In an English translation of a poem by the 13th-century Persian poet Rumi, the speaker observes, “Inside each of us, there’s continual autumn. Our leaves fall and are blown out over the water.” The poem emphasizes cycles of transformation and growth, akin to the changing seasons. Here, “continual” refers to a recurring event: autumn. The adjective is often used this way, as a synonym for “recurring,” to describe something that happens frequently or cyclically, with pauses in between.
The term “continual” has two uses: first, as a reappearing action or event (as described above), and second, as something that continues indefinitely without interruption. The latter definition is quite old, dating to the 14th century. But can a similar word — “continuous” — take the place of “continual”? In certain contexts, yes.
“Continual” and “continuous” sometimes overlap in meaning, both deriving from the Latincontinuus, meaning “joining, connecting with something; following one after another.” “Continuous” also describes an action that continues indefinitely, though it emerged later, in the 17th century. By etymology standards, either word can describe uninterrupted action or events.
However, since the mid-19th century, many commentators have recommended distinguishing the two, favoring “continuous” for a nonstop action and “continual” for repeated actions with pauses. Consider this example: Rain might fall continuously (the adverb form) during a long storm, but continual showers occur again and again throughout the wet season.
So, when describing an action that recurs with interruptions or in cycles, as seen in Rumi’s poem, the preferred term is “continual.” For something nonstop, use “continuous.” While the two words share historical overlap, being mindful of this distinction can improve your writing.
There’s no shortage of words to describe a person’s physical appearance. But don’t settle for repeating the same old adjectives — here are some options to expand your vocabulary.
When describing someone’s appearance, you might refer to their build as athletic or their facial structure as handsome. And while these familiar adjectives are effective, they are also relatively generic and don’t paint a very detailed picture.
Instead of defaulting to the same old descriptors, it’s worth broadening your vocabulary by adding a few more expressive and interesting alternatives. Here’s a look at 10 appearance adjectives to give your verbal portraiture more color and specificity.
Sanguine
In relation to physical appearance, the word “sanguine” is defined by Merriam-Webster as “having a healthy red complexion.” It’s often associated with a cheerful temperament — think Santa and his rosy cheeks. “Sanguine” was coined in the 14th century from the Latin sanguis, meaning “blood.” It’s also related to a common belief from the Middle Ages that having well-balanced levels of blood resulted in being strong and confident and boasting a healthy reddish glow. While science has since disproved this, the idea gave us “sanguine,” which remains in use today.
Fastidious
English speakers have been using “fastidious” since the mid-15th century, though it now has a different meaning than the Latin from which it’s derived. It comes from the word fastidium, meaning “aversion or disgust.” In fact, “fastidious” once meant that something was disgusting. But over time the adjective shed that unsavory connotation, and we now use it to describe something “excessively careful or detailed.” As an example, you might refer to someone who takes great pride in their personal grooming routine as fastidious, especially if they carefully shape their beard or always wear perfectly pressed clothes.
Patrician
In a very literal sense, a patrician was a member of the original families of ancient Rome. But since 1533, the word has been used as a more figurative adjective to describe physical features that give the impression of nobility. For instance, prominent cheekbones and a furrowed brow are considered patrician, as they’re similar to the characteristics seen on ancient Roman statues depicting great statesmen and others of high rank.
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Pulchritudinous
If someone is drop-dead gorgeous, they could aptly be described as pulchritudinous. While the sound of it doesn’t quite match the meaning, this adjective is derived from the Latin pulcher, meaning “beautiful.” The noun version, “pulchritude,” dates to around 1400, but according to the Online Etymology Dictionary, it was made into an adjective more recently. “Pulchritudinous” was coined in 1840 in a humorous piece found in a Boston-area newspaper.
Voluminous
“Voluminous,” from the Latin volumen, dates to the early 17th century. The Latin wordreferred to a rolled-up wreath with writing on it and later came to describe works that contained many written volumes — nothing to do with appearance. Today it’s defined as anything “marked by great volume or bulk,” including the luscious locks found on a thick head of hair, or the impressive muscles of a bodybuilder.
