Personality is nuanced: A simple “nice” or “mean” very rarely suffices to capture someone’s essence. Consider some of the most beloved literary and film characters of all time. Is James Bond merely calm, or is the famous secret agent imperturbable? Is Gandalf wise, or is a better description “sagacious”? Adjectives bring depth to characters and their personalities, allowing us to describe them more accurately. Let’s explore a curated selection of uncommon vocabulary terms you can use to paint a more vivid picture with your words.

(Adjective) Enjoying the company of others; marked by or showing a liking for companionship.

Those with a gregarious personality are social butterflies — think of Lydia Bennet (Pride and Prejudice) or Anne Shirley (Anne of Green Gables). Both vibrant, talkative, and friendly, these characters often form new connections and easily win people over. Nowadays, most social media personalities and reality television stars are best described as gregarious.

This term appeared in English during the 17th century, but at the time, it referred to groups of animals. It derives from the Latin gregarius, meaning “pertaining to a flock; of the herd, of the common sort, common.” It’s still used today to describe animals that live in groups. The definition of the word “starling,” for instance, is “dark gregarious oscine birds.”

(Adjective) Characterized by rapid and unpredictable changeableness of mood.

A mercurial personality is characterized by rapid shifts in mood, thought, actions, or all of the above. It also means “very lively and quick” or “changing often” as in, “Springtime brings mercurial weather.” As for personality types, famous literary figures such as Jay Gatsby (The Great Gatsby) and Hamlet are known for their mercurial tendencies. From Gatsby’s passionate yet unpredictable nature to Hamlet’s rapidly shifting emotions (grief, anger, melancholy, etc.), these characters embody the personality type.

This word also has a lesser-known definition that points to its origin: “Having qualities (as of eloquence, ingenuity, or thievishness) attributed to the god Mercury or in astrology to the influence of the planet Mercury.” Mercury was the messenger of the Roman gods, characterized by his swiftness. The Romans named the fastest-moving planet, Mercury, after him. During the mid-17th century, English speakers began using “mercurial” as an adjective to describe those whose moods shift quickly between extremes, laying the groundwork for the modern definition we use today.

(Adjective) Generally pleasing and engaging often because of a childlike charm and innocence.

Alice (from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland) has a winsome personality. Author Lewis Carroll relies on his character’s profound curiosity to create charm and whimsy, capturing the hearts of audiences who root for her in Wonderland.

While some may use this adjective as synonymous with a winning (meaning “tending to please or delight”) personality, it is not etymologically related to the word “win.” Instead, it derives from the Old English wynsum, from the noun wynn, meaning “joy” or “pleasure.” Though popular in Old English, it was all but extinct until the 18th century, when it experienced a revival as Scottish poets Robert Burns and William Hamilton used it to mean “pleasing or attractive in appearance.”

(Adjective) Marked by extreme calm, impassivity, and steadiness.

An imperturbable person doesn’t crack under pressure. Think of the Unsinkable Molly Brown in the Titanic film. Based on Margaret Brown — a real survivor of the sinking of the RMS Titanic — the character in the movie is unflappable. During one instance, she insists that her lifeboat turn back to search for survivors, maintaining her composure amid widespread panic. Another cool, calm, and collected character is James Bond, a suave secret agent who always remains poised.

“Imperturbable” is a French loanword that entered English during the 15th century. It stems from the Latin verb perturbare, meaning “to agitate, trouble, or throw into confusion.” Its base word, “perturb” — meaning “to cause to be worried or upset” —  is commonly used in English today.

(Adjective) Temperamentally disinclined to talk.

The opposite of a yapper is someone who is taciturn: quiet and reserved. One of America’s favorite superheroes fits the description — Batman, Gotham City’s stoic defender, is taciturn, offering few words but being known for his actions. Plenty of other famous characters are taciturn, too, though for various reasons. Mr. Darcy (Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice) is taciturn, but at first he seems arrogant. His habit of remaining quiet stems not from arrogance but from pride and social anxiety.

“Taciturn” comes from the Latin verb tacēre, meaning “to be silent” — an apt origin. It was first adopted into French as taciturne during the 15th century, and was later borrowed into English sometime in the mid-17th or early 18th century.

(Adjective) Having or showing an ability to understand difficult ideas and situations and to make good decisions; marked by keen and farsighted understanding and judgment.

A wise person who shows good judgment is sagacious. This type of wisdom conjures images of profound literary guides, from Gandalf (Lord of the Rings) to Atticus Finch (To Kill a Mockingbird). But it can also describe a highly logical person with a keen intellect and strong observational skills. You might consider your professor, a parent, or a mentor “sagacious.”

“Sagacious” comes from sagire, a Latin verb meaning “to perceive keenly.” It’s been used in English since the 17th century, though at first, it referred to sensory perception, especially smell, sight, and taste. By the mid-17th century, its usage to describe someone “skilled at discovering truths” emerged.

(Adjective) Sharply or bitingly critical, sarcastic, or ironic in temper, mood, or tone.

