Why Is English an Outlier When It Comes to “Pineapple”?
English stands alone in the way it names a certain yellow fruit. Where did the word “pineapple” come from, and why are other languages’ words so different?
At the height of summer, a refreshing, tangy piece of fruit can satisfy a craving like no other. English speakers may cut up a pineapple to snack on. But for those who speak Finnish, French, Spanish, Turkish, Portuguese, and many other languages, the exact same fruit is called ananas (with some slight variations on spelling or accent marks). The name of this tropical fruit is a cognate in virtually every language except English — how did the outlier “pineapple” come about?
An early version of “pineapple” appeared in the late 1300s in Old English as pynappel, but etymologists have determined that reference was most likely referring to a pine cone. Until at least the 17th century, medieval botanists used the word “apple” as a generic term for any fruit other than berries, and it was used to create new words for any unknown fruit. For example, “pomegranate” comes from the Latin pōmum grānātum, meaning “seeded apple.” Hence, the round “fruit” from a pine tree was called a pineapple. You can see traces of this naming convention in modern French: pomme de terre (“potato”) literally translates to “apple of earth” in English.
It’s likely that the word “pineapple” developed from the slight resemblance between the scales of a pine cone and the scales of the fruit. We know the word was used in reference to the fruit by the explorer Captain John Smith in 1624 in the Generall Historie of Virginia. However, we also know that the word “ananas” was in use around the same time, because another explorer, Samuel Purchas, extolled the virtues of the delicious ananas in 1613. Two centuries later, both terms were still in use in English. In 1813, the gardener Thomas Baldwin wrote a guide about how to grow the plant and specified both names: Short practical directions for the culture of the ananas, or pine apple plant.
Despite the rest of the world settling on ananas, English speakers eventually landed firmly on the side of “pineapple.” The tides likely turned when James Dole opened a pineapple plantation in Hawaii in 1900, and Dole launched ad campaigns in magazines to spread the word about his crop.
The spiky tops and distinctive tangy flavor make the yellow fruit unmistakable, but if you ask for “pineapple” anywhere in the world outside of the Anglophone bubble, you’re going to get some confused looks. If this is your favorite fruit, make sure to remember to ask for ananas (which, by the way, is etymologically unrelated to “banana”).
Julia Rittenberg is a culture writer and content strategist driven by a love of good stories. She writes most often about books for Book Riot. She lives in Brooklyn with a ton of vintage tchotchkes that her cat politely does not knock over.
Bingo is all fun and games — until you realize that just one alphanumeric pair is standing between you and victory. The anxiety builds until you finally hear the magic combination: “N31.” You immediately jump up and shout, “Bingo!” But what does that word mean? Yes, it’s the name of the game of chance in which you need to have the right combination of numbers lined up on your board, but where did the word come from?
Bingo halls can be found everywhere, and iterations of music bingo, drag bingo, and other themed events remain popular, but the etymological roots of the word are murky. The truth is that we may never know exactly where “bingo” came from, as the theories are tenuous. The best information from the Online Etymology Dictionary links the word to a recreational context, as “bingo” was used as slang for alcohol as far back as the 1690s, prior to making its way into American English around the 1850s.
Around the early 20th century, “bingo” became used as an exclamation to indicate completion or correctness. Lexicographers from the Oxford English Dictionary speculate that “bingo” might be a shortened version of the phrase “bingo-bango,” which has been used since the 1880s to describe a series of quick blows.
It wasn’t until the 1920s that an already-popular game of chance embraced “bingo” as its title. One (possibly apocryphal) origin story claims the name change came about because of a mistake. Prior to bingo, people played a variant called “beano,” in which players covered their numbers with dried beans. It’s said that a winning player got so excited, they accidentally shouted “bingo” instead of “beano,” and a new title for the game was born. The next time you’re playing bingo, try the old-fashioned version with some dried beans and see how your luck holds.
Bennett Kleinman is a New York City-based staff writer for Optimism. He is also a freelance comedy writer, devoted New York Yankees and New Jersey Devils fan, and thinks plain seltzer is the best drink ever invented.
9 Redundancies Created When English Borrows From Other Languages
The English language is full of loanwords, but sometimes these can cause redundancies that lead us to essentially repeat ourselves in two different languages.