Aquiline
In Latin, the word aquila means “eagle” — a bird defined, in part, by its lengthy, hooked beak. By the late 16th century, this gave rise to the term “aquiline,” used to describe any human with a nose possessing a broad curve and slight hook, much like an eagle’s beak.
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Glabrous
If someone is bald or just returned from the spa after getting a fresh wax, they could be described as glabrous. This term, meaning “having a surface without hairs,” has been used in that context since 1640. It comes from the Latin glaber, which translates to “bald.” The word is also frequently used in more clinical scientific contexts, in reference to skin that was never covered with hair to begin with.
Alabaster
The word “alabaster” means “usually white and translucent gypsum often carved into vases and ornaments.” While that usage has been around since the 14th century, a more figurative definition came about in the 1570s, according to the Online Etymology Dictionary. People began using “alabaster” in reference to pale, smooth skin with a similar texture and tone to those alabaster vases and ornaments.
“Euryprosopic” describes a short, broad face, derived from the Greek words eury (meaning “wide”) and prosōpon (“face”). It’s the opposite of “leptoprosopic” — a term for a person with a long, narrow face (lepto is Greek for “thin” or “slender”).
The terms “white-collar” and “blue-collar” describe more than a type of shirt. Let’s examine how these similar terms originated in the early 20th century.
An office dress code might include guidelines for the formality of dress, along with any restrictions on attire, such as “no shorts” or “no open-toed shoes.” Some jobs even require uniforms — for example, you’re likely to see matching coveralls in a mechanic’s shop or the same polo shirts worn by salespeople in a big-box store.
The terms “white-collar” and “blue-collar” pertain to occupations but don’t refer to the required clothing for a job. Instead, they indicate the type of job by referring to traditional clothing, even if that’s not what today’s workers wear.
Calling someone a white-collar worker implies their duties are conducted in an office setting. A blue-collar worker, on the other hand, is found in the trades and doing manual labor. These opposing terms are often used in connection with each other, but one’s origins predate the other’s by nearly two decades.
Merriam-Webster traces the first known use of “white-collar” to 1911 and defines it as “constituting the class of salaried employees whose duties do not call for the wearing of work clothes” — in other words, workers who don’t perform manual labor and don’t require durable work uniforms. Historically, these workers usually wore clothes that were better suited for an office environment. When the term originated, most white-collar workers were men, wearing traditional button-up shirts with collars.
The term “blue-collar” originated in 1929, though the reason for the 18-year gap isn’t entirely clear. It refers to “the class of wage earners whose duties call for the wearing of work clothes.” At the time it was coined, farm or factory workers required durable uniforms that could withstand the rigors of their jobs. These uniforms were often made from materials such as denim or chambray, which were traditionally colored blue (though also came in other dark shades). Such outfits gave rise to “blue-collar,” posing a stark contrast to the extant “white-collar.” Today’s blue-collar workers include plumbers, electricians, mechanics, construction workers, and anyone else in a trade or factory setting.
As office dress codes changed, these terms took on a less literal meaning. They’re mainly used today to describe whether jobs take place in an office setting or require manual labor, irrespective of the actual clothes being worn. The terms can also describe socioeconomic conditions, as there’s a (flawed) stereotype of white-collar workers earning higher wages and having better educations than those working blue-collar professions. On the other hand, blue-collar workers have acquired the reputation of being “dependable and hard-working rather than showy or spectacular” (according to a secondary definition from Merriam-Webster), and we hear about white-collar crimes in the news, so both terms can be used in positive and negative contexts.
The phrase “bald-faced lie” is widely used, but some people say “bold-faced” instead. A look at the expression’s history shows how both forms entered the language.
