The slang term “dude” is as versatile as a plain white T-shirt or utility baseball player. You can use it to greet a good friend (“What’s up, dude?”), as a generic synonym for “guy” (“Some dude just paid for my coffee”), or in common expressions to convey approval or emotion (“Rock on, dude” or “No way, dude”). Or maybe someone did you wrong, causing you to shout, “Dude, why did you do that?” 

But as wide-ranging as the uses of “dude” may be today, the term was once much more specific and came with an insulting connotation. Let’s look at the origins of this word, which some believe goes back to before the American Revolution.

One theory, from linguists Barry Popik and Gerald Cohen in 2013, claims “dude” was likely derived from “doodle,” as in the 18th-century folk song “Yankee Doodle.” While the song is considered patriotic by many today, it was initially a song of mockery by the Brits toward Americans. 

The lyrics of that ditty mention a “yankee doodle dandy,” where “yankee” referred to New Englanders, “doodle” came from the German Dödel (meaning “fool”), and “dandy” was and still is defined as “a man who gives exaggerated attention to personal appearance.” Essentially, the character Yankee Doodle was an oafish American who tried to emulate his fancy European counterparts by sticking a feather in his cap.

 “Dude” is believed to be a variant of “dood,” a shortened version of the word “doodle,” but it wasn’t coined until more than a century later, in the 1880s. Residents of New York City began using it in a derisive manner to describe foppish men — those who were very concerned with their appearance and wore the height of fashion. The word became more and more popular by the day, appearing in poems and New York Times articles.

Linguistics professor Michael Adams is less sure of the connection to “Yankee Doodle” than Popik and Cohen, but Adams concurs that the word “dude” was firmly established as an insult by the late 19th century. “It’s not a friendly term at that point,” he told Reader’s Digest.

As the decades went on, however, “dude” shed its insulting connotation. The change didn’t happen overnight, of course: There was a brief transition in the 19th century where “dude” was used by Westerners to describe visitors from big cities on the East coast. This gave rise to touristy attractions called dude ranches, where city slickers (or dudes) could stay and pay to experience the cowboy lifestyle.

During the 20th century, “dude” shifted from its original meaning even further as younger generations embraced the term as a generic way to refer to a person. While traditionally male, it has become fairly gender-neutral. Linguist Michael Adams believes “dude” is popular today because of the term’s use in 1980s cinema such as Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure, and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. These films helped forever change the definition of “dude,” Adams told Reader’s Digest, “from an East Coast person who doesn’t know a saddle from a stirrup to a guy who is righteous and whom everybody admires.”

The theme from the TV show Cops repeatedly asks, “Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?” But curious linguists may pose an entirely different question: Where does the word “cops” come from? While it’s common to refer to the police as cops, the terms don’t seem that similar, beyond a few shared letters. But there’s one backstory that explains the entire situation, as well as a few popular, albeit untrue theories we’d like to dispel.

One oft-repeated theory is that “cop” is an acronym for “constable on patrol,” but that’s not true. Another common misconception is that it references the copper badges and buttons worn on vintage New York City police uniforms — also false. The plain reality is that “cop” is derived from the dated verb “to cop,” defined as “to seize” or “to capture,” as one might nab a criminal.

The English verb “cop” is of northern British origin, coined in the early 18th century. It may come from the French term caper, meaning “to seize,” which itself comes from the Latin capere, meaning “to take.”

The term “copper” — as in a police officer — came about in 1838, used in the February 3 edition of Cockney Adventures: “Do it at vonce, else the coppers ‘ill come,’ said he of the short pipe.” This evolution of the verb “cop” to the noun “copper” was pretty straightforward. It follows the trajectory of how other verbs became nouns, such as “make” to “maker,” “pitch” to “pitcher,” and so on.

Within two decades, the noun “copper” was shortened to just “cop.” In other words, we went from the verb “cop” to the noun “copper,” and then back to “cop,” but this time as a noun. The slang made its way to the United States by the late 1850s, as people began referring to police officers as cops far and wide. 

Other informal and slang terms have similarly clear backstories. For example, “po-po” is a shortened form of “police” that repeats the first syllable, and “five-0” (the numeral 0, not the letter “O”) comes from the television series Hawaii Five-0. (The name comes from Hawaii being the 50th state.) But origin stories aren’t always so well documented; for instance, nobody knows why people refer to police as fuzz, and yet the slang persists. 

SOS — used as a distress signal from sinking ships, castaways on a desert island, hikers lost in the wilderness, and others in emergency situations — is the most universally understood cry for help on the planet. But ask someone what it stands for and there’s a good chance you’ll receive an answer that is both common and completely wrong. “SOS” does not stand for “save our souls” or “save our ship.” In fact, it wasn’t built from words at all. Here we take a look at the roots of the famous three-letter sequence and how it became so ingrained in the global consciousness. 

In the mid-1800s, nations used different distress signals, primarily at sea, designed to be sent via Morse code, flag signals, or both. Morse code — a signaling system using dots, dashes, and spaces — was created in the 1830s by Samuel F.B. Morse and Alfred Lewis Vail, and was well established by the turn of the century, making it a natural choice for calling for help.  

The British, who were the preeminent maritime and naval power during the 19th century, used the code CQD. This sequence was established by the Marconi Company, a British telecommunications and engineering company. Its wireless operators used CQ as a code to signal all stations along a telegraph line, and the distress code CQD was an extension of this, meaning “All stations. Distress!” (It did not stand for “Come Quick, Danger,” an apt phrase that was applied later.) 