The English language has never shied away from borrowing foreign words. It has adopted or adapted words from other tongues with great enthusiasm, with more than 350 languages now represented in English. This borrowing process, however, can result in some peculiar linguistic side effects, one of which is the use of word combinations that say the same thing twice — but in different languages — creating what we could call a bilingual tautology (a tautology being “needless repetition of an idea, statement, or word”).
Here are some examples of common linguistic redundancies that have developed as a result of English’s multicultural roots. Many of these redundancies have become so embedded in everyday speech that we don’t even realize we’re repeating ourselves.
River Avon
One classic example of a bilingual redundancy is the River Avon in the United Kingdom. “Avon” comes from a Celtic word meaning “river,” so the River Avon is essentially a tautology meaning “River River.” Another U.K.-based example of loanword adoption is the village of Torpenhow in Cumbria. The village name can be parsed out as a combination of the Saxon word tor, the Celtic pen, and the Old Norse how, all of which mean “hill” — meaning that Torpenhow translates as “Hill-hill-hill.”
Sahara Desert
In Arabic, the Sahara is calledAl-Ṣaḥrāʾ al-Kubrā, meaning “the Great Desert.” The Anglicized name of the desert derives from the Arabic word ṣaḥrāʾ, which simply means “desert.” So, when we refer to the Sahara Desert, we are in fact saying “Desert Desert.”
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La Brea Tar Pits
The La Brea Tar Pits in Los Angeles are among of the world’s most famous locations for fossil discoveries. They also happen to be a common example of linguistic redundancy. In Spanish, “la brea” means “the tar,” so when we say “La Brea Tar Pits,” we are actually saying “the Tar Tar Pits.”
Lake Tahoe
The magnificent Lake Tahoe straddles the border between California and Nevada. The lake and its surrounding area have long been home to the Washoe people, a Great Basin tribe of Indigenous Americans. Lake Tahoe was naturally important to the Washoe, who named it da ow ga (or da’aw), a term literally meaning “the lake.” European settlers mispronounced this as “Tahoe,” and in turn named the large body of fresh water Lake Tahoe — likely unaware that they were essentially saying “Lake Lake.”
Mississippi River
The word “Mississippi” comes from the Indigenous Ojibwe word mshi-ziibi, meaning “big river.” So, when we talk about the Mississippi River, we are saying “Big River River.” The Mekong River in Southeast Asia is a similar tautological example; in Thai, me means “mother” and khong means “river,” leaving us with “Mother River River.”
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Naan Bread
The culinary world is home to many tautologies that have arisen when English borrows words from other languages; naan bread is a prime example. The Urdu word nāntranslates as “bread,” so when we say “naan bread,” we are saying “bread bread.” As many viewers pointed out during a 2018 episode of The Great British Bake Off, saying “naan” on its own is enough.
Chai Tea
Around the world, people tend to use variations of one of two words for tea. In English we say “tea,” while the French say thé, the Spanish té, and the Dutch thee. The other variation has a slightly different sound: chá in Mandarin and Cantonese, chai in Hindi, shay in Arabic, and chay in Russian. So-called chai tea —a black tea of Indian origin, often spiced with cinnamon or cardamom — has become popular in the United States. But in India, chai is not a flavor of tea; it refers to tea in general. Saying “chai tea” is redundant, as it means “tea tea.”
Koi Carp
If you fill your garden pond with “koi carp,” you are engaging in an aquatic tautology. “Koi” is the Japanese word for “carp,” making the “carp” in “koi carp” redundant.
Another commonly cited fish-related tautology is “ahi tuna,” which derives from the Hawaiian word ʻahi, referring to tuna, especially the yellow-fin tuna. In this respect, the “tuna” in “ahi tuna” is redundant. But there is a caveat: ʻAhi also means “fire” in Hawaiian, and Hawaiian fishermen used the word to refer to tuna because these powerful fish could pull on lines with such speed and strength that smoke would arise at the point where the fisherman’s line met the side of his boat. So, while “ahi tuna” can be considered a tautology — “tuna tuna” — there’s also a case to be made for “fire tuna.”