When someone tells a blatant, shameless lie, we sometimes call it out as being a “bald-faced lie.” But hang on: Should it be “bold-faced” instead? As it happens, both are acceptable in modern English, although linguistic purists might argue that “bald-faced” is more appropriate, simply because it’s closer to the expression’s etymological origin.
The original expression was actually “barefaced lie.” The word “barefaced,” initially meaning “beardless” or “unmasked” — literally having the face uncovered — has been around since at least 1600. The word then evolved to mean, metaphorically, “open” or “unconcealed.” A barefaced lie, therefore, was one told without disguise or shame — as brazen as showing your naked face.
Early uses of “bald-faced” appear in the mid-18th century, with exactly the same meaning as “barefaced” — understandably, as they carry a similar usage. “Bald-faced” became common in the U.S. during the 1800s and onward. By the late 20th century, the alternative “bold-faced lie” popped up. While some dismiss it as a mistake, “bold-faced” has its own legitimate history. Since Shakespeare’s time (it appears in Henry VI, Part 1), “bold-faced” has meant “shameless” or “impudent” — as in someone with a confident face or look — which perfectly describes a person brazen enough to tell an obvious lie. (Remove the hyphen and “boldface” becomes a noun for text printed in a bold typeface.)
But Shakespeare’s usage might not tell the full story. Merriam-Webster suggests that the “bold” phrase may have gained popularity in the late-1900s partly due to confusion with boldface type in newspapers, where “boldface” literally referred to text printed in thick, attention-grabbing letters. The evidence is inconclusive, but the similarities do make a connection seem probable.
Today, editors prefer “bald-faced lie,” but “bold-faced lie” is widely used and understood. “Barefaced lie” is not as common, although you may hear it more often in Britain. So, whether you use “bald,” “bold,” or “bare,” you’re technically correct. All three convey the same meaning: a shameless, obvious falsehood. But if you want to play it safe, stick with “bald-faced.”
If English spelling feels inconsistent, you’re not imagining it. The quirks of the language trace back through centuries of history that still shape the words we write today.
When we’re in kindergarten, or perhaps even preschool, we start learning about the sounds the letters of the alphabet make. Vowels are big and open, “S” has a hissing sound, and “D,” “B,” “T,” and other consonants have firm, confident sounds. Then we start to put those letters together to make words, using the principles of phonetics. But as we learn to read, we inevitably come across words that don’t fit standard phonetic rules. For example, the “B” is silent in “doubt,” and “through,” “though,” “tough,” and “thought” don’t rhyme, despite their similar spellings.
Why do some English words have spellings and pronunciations that seem at odds? Answering that linguistic question requires a history lesson, or several history lessons: on the impacts of the Norman Conquest, the invention of the printing press, the Great Vowel Shift, a spelling fad to Latinize English words, and the multitude of loanwords English adopted from other languages.
The Norman Conquest
In 1066, forces of Normandy, a province of northern France, overthrew the government of England, led by William the Conqueror. As a result of the Norman Conquest, thousands of French words entered the English lexicon, mainly focused on law, government, nobility, and culture.
French spelling is inconsistent with English spelling, and so many of the words from that time period are spelled in ways that don’t match the phonetic rules we’re used to.
Here are some examples of English words with French influence: court, parliament, castle, servant, fashion, attorney, council, bailiff, chancellor, soldier, dungeon, siege, sergeant, guard, poultry, veal, biscuit, fashion, mirror, castle, clothes, and cuisine.
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Invention of the Printing Press and the Great Vowel Shift
In the mid-15th century, Johannes Gutenberg invented the mechanical movable type printing press, enabling the mass production of books, increasing literacy, and revolutionizing information sharing in Europe. William Caxton then introduced the printing press to England in 1476.
As a result of the invention of the printing press, printers, rather than scribes, determined the spelling of words, and they sought to standardize these spellings.
Around this same time and for two centuries thereafter, the pronunciation of English words changed in what is known as the Great Vowel Shift.
