come from a Proto-Indo-European word which had two different meanings. So, those who study steaming heaps of Indo-European languages in order to manufacture a proposed earlier language (Proto-Indo-European), came to the conclusion that way back in some imagined time & place, something shiny & brown was called *bher-, AND to carry or give birth was to *bher-. Why not? Every language includes words that look & sound the same but mean different things. Why not this imagined language of the distant past? The meaning shiny & brown gave us these modern words: brown brunette bruin burnish beaver And look what the meaning to carry or give birth bore: through Germanic languages birth burden bairn through Old English (look for barr) barrow wheelbarrow through Greek & earlier Latin (look for for, phor, fer, or phag) fortune semaphore euphoria metaphor odiferous pestiferous esophagus through later Latin for the most part (look for pher or fer) periphery peripheral paraphernalia circumference proliferate fertile conifer refer prefer infer confer transfer offer differ aquifer ferret I can hardly bear it. Comments? You know what to do. Big thanks to this week’s sources: the OED, Etymonline, Collins Dictionary, Merriam Webster, & Wordnik.  It seems there’s a lot of hurt, ache, & pain going around, so why not?
The word hurt appeared in English as early as 1200. Hurt not only meant to injure the body, feelings, or reputation, it also meant to charge against, rush, or crash into. It came from an Old French word with no definite source, though Celtic, Frankish, Middle High German, Norse, & Dutch roots have been suggested. The verb form of the word pain came to English from Old French in 1300, meaning to strive, endeavor, hurt or strain oneself. It came from a Proto-Indo-European word meaning to atone or compensate. The noun form of pain showed up later that century, meaning punishment (it’s related to the word penalty). Hmmm — so punishment = striving? Does this reflect some sort of medieval “no pain no gain” thinking? The Old English word for the concept of suffering continued pain gave us the modern word ache. Descendants of what appears to be ache’s root also exist in Sanskrit & Greek. Its meaning was fault or guilt. So might our aches be caused by guilt? Do we bring them on ourselves? Must striving and endeavoring involve pain? And how often is it we find ourselves uncertain of the source of our hurt? Ponderings aside, may you avoid all the following aches: tooth-ache (1200 or earlier) belly-ache (1590) back-ache (1600) heart-ache (1600) stomach-ache (1763) earache (1789) headache (1934) Comments? Here’s hoping you’ll avoid any hurtful ones. Big thanks to this week’s sources: the OED, Etymonline, Collins Dictionary, Merriam Webster, & Wordnik.  Here’s a collection of completely unrelated etymologies — just a small pile of intriguing ones I hope you enjoy.
Why do gambling card players throw money into the kitty? Before we English speakers called it kitty we called it kit, & before that we called it kist, a Middle English word which gave us the word chest — another word for a box into which one might put money. Many Americans point to lobbying as one of our government’s problems. So what’s the source of lobby, lobbyist, & lobbying? Initially, those who wanted access to lawmakers simply entered the legislative chambers & made their case. When this became cumbersome (& I should imagine tiresome), they were bumped outside the chamber to the lobby (where they still successfully sway votes & occasionally write legislation). When something is false or fake we might label it as phony. It seems this word most likely came from a mispronunciation of Forney, the name of a chap who manufactured and sold brass rings that appeared to be gold. These became known as Forney rings, which in time shifted to phony rings, & soon phony broadened to mean anything fraudulent. The idiom killed by kindness is based on an event some claim is true & some claim is folklore. The Athenian legislator Draco is said to have been well-liked (though his name also gave us the term draconian). He was responsible for the first written set of laws in Athens. Though the setting down of laws is typically seen as a good thing for everybody, Draco’s laws clearly favored those with power, money, & prestige. As the story goes, Draco was so well-loved that in response to his popularity, the crowd in the chamber showered him with caps, shirts & cloaks to the point that he was smothered to death, or killed by kindness. I find myself reflecting on the possibility that those who can afford to dispense with their caps, shirts, & cloaks probably were quite fond of him. Comments? You know what to do. Big thanks to this week’s sources: the OED, Etymonline, Collins Dictionary, Merriam Webster, Jordan Almond’s Dictionary of Word Origins, & Wordnik.  This week we investigate whether a pie by any other name taste as sweet.