Tony Dunnell is an English writer living on the edge of the Amazon rainforest. When not writing articles on a range of subjects, he dedicates his time to writing speculative fiction. His short stories have appeared in Escape Pod, Daily Science Fiction, Sci Phi Journal and elsewhere. Find him at tonydunnell.com.
Homophones are confusing enough to begin with. But in the case of “deep-seated” vs. “deep-seeded,” things are made more perplexing by the phrase’s literal definition.
If your family is firmly established in a community, you may describe them as having laid down roots, much like an old oak tree. You might want to refer to your family’s position as “deep-seeded” — but while there’s an undeniable botanical connection between roots and seeds, there’s a clear grammatical distinction between the two.The proper spelling for this adjective is actually “deep-seated,” and there’s an etymological reason to help you remember.
“Deep-seated” comes from the verb “to seat,” with one definition meaning “to install in a seat of dignity or office” and another being “to put in a sitting position.” According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the adjective form dates to 1741, when it more literally meant “having its root far below the surface.” Despite the connection to roots, the usage was always intended to be related to “seat,” not “seed.” By 1847, “deep-seated” developed a figurative meaning of being “firmly implanted.” People often refer to a person’s strongly held convictions as “deep-seated beliefs,” or old customs as being “deep-seated traditions.” All this is to say that “deep-seeded” is the incorrect spelling, despite the possible path you could trace from the act of planting seeds.
There are times when it’s OK to use the word “seeded,” but it should never follow the prefix “deep-.” For example, in sports, the concept of “seeding” appeared in tennis tournaments in the early 20th century. The term’s origin is unknown, but one idea is that players were “planted” in a certain spot so that players of certain desired rankings would end up playing each other. “Seeding” has since expanded to other tournament sports, namely college basketball, in which fans might talk about “the fifth-seeded UCLA squad.”
As a final reminder for choosing the correct spelling of the adjective, think of the well-established outline of your rear end in your favorite recliner. This is perhaps the most literal example of something that could be considered “deep-seated,” as it’s a depression that took hundreds of hours to produce. So if you’re ever confused about whether it’s “deep-seated” or “deep-seeded,” just remember the idea of leaving a souvenir of your seat in a comfy chair.
Bennett Kleinman is a New York City-based staff writer for Optimism. He is also a freelance comedy writer, devoted New York Yankees and New Jersey Devils fan, and thinks plain seltzer is the best drink ever invented.
“Flying off the handle” isn’t often a good thing — literally or figuratively. To better understand how this phrase came about, let’s go back to the early 19th century.
There are a lot of ways to say that someone has lost control of their emotions. Maybe they’ve “blown a gasket” or they’re “freaking out,” or maybe they’ve “gone beserk!” With so many different idiomatic examples, one might be feeling a little frantic just thinking about the choices. But among the most popular options is the phrase “fly off the handle.” This expression can be traced back to the early 19th century, and has a specific literal association with the backwoods.
In a very literal sense, the phrase “fly off the handle” refers to how a loose axe head can come undone mid-swing while chopping wood. There are few things more dangerous than a sharp piece of metal flying through the sky, so it’s understandable to feel a loss of control and some anger in that situation. The idiom developed out of that literal action, but it encompasses more general contexts. You don’t need to be a lumberjack to fly off the handle — though you certainly can be.
“Fly off the handle” gained popularity as a figurative idiom for situations of heightened emotions in the early 19th century, and we see early printed examples reflecting the shift. The Oxford English Dictionarycites an 1832 article in the Boston Investigator: “He soon had a call at Cincinnati, Ohio, as president of a theological college, and, of course, flew off the handle.” Gary Martin of the blog Phrase Finder adds another figurative example from Thomas C. Haliburton’s 1843 satirical novel The Attaché: or, Sam Slick in English: “He flies right off the handle for nothing.”
There was no axe wielding to be had in either example, so the phrase seemed to have shed its inherent connection to woodworking by the mid-19th century. Today, people rarely say “fly off the handle” in reference to literal axes, though the phrase would certainly still be applicable in those rare circumstances.
Bennett Kleinman is a New York City-based staff writer for Optimism. He is also a freelance comedy writer, devoted New York Yankees and New Jersey Devils fan, and thinks plain seltzer is the best drink ever invented.