That shift, with vowels pronounced higher in the mouth, likely occurred as a result of a mixing of regional dialects, the rising middle class in London, and increased contact with French and Latin. Even though spoken English evolved, the spelling of words after the invention of the printing press did not.
As a consequence, the pronunciation of English words became unmoored from their spelling. That’s why, for example, reading aloud Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales (published from 1387 to 1400) sounds so foreign to our ears. The main difference between Chaucer’s language (Middle English) and our modern English is the pronunciation of the “long” vowels. For example, in Middle English, “sheep” sounded like our word “shape,” “read” sounded like “raid,” and “loaf” sounded like “lawf.”
By the end of the Great Vowel Shift, those words were pronounced the way we pronounce them now, yet the spelling of the words remained frozen in time. The Great Vowel Shift is a primary reason for the mismatch between modern English spelling and pronunciation.
There were so many disjunctions between English spelling and pronunciation that in the 16th century attempts were made to reform English spellings. For example, in 1569, linguist John Hart devised a new phonetic alphabet to remedy what he considered a fatal flaw in our language system. His philosophy was that “we write as we speak” and “the writing shuld have so mani Letters, as the pronunciation neadeth of voices, and no more, or lesse.” (It didn’t catch on.)
In a more successful spelling revolution, American lexicographer Noah Webster published The American Spelling Book in 1783, followed by the American Dictionary of the English Language in 1828, which established notable differences between British and American English spelling. Webster’s primary aim was to standardize spelling in accordance with pronunciation, and as a result, he created a uniquely American set of vocabulary. Changes include omitting the “u” in “ou” words such as “colour/color” and “honour/honor,” and turning words such as “travelled” and “defence” into “traveled” and “defense.”
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Latinization Fad
In the 15th century, some printers added letters to words to reflect their Latin roots. To this day, those letters remain silent. Here’s a sampling, capitalizing the added letter and referencing the Latin root (in which the added letter would have been pronounced): deBt (debitum), douBt (dubitare), musCle (musculus), iSland (insula), receiPt (receptus), saLmon (salmo), reiGn (regnum), columN (columna), solemN (sollemnis), autumN (autumnus), soLder (solidare), and indiCt (indictare).
Printers did the same with Greek-based words. Some examples: asthma (in English originally asma) from the Greek asthma;diarrhea (in English originally diaria) from the Greek diarrhoia; and phlegm (in English originally fleme) from the Greek phlegma.
About 80% of the English lexicon consists of loanwords from over 350 other languages. As a result, the spellings of many of those words don’t match their pronunciation. For maximum effect, read these words aloud, contrasting the phonetics with the spelling:
From French: bouillon, vinaigrette, protégé, ballet, bouquet, boutique, silhouette, etiquette, faux pas, hors d’oeuvres, and rendezvous.
From German: dachshund, pinochle, kindergarten, doppelganger, zeitgeist, kitsch, poltergeist, sauerkraut, Rottweiler, wiener, leitmotif, and schadenfreude.
From Spanish: burrito, mosquito, guerrilla, vigilante, coyote, daiquiri, guacamole, marijuana, merengue, mojito, peccadillo, piñata, quesadilla, tequila, and tortilla.
From Native American languages: caribou, moccasin, raccoon, succotash, toboggan, papoose, jicama, llama, quinoa, buccaneer, canoe, and piranha.
From Asian languages: emoji, tycoon, kudzu, bonsai, karate, shiitake, chow mein, ketchup, and kumquat.
The English language is a melting pot of influences, seen clearly through spelling. It can be tricky to remember all the rules and exceptions, but when you dig into the etymology of every outlier word, you uncover a piece of history.
When you’re exploring new movements in the gym, you come across words that represent a lot of different cultures. Why are certain exercises named after nationalities, and how do exercises get their names?
Starting a regular gym routine means learning both new skills and new lingo. While it’s easy to understand “run,” “squat,” and “lift,” certain other activities have bewilderingly specific nicknames.