Some time around 1300 the word pie appeared in English. It was used to refer to meat or fish encased in pastry. Some etymologists argue that it came from an Old English word for bakery, piehus, while others argue pie must have pre-dated piehus because the Old English word for house was — you guessed it — hus, thus the word for bakery might have simply meant pie house. Sadly, at the moment we don’t have enough linguistic forensic information to answer this pressing question. Pie seems to have a relationship with a Medieval Latin word meaning the same thing. It also seems to be connected with the word magpie. The connection may be that a medieval pie included various foodstuffs, while a pastry included only one, and a magpie has a fascination for collecting miscellaneous objects. Just think, if it tables were turned on those two words, we’d all be calling a black and white bird a magpastry. In the 1500s, a cunning person could be referred to as a wily pie. By the 1600s, the word pie could be used to label a fruit-filled pastry. In the 1830s, folks forced to face humiliation could be said to be eating humble pie. This idiom is based on umble pie, a pie made of inglorious animal parts — a dish eaten by folks who couldn’t afford anything else — thus the confusion with the word humble. The inaccurate, yet ubiquitous idiom easy as pie showed up in 1889. As of 1904 we could label an inebriated individual as pie-eyed. By 1911, unrealistic hopes could be referred to as pie in the sky. And in 1922 the term pie chart was born. The word pi has no relationship to pie — pi came through Greek from a Phoenician word meaning little mouth & appeared in English in 1748 to refer to the mathematical constant 3.14… If you’re inspired to comment non-etymologically, consider sharing your favorite sort of pie. Big thanks to this week’s sources: the OED, Etymonline, Collins Dictionary, Merriam Webster, & Wordnik.  Yoga is a fascination for many and a way of life for some, while others find the whole idea unthinkable. Whatever your opinion about yoga, I’m hoping you’ll find its etymology as appealing as I do.
Yoga first came to English in 1820 through Hindi from a Sanskrit word meaning union or yoking. That Sanskrit word came from the Proto-Indo-European word *yeugh-, which meant, to join. It takes no imagination to see how the ideas of union, wholeness & joining could come to mean yoga, but what I find truly fascinating is all the other words that proposed root word *yeugh- has grown into. It gave us join, adjoin, conjoin, enjoin & joint. It gave us junction, juncture, adjunct, conjunct & subjunctive. It gave us subjugate, conjugate & conjugal. And how about yoke, zygote, jostle, joust, jugular & junta? *yeugh- to join, gave us all those words while also contributing words to Lithuanian, Old Church Slavonic, Hittite, Greek, Latin, & Old Welsh. Nothing like a little joining, eh? Please leave any comments about yoga and its many family-members in the comments section. Big thanks to this week’s sources: the OED, Etymonline, Collins Dictionary, Merriam Webster, Allfreedownloads & Wordnik.  Given our propensity for redundancy, we English speakers have a surprisingly limited number of words to refer to the belly.
The word stomach came to English in the late 1300s from Greek through Latin & Old French. It originally held multiple meanings. 1: the gullet, throat or belly, 2: inclination, taste or liking, & 3: dislike or distaste. Because at the time many believed pride to reside in the belly, stomach also operated as a synonym for the word pride. As of 1867, English speakers could refer to the stomach with the word tummy, which modern dictionaries label as an infantile synonym for stomach. The less formal dictionaries use the descriptor baby-talk. Gut came to Old English from Proto-Indo-European. Most Germanic languages still have some variation of gut. Closely related to the word gutter, gut initially meant channel, a meaning which was soon applied to biological channels and came to mean entrails or bowels. In the 1300s gut picked up the verb meaning entrail-removal & another noun meaning stomach. It wasn’t until 1918 that the idiom to hate someone’s guts was born. The no-longer-in-vogue word paunch came to us from Latin through Old French from a word meaning stomach or swelling. And belly came from a Germanic word meaning belly or pouch. Its Germanic-language sisters have similar meanings including bag, husk, bellows, pod, billow, purse, pod, & wineskin. All these words come from a Proto-Indo-European verb meaning to blow or swell. And the idiom belly up to the bar appeared sometime in the 1930s. Here’s hoping you successfully stomached all that. Anything to say about it? Please use the comments section. My thanks go out to this week’s sources Etymonline, Collins Dictionary, Phrases.org, Merriam Webster, Wordnik, & the OED.  We English speakers have been using the word red as a noun meaning ruddy or red in color since the 1200s. There are versions of red in Old Norse, Middle Dutch, Old Saxon, and most the Germanic languages. In Old English we mostly spelled it read, which gave us the last names Reid & Read (names based on a color, much like the surnames Black, Brown, Green, & White). In 1781 the idiom red-handed came into usage, in 1898 the idiom to see red was born, & the idiom red carpet came about in 1934.