Flammable or Inflammable? And Other Word Pairs That Share a Root
Ever wonder how English ended up with near-twin words like “inquire” and “enquire,” or “flammable” and “inflammable”? These “etymological twins” — words with shared roots but divergent paths — reveal surprising histories behind some of our most familiar terms.
Language is often a reflection of cultural evolution, and sometimes we can trace these linguistic changes through cognates — words that share a common ancestry but have diverged, whether across different languages or within the same language. Take, for example, the English word “paper” and the French word papier, both derived directly from the Latin term papyrus. These words are examples of traditional cognates: terms that stem from the same root word but have evolved in different languages.
Cognates can also exist within the same language. When this happens, they are called etymological twins or doublets. These pairs evolved from the same root word (in a different language — usually Latin), then diverged, and frequently share related meanings in modern English. Such is the case with “frail” and “fragile,” two related English words that evolved from the Latin termfragilis. What other duos are lexical siblings? Let’s find out.
Ameliorate and Meliorate
At first glance, the verbs “ameliorate” and “meliorate” seem nearly identical — the former means “to make better or more tolerable” and the definition of the latter is simply listed as “ameliorate.” While their connection may appear to be a simple spelling alteration, it’s more complicated than that. These terms actually entered English through different languages. Both ultimately stem from the Latin meliorare, meaning “improve,” but “ameliorate” made its way into English via the French verb for “improve” (améliorer), while “meliorate” took a more direct path from Latin into English during the 16th century. Today, “ameliorate” is the more commonly used of the two (“Aspirin should ameliorate the pain”), but its lesser-known twin is no less legitimate.
Enquire and Inquire
“Enquire” and “inquire” — two spellings, one root, and a subtle distinction in tone. Both originate from the same root word, the Latin inquirere (“seek after, search for, examine, scrutinize”). However, the spelling of “enquire” was likely influenced by the Old French enquerre. While “inquire” dominates American English (“He inquired about the test results”), British English retains both spellings: “enquire” for informal or casual questions, and “inquire” for formal or official ones. Today, these words coexist, despite there being no need for two different versions.
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Historic and Historical
These commonly confused adjectives both originate from the Greekhistorikos, yet their modern meanings diverge. “Historical” is used in a broad sense to describe anything relating to history or past events, as in “historical documents.” “Historic,” on the other hand, is reserved for events of importance, as in, “Millions watched Neil Armstrong’s historic first steps on the moon.” “Historic” is likely a back formation of “historical” and entered English in the 17th century, while “historical” came into English during the early 15th century.
Compose and Comprise
Etymological twins aren’t required to stem from the same word — they can come from the same prefix, as in the case of the two commonly confused verbs “compose” and “comprise.” “Compose” refers to the elements that make up a whole, as in, “Roses and peonies compose the bouquet.” In contrast, “comprise” describes the whole that the elements form: “The bouquet comprises roses and peonies.” Their common root is Latin, specifically the prefix “com-,” meaning “with, together.” “Compose” entered late Middle English from the Old French composer, which is derived from the Latin componere (“component”). “Comprise” derives from the Latin comprehendere, meaning “to take together, to unite; include.”
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Allude and Elude
The verbs “allude” and “elude” differ slightly in pronunciation and meaning, yet they still have a common tie. While “allude” means “to make indirect reference,” “elude” means “to avoid adroitly” or “to escape the perception, understanding, or grasp of.” Both words entered English during the 16th century, originally deriving from the Latin verb ludere, meaning “to play.” This Latin root resulted in two very similar Latin verbs: alludere (“to play, make fun of, joke, jest”) and eludere (“to finish play, win at play; escape from or parry (a blow), make a fool of, mock, frustrate”). Today, each modern English word retains a trace of these playful Latin roots, whether through a clever suggestion or clever escape.
Prescribe and Proscribe
This verb pair is a prime example of how etymological twins can have very different meanings. In this case, they sit on opposite sides of legality. “Proscribe” refers to doing something forbidden, especially by law (“The principal proscribed the use of cell phones in class”), while “prescribe” is giving a recommendation of something beneficial, mainly as a medical remedy by a doctor (“The doctor prescribed medicine for my cough”). However, both words derive from the Latin root scribere, meaning “to write.” Historically, “proscribe” meant “to outlaw,” which is where it retains its connection to the rule of law today. During the 16th century, it referred to the practice of publishing the names of criminals condemned to death. “Prescribe” originally meant “to write down as a direction, law, or rule.” The term gained its connection to medicine during the 16th century with the usage of “advise, appoint, or designate as a remedy for a disease,” likely a back-formation of “prescription” — “a written direction for a therapeutic or corrective agent.”