Some exercises use creative names to describe the movement. A donkey kick involves kicking out the leg as a donkey kicks their hind legs, for example. A farmer’s carry mimics the action of a farmer carrying heavy buckets at their side. But there’s another category of exercise: those named after countries or other locations. It’s hard to tell exactly what these exercises are from their names alone, so let’s take a trip to the gym.
When you’re working with weights, you might encounter a Romanian deadlift. A regular deadlift is a classic weight-lifting move that involves bending over and lifting a heavy weight from the ground before setting it back down. Romanian Olympian Nicu Vlad (the 1984 to 1996 games) invented his own training exercise that looks similar to the deadlift, but it starts from the standing position. The weight lifter bends over with the weight and then straightens up again. The main difference from the deadlift is that the weight is not put on the ground between reps with the Romanian deadlift. The exercise isn’t limited to Romanians, but other weight lifters copied the Romanian strongman’s style and started calling the movement the Romanian deadlift.
In the same sort of attribution, the Bulgarian split squat is named for Bulgarian fitness coach Angel Spassov. The exact origin of the exercise is unknown, but the coach introduced it to the United States in the 1980s. It’s a difficult movement: Keep the front foot flat on the ground and elevate the back foot on a block. Then lunge as usual and feel the burn. The difficulty of this exercise can be amped up by holding a weight in each hand.
Russian twists, meanwhile, are a seated core exercise that involves twisting from side to side and touching the ground next to the hips. Holding a weighted medicine ball will make this one more difficult. The exercise came to be associated with the country because of public displays of exercise by Russian athletes during the Cold War — the exercise is also called “Russian twist” in the Russian language.
The next time you’re at the gym, take a moment to appreciate the melting pot of influences. The fitness journey takes us around the world because so many athletes have innovated how to build strength.
Gobbledegook, nonsense, babble — we have a lot of ways to explain unintelligible chatter. But when did we start telling people they were talking gibberish?
In 1799 a French military officer made a discovery in Egypt that would become a powerful tool for unlocking previously indecipherable language. He uncovered a large slab of black granite, inscribed in Egyptian and Greek, using three different writing systems: hieroglyphics, the Greek alphabet, and a cursive form of hieroglyphics.
The Rosetta Stone (named for the town near where it was discovered) was a major moment in archaeology because it provided a key for hieroglyphics, a language that was previously gibberish to Europeans.
The word “gibberish” refers to a few different types of miscommunication. It can be unintelligible speech, an unknown dialect, a highly technical way of speaking, or needlessly pretentious language. In its root verb form, “gibber” (or “jibber”) means “to speak rapidly, inarticulately, and often foolishly.” It’s imitative, meaning it comes from the sound it denotes. Essentially, calling someone’s speech “gibberish” means there’s a disconnect. A synonym, “jabber,” derives from Middle English. Morphologists think it could be an onomatopoeia, reflecting the sound of garbled speech.
We can trace the first use of “gibberish” back to the 16th-century English morality play Interlude of Youth, which followed an unnamed youth’s growth from irresponsible behavior to becoming a serious adult. “Gibberish” would have been an apt word to describe the foolish speech of youth.
Nowadays, “gibberish” is used more often in the context of nonsensical communication, both in speech and in evolving digital media. Someone might share a file that gets corrupted in the exchange, and the result is gibberish. Or try talking to a toddler — good luck understanding their gibberish. Communication has evolved since the days of the Rosetta Stone translations, but gibberish can still prevent messages from getting across.
The urge to skip straight to the good stuff is nothing new. Some folks can’t read a murder mystery without flipping to the back of the book to discover “whodunit.” And if you know someone with the gift of gab, you might feel the urge to stop them in the middle of a rant and say, “Cut to the chase!”
This idiomatic phrase means “to go directly to the important part of a story, argument, or discussion.” In other words, it means skipping the small talk and getting to the action, which is precisely where the phrase’s origin lies.