While “acerbic” may sound like a negative personality trait, it doesn’t always have to be. When combined with other qualities, it can bring humor and even charm. Sherlock Holmes, for instance, is famous for his acerbic dry wit and frequently shows his distinctive personality when clues he deems “obvious” are missed, especially by Dr. Watson.

The adjective “acerb” first appeared in English during the 17th century, though it was generally used to describe foods with a sour taste. It stems from Latin acerbus, meaning “harsh to the taste, sharp, bitter, sour.” During the 19th century, English speakers added the suffix “-ic,” forming the modern adjective we use today to describe people. 

Weather reports with forecasts of snow will tell you when and where the precipitation is likely to land and give an estimate of how much will accumulate, but there are more words in the lexicon for the type of snow you can expect. It might be a snowstorm, a snow squall, snow flurries, sleet, graupel (granular snow), a whiteout, or a blizzard. Some of these terms are more obvious than others, but “blizzard” stands out for its unique spelling. Why do we call a certain type of snowstorm a blizzard, and where did the word come from?

According to the National Weather Service, the definition of “blizzard” is “a storm containing large amounts of snow or blowing snow, with winds in excess of 35 miles an hour and visibility of less than a quarter mile for at least three hours.” The word “blizzard” entered the lexicon before this technical meaning was developed — as early as 1859 — but it didn’t come into general use until the hard winter of 1880 to 1881. 

Beginning with an unusually early mid-October blast, blizzard after blizzard slammed the Midwest, unrelenting through April 1881. Due to extreme cold during that period, the snow hardly melted. The accumulation was so deep that snow covered single-story buildings, and farmers had to dig tunnels to get to their barns to care for their livestock.

Trains stopped running to the Midwest, stranding many communities. Locals were required to use their already low food supplies, and fuel was scarce, hardly enough to get through the repeated blizzards. A February blizzard brought Omaha to a standstill for days. While fictional, the children’s classic The Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder provides an accurate depiction of what those months were like for Midwesterners.

Two newspaper citations from 1881 reveal that “blizzard” was then a relatively new word: “The region is swept by those fearful blasts known as ‘blizzards’ which send … dry snow whirling in icy clouds.” Another: “The hard weather has called into use a word that promises to become a natural Americanism, namely ‘blizzard.’ It designates a storm (of snow and wind) which men cannot resist away from shelter.” 

Note the quotes around the word “blizzard,” signifying that, as of 1881, it was a relatively new term. This is just one example of how language development is sometimes influenced by historical events. There are no clear etymological ties to a foreign language root, but the word “blizzard” is likely onomatopoetic. It’s based on the fierce sound of that wintery blast. Say it aloud, and you’ll get the idea.

Certain words and phrases may be familiar to devout followers of a religion, but often these terms transcend their religious origins to become a part of our collective lexicon. Such is the case with “scapegoat,” a term used to describe one that bears the blame for others. The concept is derived from an ancient Hebrew ritual, though the actual term wasn’t coined until the 16th century.

Leviticus 16 describes a Hebrew ritual that took place on Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of atonement. This ceremony involved a sacrifice of two goats, one of which was sacrificed to God. The other had the sins of the Jewish people symbolically transferred to it by a high priest and was then sent into the desert or cast over a rocky cliff as a sacrifice for Azazel (the name of a spirit in some translations). This latter goat is the origin of the concept of a scapegoat.

The term “scapegoat” came from a Protestant scholar named William Tyndale. In 1530 CE, he coined the term while translating the Hebrew Bible into English. Religious scholars believe the term is derived from earlier versions that mistook the Hebrew word azāzēl (“evil spirit”) as ēz ‘ōzēl (“goat that departs”), and when the Bible was translated into Latin, it read caper emissarius (“emissary goat”). Tyndale later rendered it in English in his translation as scapegoote, meaning “goat that escapes.”

Printed historical examples show that “scapegoat” eventually dropped its inherently religious connotation and took on its modern figurative notion by 1824, and the verb “to scapegoat” is attested by 1884. Today, the word rarely, if ever, applies to actual goats and is almost always applied to humans placing blame for something gone awry.

Unless you’re talking about an incredibly small library, the term “10-story building” likely refers to a structure with 10 distinct levels. The word “story” has long been used as a synonym for “floor” or “tier” in the world of architecture. While the term’s origins have been debated, the most popular theory is rooted in Latin and takes us back to medieval times.

The Latin word historia originally meant “history,” though it acquired an additional usage in Middle English as “floor of a building” by roughly the year 1200 CE. The theory behind this relates to how some buildings were designed and adorned in the Middle Ages. 

According to Etymonline.com, many buildings were decorated with rows of painted windows, perhaps depicting historical scenes. The individual images in each row of windows collectively told a larger story. According to the theory, people began referring to each row of windows as a “storie” — a term that was also applied to each individual level. By the 15th century, “storie” had replaced “historia” in reference to either the external walls of a building or the “habitable space between a floor and a ceiling of a building.” 

But that’s just one theory, and there are two simpler theories worth mentioning. Some say the word is derived from the Gaelic staidhir, translating to “flight of stairs.” Others claim it’s derived from the Old French estoree, meaning “built thing.”