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Complement and Compliment
These nouns are often confused, but one refers to polite praise, while the other denotes a perfect pairing. Both, however, ultimately came from the Latin complere, meaning “to fill up” or “to complete.” A compliment is an expression of admiration (“I love your shoes”), while a complement is “a thing that completes or brings to perfection,” as in, “The wine was a lovely complement to the meal.” It’s easy to see how both terms stem from complere, as they retain similar meanings today. “Compliment” can also be used as a verb in the same context as the noun: “He complimented his date on her shoes.”
This linguistic mix-up can be hazardous. While they sound like opposites, the cognates “flammable” and “inflammable” both mean “easily set on fire.” A glimpse into their etymology reveals why they’re synonyms, not antonyms. Both stem from the Latin flamma, meaning “flame, blazing fire.” Because the prefix “in-” is often associated with negation (as in “invisible” or “incomplete”), “inflammable” is frequently misinterpreted as “not flammable.” However, the Latin prefix “in-” can also mean “into” or “toward,” which intensifies the meaning of “flammable,” as in, “Gasoline is highly inflammable.” Due to the frequent misunderstanding of the word “inflammable,” “flammable” emerged as a mainstream replacement during the 19th century. Today, safety experts prefer the unambiguous “flammable” for clarity’s sake.
Featured image credit: larissagalles/ iStock via Getty Images
Rachel is a Washington, D.C.-based freelance writer. When she's not writing, you can find her wandering through a museum, exploring a new city, or advocating the importance of the Oxford comma.
The word “borne” isn’t just an elaborate variant of “born.” Although these terms were once used interchangeably, today they carry distinct definitions. Do you know the difference?
Not to be confused with the surname of CIA special ops agent Jason Bourne, the words “born” and “borne” have a more stable origin — but that doesn’t mean they’re easy to tell apart. These verbs are commonly confused for good reason: Both are past participles of “bear,” a word with multiple meanings, including “to carry,” “to endure,” and “to give birth.” But choosing the correct past tense verb depends on the context.
It’s unclear why the past participle of “bear” evolved into two different forms, but both words were used interchangeably until the early 17th century. However, their definitions diverged by the end of the 18th century. It was around this time that “borne” became the standard past participle for “bear,” used in all senses (carrying, enduring, transporting, etc.) except one: birth.
For instance, “She has borne the weight of that responsibility” is appropriate because “borne” means “carried” in this situation. Similarly, “They have borne many hardships this year” works because here, “borne” means “endured.” Notice how these examples use abstract definitions and not a literal sense of giving birth. For birth-related contexts, use “born,” as in, “My daughter was born in June,” and “He was born in Boston.”
These rules carry over to situations when the terms are made into compound words that turn them into adjectives, such as “airborne allergens” or “foodborne illnesses.” Here, “borne” represents something that can be carried, transported, or endured, whether physically, emotionally, or metaphorically. Similarly, “born” retains its birth-related meaning when combined with adjectives, as seen in the words “newborn” and “firstborn.”
Of course, the English language wouldn’t let us get away without at least one exception to these rules. “Borne” can refer to the act of giving birth when the subject is the mother, not the child. For instance, “The queen had borne an heir,” or “My grandmother had borne three children” — in these instances, “borne” is the correct verb. However, such sentence structures are very formal, so you won’t come across them often. When in doubt, remember: “born” for “birth,” “borne” for “burden,” and leave the spy work to Bourne.
Rachel is a Washington, D.C.-based freelance writer. When she's not writing, you can find her wandering through a museum, exploring a new city, or advocating the importance of the Oxford comma.
What Was the Original Version of “Head Over Heels”?
“Head over heels” or “heels over head”? Confusing the order of this phrase isn’t actually a mistake, since the original was opposite to the way we commonly use it today.
What does the phrase “falling head over heels” mean to you? The literal definition of the phrase is “turning over completely in forward motion, as in a somersault.” But you can also fall head over heels for a person — meaning you’re madly in love with them.