“Cut to the chase” dates to early 20th-century silent films — especially those with chase scenes. Think of the train pursuit in Buster Keaton’s The General (1926), renowned for its elaborate real-life train crash. During this era, chase scenes were the most exciting part of the plot, but movies were structured so that they came at the very end, offering an action scene and a resolution all in one. As a result, audiences were sometimes bored at the beginning of the movie.
Projectionists took note of their audience’s mood. If the crowd seemed disinterested, the middle reels were skipped, cutting straight to the chase scene. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, this phrase first appeared in film industry lingo during the late 1920s, around the time The General debuted.
However, the idiom took some time to enter mainstream slang, appearing (possibly for the first time) in print in Frank Scully’s novel Cross My Heart (1955): “I am the sort who wants to ‘cut to the chase.’ As far as I’m concerned, we can read the instructions later.” A century after its genesis, the idiom endures. In 1995, it appeared again alongside Keaton’s work, this time in the title of his biography, Buster Keaton: Cut to the Chase, a nod to the industry that gave rise to this timeless expression.
Capitalization rules are among the first grammar lessons we learn in school. For example, every word — from “president” and “mom” to “biology” and “spring” — gets capitalized when it starts a sentence. However, the rules are a little more complicated when these words appear in the middle of a sentence. More often than not, they should be lowercase, but because of special exceptions to the rules, writers sometimes get confused and add an erroneous uppercase letter.
On top of that, capitalization can feel oddly emotional. We often capitalize things we respect or that feel important, including academic degrees and family member titles, but the English language doesn’t reward status with capital letters. Here are some of the most commonly overcapitalized words, along with the rules for handling them correctly.
"President" and Other Job Titles
General, nonspecific job titles do not require capitalization, regardless of their perceived importance. Even “president” is seldom capitalized. For example, “The president of my company is flying in for a meeting next week” is correct because “president” is a common noun (not a proper noun). “Eight U.S. presidents were born in Virginia” is also correct because “president” isn’t a proper noun referring to a specific person. The same logic applies to all generic job titles:
“She’s the senior director.”
“May I speak to a manager?”
The capitalization confusion comes from an exception to this rule. If the job title precedes a proper noun, such as in a formal title, it should be capitalized. For instance, “I learned that President George Washington was born in Virginia” requires capitalization of “president,” and the name and the state are also capitalized because they are proper nouns. Other examples of capitalized job titles include:
“He requested that Chairperson Smith respond to the inquiry.”
“Thank you for seeing me today, Dr. Garcia.”
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"Mom" and Other Family Titles
Similar guidelines apply to family titles such as “mom,” “dad,” “aunt,” “uncle,” “grandma,” and “grandpa.” When used in a generic form — which is most of the time — they should not be capitalized. For instance, “I made my mom’s famous chocolate chip cookies last weekend” requires a lowercase “mom” because it’s being used as a common noun. As a quick rule of thumb, if the word “my” (or another possessive adjective) comes before the word in a sentence, it’s usually lowercase. Here are some other examples of when lowercase family titles are correct:
“I went fishing with my uncle last weekend.”
“Is your sister Sarah joining us for brunch?”
The exception to this rule is when a family title becomes a proper noun because it replaces a name. You may ask, “Hey, Mom, can you send me your cookie recipe?” You’re addressing your mother using a proper noun in place of her name, so capitalization is required. Other situations where capitalization is necessary include:
“What did Dad get Grandpa for his birthday?”
“I’m going to visit Aunt Katie for the weekend.”
"Biology" and Other Academic Subjects
School subjects, majors, and general academic terms typically don’t need capitalization. For example, “I majored in biology in undergrad” is correct because “biology” is a generic noun. Other examples include:
“Johnny was late to economics class again today.”
“I decided to pick up a minor in art history.”
However, languages and other proper nouns incorporated into academic subjects are the exception. “I have to study for our Spanish exam this weekend” is correct capitalization because in English, languages are proper nouns. A unique exception to this rule is the term “french fries,” which is not traditionally capitalized in most American English style guides, because “french” refers to a style or technique, not the country.