It’s difficult to definitively say which of these theories is correct, but we do know that the Latin word historia evolved into storyes in Old English by the late 14th century, and it was spelled as either “story” or “storie” no later than the 17th century. In modern English, it’s “story” to Americans and “storey” to those using British English.

Would you like to be given unrestricted authority to do whatever you like? To get away with this, you may need a permission slip, a get-out-of-jail-free card, or an official document that allows unfettered access to anything you desire.

That’s what “carte blanche” means. It translates literally from French as “blank paper,” but in legal or business proceedings, it’s “a blank document signed in advance by one party to an agreement and given to the other with permission to fill in the conditions.” And now the term “carte blanche” has broadened beyond documents to signify giving someone unrestricted authority.

“Carte blanche” (sometimes written as “chart blanche” or “charte blanche” in its earliest uses) dates back to the beginning of the 18th century. In one historical example, Thomas Wentworth, the First Earl of Strafford, referred to its application in negotiations where one party yielded broad latitude to another.

By the mid-18th century, it was customary for a man of wealth or importance to sign blank sheets of paper, so that a trusted subordinate could fill in the necessary order or business letter on his behalf — it was a way to outsource details of decision-making. Through the 18th and 19th centuries, this term was used in diplomatic treaties, military commissions, and social contracts, such as when affluent men extended financial benefits to their mistresses. Such trust!

The precursor to “carte blanche” was the medieval “blank charter” (charte blanche), such as those issued under Richard II in the 14th century (and recorded in Shakespeare’s Richard II).  The blank charters were presigned instruments allowing crown agents to insert conditions, grants, or obligations, as circumstances demanded, to enforce royal will. The blanks facilitated flexible governance but carried risks of abuse.

“Carte” is ultimately from the Greek khartēs (“layer of papyrus”), probably from Egyptian, via the Latin charta (“leaf of paper, a writing tablet”). That same root is the source of many English words, including “à la carte,” “card,” “cartel,” “cartography,” “carton,” “cartridge,” “chart,” “charter,” and “discard”; it’s also the basis of the Magna Carta (literally “Great Charter”).

“Blanche” is from the Proto-Indo-European *bhel-, which means “to shine, flash, burn; appear white.” It’s the source of such words as “beluga,” “blanch,” “blanket,” “blaze,” “bleach,” “bleak,” “blemish,” “blend,” “blind,” “blond,” “blue,” “blush,” and even “black” (“thoroughly burned”).

If you’re ever given a signed blank check with no instructions, you may have carte blanche to do with it whatever you like — but beware the consequences from the account holder. 

“John Doe” and “Jane Doe” are common placeholder names in the United Kingdom, Canada, and the United States. Used when someone’s identity is unknown or protected, they regularly appear in real-life contexts as well as in TV courtroom dramas and true crime shows. But these simple-sounding names aren’t modern inventions — they go all the way back to the 14th century.

The name “John Doe” (along with “Richard Roe”) appeared in English legal parlance during the reign of Edward III, king of England from 1327 to 1377. Its origins are in a medieval British legal process called an action of ejectment, originally used to protect tenants from landlords. 

Under the common laws of the time, proving ownership of a property could be a long and complicated process. To avoid this, claimants used the action of ejectment procedure, creating hypothetical people to serve a particular purpose. It went something like this: To prove ownership of a property, the real-life claimant, in the guise of a landlord, invented an imaginary lease by a fictitious person, known as John Doe, and another person, Richard Roe, who had allegedly ejected (evicted) the lessee. To determine the rights of these two hypothetical people, the courts had to first establish who actually owned the property — which, for the real-life claimant, was the whole point of the exercise. Using “John Doe” and “Richard Roe” saved a lot of time and hassle by forcing the courts to more swiftly determine ownership of the property. 

“John Doe” or “Jane Doe” are handy tools for TV crime show writers, but they do create some confusion in the legal system. It’s hard to search for a specific case file when there are countless “Jane Does” from other cases. If there are multiple anonymous parties in a case, “Richard Roe” is still used, or alliterative names from the rest of the alphabet have been employed: for example, “Paul and Pauline Poe,” “Frances Foe,” and even “Xerxes Xoe,” according to an article in the legal journal for Duke Law School. To reduce confusion in modern courts, unique pseudonyms, initials, or other anonymizing replacements are preferred today.  

No one is entirely sure why the names “John Doe” and “Richard Roe” were used in the 14th century. It’s possible they were the names of real people, used in one of the early actions of ejectment. Or they were simply invented. “John” and “Richard” were common first names at the time, while “Doe” and “Roe” were both associated with deer. We’ll likely never know exactly how or why these particular names were originally chosen, but we do know that they stuck. “John Doe” appears in legal texts across the following centuries, while its female equivalent, “Jane Doe,” has been in use since at least the early 1700s. (“Mary Major” is sometimes used for anonymous female parties in modern legal cases.) Their creators could hardly have imagined that today, hundreds of years later, the “John Doe” and “Jane Doe” monikers would be used in media, courts, and hospitals across the globe.