While “head over heels” trips off the tongue naturally, the original wording of the phrase was “heels over head.” This flip-flop seems appropriate for the topsy-turvy nature of the expression. The Oxford English Dictionary tracks an early usage of the term to around 1400, and in 1653, an English translation by Thomas Urqhart of a work by François Rabelais (largely credited with inventing the concept of a novel) gave an example of the original phrasing in a literal sense: “He incontinently turned heels over head in the aire, and streight found himself betwixt the bowe of the saddle in a good settlement.” This description aligns with the literal definition. Until the wording swapped around, “heels over head” referred almost exclusively to the physical interpretation.
It’s unclear why the swap in phrasing happened, but the original phrasing is still in use occasionally to refer to the physical nature of a somersault, or a more figurative state of being in chaos. Even when writers transitioned to “head over heels,” the earliest usages still meant it in the bodily fashion. The Oxford English Dictionary identifies an early instance of “head over heels” in a 1694 publication called the French Rogue: “… made, for haste, but one leap to the bottom, and tumbl’d Head over Heels down the other.”
The first documented use of “head over heels” to mean “falling deeply in love” comes from a 1710 translation of the medieval Greek writer Lucian: “You seem to be wholy lost in Thought, and retir’d into the inmost Cabinet of your Breast, reeling and tumbling Head over Heels.”
While almost exclusively referring to love, the expression is sometimes used to describe states of utter helplessness in contexts other than love. In an 1895 publication called Black & White, it was used to refer to financial debt: “Lemaitre, the French actor, was always head over heels in debt, despite an enormous salary.”
Whatever the cause for the swap, “head over heels” seems apt for romantic references, as the evocative nature of the bottom of your heels above the top of your head is appropriate for the world-changing feeling of love.
Julia Rittenberg is a culture writer and content strategist driven by a love of good stories. She writes most often about books for Book Riot. She lives in Brooklyn with a ton of vintage tchotchkes that her cat politely does not knock over.
Whenever I’m planning to travel, I like to learn a few phrases in the local languages. I might not be able to have full conversations, but it’s good to be able to ask a few questions and navigate a little. I’m planning a trip to Europe now, and I realized that my high school French and Spanish aren’t going to be enough — I need to learn some Basque. The Basque region spans across southern France and northern Spain; 93.7% of Basque speakers are in Spain, while 6.3% are in France. Friends and family who have visited Basque Country rave about the beaches, food, and amazingly kind people who populate the region. I’m eager to learn some of the special language.
Basque speakers call the language Euskara. It’s a language isolate, meaning that it has no relation to any other known languages. This is in contrast to French and Spanish, which are Romance languages that can be traced back to Latin. Not only are there no known associations, but language historians are still mostly stumped about how to trace the origin of Basque.
According to Encyclopedia Britannica, very early in the recorded history of the Common Era, “dialects of Euskarian (Basque) stock were probably spoken north and south of the Pyrenees and as far east as the Aran Valley in northeastern Spain.” The resilience of Euskarian dialects was important because, at the time, the Romans were conquering Europe and most people in the region were starting to speak Latin. Basque maintained a foothold in the region over the centuries, even as various forms of Romance languages rose up around it. Today there are efforts to keep Basque alive in private education systems and through a written standard called Euskara Batua (“Unified Basque”).
To hear someone speak Basque is not too different from hearing someone speak Spanish. Many of the consonants and vowels are pronounced the same, and the “ll” is pronounced with a “yuh” sound. The Basque “r” is made with a single tap of the tongue, which contrasts with the rolled or trilled “r” in Spanish. The letters “k,” “z,” and “x” are used much more frequently in Basque than in English, which makes the appearance and the sound notably different to English speakers.
In today’s geography, Northern Basque Country is in southern France in the three provinces of Labourd, Lower Navarre, and Soule. Spanish Basque Country in northern Spain is made up of the provinces Araba, Biscay, and Gipuzkoa. The Basque language is still spoken in these provinces and their major cities. If you travel to one of the beachy cities of Basque Country from Madrid, the language might require an adjustment. But its history is as long as Spain’s, and the joys of the culture are undeniable.