This rule isn’t limited to languages. If an adjective that is related to a proper noun is part of the academic discipline, that term should be capitalized, but the rest of the title should not be:
“He studied East Asian literature.”
“I enjoyed studying American history.”
Note that if the official course title is used, capitalization is required, as in, “I enrolled in Childhood Psychology 101 next semester.”
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"Bachelor's Degree" and Other Academic Degrees
Academic degrees also are often miscapitalized. Only when the full, formal name of the degree is used does the term need to be capitalized. Otherwise, degrees are considered generic nouns and should be lowercase. Consider these examples:
“He has an associate degree.”
“I’d like to get a master’s degree.”
“My sister has a Master of Science in physics.”
“I have a Bachelor of Arts in marketing.”
"Spring" and Other Seasons
Seasons are often mistaken for proper nouns, but unlike holidays — Christmas, Halloween, New Year’s Eve — they are generic, common nouns and should be lowercase. For instance, “We’re buying a house this spring” is correct because, although “spring” denotes a period of time, it is not capitalized in English. Other examples include:
“We visited New England last fall to see the foliage.”
“The summer equinox falls on June 21.”
However, seasons are capitalized when used as part of a proper noun. Here are some correct examples:
“The U.S. earned the second-highest medal count in the Winter Olympics.”
“Are you going to the Rockville Fall Festival this year?”
The capitalization of cardinal directions can confuse even experienced writers and editors. Unless they’re part of a proper noun, however, they’re lowercase generic nouns. For example, “They went to southern Italy for their honeymoon” is correct because it describes a general area — it’s not the name of a proper region. Other examples include:
“The western part of the state is experiencing a drought.”
“We’re headed south for the winter for warmer weather.”
In some situations, directions do act as proper nouns, such as in the country and state names of South Korea and North Carolina. Distinct cultural areas also require capitalization, but what qualifies as one can be confusing. For example, the “southern” in “southern France” isn’t part of the proper noun, but “Pacific Northwest” is a complete proper noun. Determining the difference comes down to memorization. Here are some other examples:
“The Deep South is known for its distinct cuisine.”
“The Midwest experiences more tornadoes than the East Coast.”
These guidelines echo a common trend in English capitalization: It’s not about importance, but about specificity. A word earns a capital letter when it names a unique proper noun, not when it merely sounds official.
Some folks refer to rubber-soled shoes as tennis shoes, while others call them trainers or kicks. But many people know them as sneakers — a term that dates to the late 19th century.
If you’ve ever watched a basketball game, you may have noticed the constant squeaking coming from the players’ shoes rubbing against the court. There’s a myth that “squeak” is related to the “sneak” of sneakers, but the true origin story of the name is related to a different type of sound.
The earliest rubber-soled shoes hit the market in the 1830s, but they became widely popular among croquet players in the 1860s. Those shoes were originally called “plimsolls” because the design featured a horizontal rubber stripe that resembled the Plimsoll line — a marking painted along a ship’s hull to denote the maximum level of submersion at which the boat could still safely operate without sinking.
The nickname “sneakers,” referring to the quiet nature of the rubber soles, came about in the 1880s. While harder leather-soled shoes would clop loudly against the ground, a person wearing sneakers could “sneak up” on others without being noticed. It wasn’t the intended purpose of the shoes, but it was a notable feature. One of the earliest citations for “sneakers” appears in an 1887 edition of the Boston Journal of Education: “It is only the harassed schoolmaster who can fully appreciate the pertinency of the name boys give to tennis shoes — sneakers.” From this example we can see that the shoes favored by croquet players had by then expanded to all sorts of athletic uses.
The early 20th century saw the founding of many athletic shoe brands, and the word “sneakers” was oft-repeated in advertisements for their rubber-soled products. It wasn’t long before the word became synonymous with other terms for athletic shoes.
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