The word orange arrived in English about 1300 through French, Latin, Arabic & Persian from naranga-s, a Sanskrit word meaning orange tree. Interestingly, orange continued to refer to the orange tree until the 1540s, when it finally made its way onto the artist’s palette to label a color. It’s believed the initial n was lost in English due to confusion introduced by the article a/an. The confusion becomes evident by reading this aloud: an orange, a norange. Additionally, in 1795, secret supporters of William of Orange referred to themselves as the Orangemen, in 1961 the US military labeled a toxic pesticide & weapon Agent Orange, & in 1963 we began referring to orange juice as OJ. The Proto-Indo-European root *ghel- gave English speakers the word yellow (which appears in slightly different form in Norse, Swedish, Dutch, & German). Originally, *ghel- meant to shine. Middle English speakers appear confused on yellow’s definition, as at different times it meant blue-grey, hazel, & greenish-yellow, though we appear to have landed on the color we now call yellow by 1400 or so. Once we’d landed there, yellow developed any number of negative, inappropriate, or downright corrosive meanings: -in 1787 English speakers developed the slur yellow to refer to people of Asian descent -in 1856 yellow began to mean cowardly -in 1867 we started referring to a mongrel as a yellow dog -by 1881 yellow dog started meaning contemptible person -in 1898 yellow journalism referred to sensational chauvinism in the media (inspired by an earlier publicity stunt involving yellow ink) -in 1924 yellow-bellied was born, meaning cowardly In the coming week, may all your color-references be positive. My thanks go out to this week’s sources Etymonline, Collins Dictionary, Merriam Webster, Wordnik, & the OED.  Most English words labeling basic colors seem to have been around since Old English was spoken.
Lavender came through Old French from Latin and appeared in English in the 1300s. It originally referred to the lavender plant, which was often used in soaps for washing clothing, giving us the words laundry, latrine, lather & lavatory. It wasn’t until 1840 that the word lavender began meaning a pale purple color. Blue came to English about 1300, meaning the color of the clear sky. Blue was so associated with the sky that by the 1640s, the blue meant the sky, which we still see in the idioms, like a bolt from the blue & the wild blue yonder. Blue came through Old French from a Proto-Indo-European word that meant light colored: blue, blonde, or yellow. Awfully specific, eh? That word comes from an even earlier Proto-Indo-European source meaning to shine, flash, or burn. Purple has been with us since some time during Old English. It came through Northumbrian and Latin from Greek. The original word had three distinct meanings: the color purple, the shellfish from which a purple dye could be extracted, & generally splendid attire. The word green has been around for a similarly long time. It was originally a noun meaning the color of living plants, which gave us the village green & the putting green. For years the word green was used not only to refer to the color green, but to cast aspersions on fickle people, something etymologists guess had to do with the fact that in northern climes anything green will eventually change. In the 1400s, green began to be used to refer to unripe fruit or vegetables, & soon green was not only applied to people of tender age, but to gullible people of immature judgment. Stay tuned for next week’s foray into colors of the warm variety. My thanks go out to this week’s sources Etymonline, Collins Dictionary, Merriam Webster, Wordnik, & the OED. |
I write for teens, narrate audio books, bake bread, play music, and ponder the wonder of words in a foggy little town on California's central coast.
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