Before your wanderlust takes over completely, spend some time learning more about the Basque language and memorize a few key phrases. It will go far with the locals who are very proud of their long history and culture.
Featured image credit: Rainer Lesniewski/ Alamy Stock Vector
Julia Rittenberg is a culture writer and content strategist driven by a love of good stories. She writes most often about books for Book Riot. She lives in Brooklyn with a ton of vintage tchotchkes that her cat politely does not knock over.
In the English language alone, there are over a million words, and of those, an estimated 170,000 are in current use in the modern lexicon. Even with an abundance of words at our disposal, though, people tend to latch on to certain words or phrases and recycle their favorites. They may like how a word sounds, or perhaps they read a term and felt it was a perfect descriptor. Or maybe it’s a word that has creeped into popular culture, and now it seems to appear in every conversation.
Instead of repeating yourself (again), let’s look at some synonyms for the most overused words. By using unique and specific words, you’ll keep your vocabulary fresh in every situation.
Amazing
It’s a paradox. If everything is amazing, then nothing is. The actual definition of this word is “causing astonishment, great wonder, or surprise.” Yet “amazing” has been co-opted to describe everything from a much-needed vacation in a tropical locale to an afternoon iced latte — not exactly equals on the wonder scale.
Maybe it helps to think about whether something truly fits the definition of “amazing,” or if it just sparks joy in that moment. In either case, “amazing” has lost its luster, and it’s worth using an alternate adjective, such as “marvelous,” “remarkable,” “exciting,” “fascinating,” “breathtaking,” “astounding,” “inspiring,” “incredible,” “stunning,” “unbelievable,” “magnificent,” or “prodigious.” Pick the appropriate adjective for the scale of your situation.
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Literally
The sitcom How I Met Your Mother depicted the misuse and abuse of this word well when Robin shouted to Ted, “I literally want to rip your head off,” and Ted yelled back, “You mean figuratively!” This word crept into the popular lexicon around the mid-aughts as a way to emphasize strong emotions or reactions. It’s easy to rely on in conversation, but “literally” deserves a figurative rest from overuse. Try “precisely,” “actually,” “plainly,” “truly,” or “frankly,” or kick it back to Shakespeare’s English with “verily.”We have no qualms with the figurative use of “literally,” but it’s time to change things up a bit.
Crazy
This is used as a catchall adjective with a range of meanings, from “extremely enthusiastic” to “extremely annoyed” to “downright foolish.” People often use it as an adverb, too, as in, “I’ve been crazy busy,” or the informal “I was laughing like crazy.” But the word also has a stigma attached to it, with a connotation related to mental health. Try to challenge your casual use of this term, especially when describing any behavior that doesn’t seem to fit a standard of “normal.” Pull out a more descriptive synonym. Maybe it’s more appropriate to use “passionate,” “excited,” “absurd,” “foolish,” impractical,” “unbelievable,” or “illogical” — or pull out a silly option like “bananas,” “bonkers,” or “wackadoodle.” With over a million words at your disposal, there are plenty of better options than “crazy.”
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Hack
The word “hack” is definitely one of the worker bees of the modern English language. With both verb and noun usages, it can mean “rough cuts to an object,” “a writer who produces unimaginative work,” “how someone is coping,” and “a horse used for noncompetitive riding.”
But none of those is why “hack” is overused. As internet usage became ubiquitous, it took on yet another meaning: “to use a computer to gain unauthorized access to data in a system.” And in more recent years, the word has been applied to any quick, novelty technique that helps people save time and be more efficient — sometimes called a “life hack.” It’s tossed around on social media as if every activity is a hack, but at some point, “hack” became a buzzword that lost meaning. “Tip,” “trick,” “guide,” or “how-to” work well when you’re trying to teach someone a technique or skill.
“That’s great.” “OK.” “Sure, that’s fine.” These middling adjectives are used when there’s nothing to say, or when the speaker is trying to avoid casting an opinion. Instead of falling back on one of these wishy-washy statements, take a minute to decide what you really want to say. Unless it’s where to eat dinner — that’s tough for everyone.
Jennifer A. Freeman is the Senior Editor of Word Smarts and Word Daily. When she's not searching for a perfect synonym or reaching "Genius" level on Spelling Bee, she's playing with her Welsh Terrier in Greenville, SC.
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