The Germans, meanwhile, used the code SOE as a general inquiry call; the Americans used NC (meaning “call for help without delay”); and various other nations had their own unique codes. But having different signals was not ideal, especially in emergency situations, and eventually an international conference was arranged to do something about it. 

In 1906, the International Radiotelegraph Conference was held in Berlin, Germany. On the agenda was the standardization of ship-to-shore communications. During the conference, 27 countries signed one notable provision: the adoption of SOS as a truly international distress signal. 

The code wasn’t chosen to spell out a particular word or abbreviate a specific phrase. It didn’t even take into account individual letters. It was adopted purely for its simplicity within the Morse code system that Vail and Morse had built decades earlier. Radio conditions at sea were often poor, and any signal chosen needed to be short, unmistakable, and impossible to confuse with routine chatter. The solution was a continuous string of three dots, three dashes, and three dots — easy to remember, quick to type, and clear in its interpretation. 

The sequence came to be called SOS only after it was selected, because that particular pattern matches the individual Morse code sequences for S (three dots), O (three dashes), and S (three dots) again. In other words, the letters were a readable side effect of a pattern telecommunications engineers deemed effective, not a phrase someone chose first and then translated into code.

The first confirmed use of SOS in a genuine emergency came in June 1909, when the RMS Slavonia ran aground near the Azores. Nearby ships picked up the distress signal and rescued everyone aboard. Then, on August 11, 1909, the steamer SS Arapahoe ran into problems off the coast of Cape Hatteras, North Carolina. The telegraph operator was initially confused about which distress signal to send, as SOS had only recently replaced the CQD signal he was more familiar with. He decided to send both signals, in what became the first transmission of SOS in America. Three years later, the RMS Titanic sank in the North Atlantic Ocean. Its operator also sent out both CQD and SOS calls for help, in the most widely reported and tragic use of SOS after its adoption. 

From there, SOS spread far beyond maritime radio. Its rhythm is so simple and distinct that it can be tapped out audibly or flashed with a light, making it just as useful for earthquake survivors trapped under rubble as for stranded hikers stuck on a mountaintop. The letters are also instantly recognizable when written out — perhaps most famously by castaways who spell out “SOS” on sandy beaches in the hope of signaling passing aircraft. And this isn’t just a trope in Hollywood movies. Numerous real-life cases exist, including a recent 2020 stranding on the tiny Pikelot Island in the South Pacific, from which three men were rescued after writing “SOS” on the beach using foliage and debris. 

SOS has since grown to be a universally recognized signal for distress — not only in actual emergencies but also in pop culture. ABBA used it to great effect in their 1975 hit song “SOS,” while the classic 1979 rock track “Message in a Bottle” by The Police features Sting singing, “I’ll send an SOS to the world.” More recently, Rihanna and the Jonas Brothers have released tracks featuring the famous distress code. 

Despite the universal nature of SOS, the actual meaning of the letters is still widely misunderstood. Many people believe that they stand for something — typically “save our souls,” “save our ship,” or even “send out succor” — when in fact they stand for nothing at all. These are all instances of what is called a backronym — a phrase made up to fit the letters of an existing word (or sequence of letters, in the case of SOS), treating it as if it’s an abbreviation when it’s not.

Another example of a backronym is “Amber Alert,” originally named after a missing child, Amber Hagerman, but later given the backronym “America’s Missing: Broadcast Emergency Response.”

In any case, SOS has proved to be incredibly effective, not only by its continued use in emergency situations but also by its widespread adoption in popular culture. But its success has little to do with any hidden meaning and everything to do with simplicity. A signal designed to be heard clearly through static, using a code invented decades earlier, is still just as easy to recognize a century later, whether it’s tapped out in Morse code, stomped into snow, sung by Sting, or texted to a friend to request immediate extraction from an awkward date. 

The name Richard doesn’t seem to have much in common with the nickname Dick, and yet the latter is still widely used as a shortened version of the former. This is just one of many cases where a full name is shortened to a seemingly peculiar abbreviation. We’re talking about Johns who go by Jack, Margarets known as Peggy, and Marys who are called Polly.

While these nicknames may seem odd based on their spelling, there’s a logical origin story behind many of them. During the Middle Ages, it was a popular practice to shorten names and swap certain letters, resulting in a playful rhyming nickname. Here are several examples of this phenomenon, and some other curious nickname origin stories that follow completely different trajectories.

The name Richard was among the most popular male names in medieval England. In fact, it was so common that scribes came up with several shorthand versions, including Rich and Rick, to save time and effort while writing. Then, in the early 13th century, the trend of rhyming sobriquets emerged. This produced nicknames such as Hitch, Hick, and, of course, Dick. While most of these rhymes have faded in terms of widespread use, the name Dick has experienced lasting popularity.

Deriving the nickname Bill from William is another example of this playful medieval naming mechanism. It follows the same logic as above — William was shortened to Will, and in time, people rhymed it with Bill.

Margaret was among the most popular female names in the Middle Ages, and it needed a playful nickname. Diminutive monikers such as Margot, Magge, Magot, Mog, and Meg soon appeared, and the latter two examples followed the rhyming shift that was popular at the time, giving us Pog and Peg. Sometimes a “-y” was tacked onto the nickname, giving us Poggy (not so common today) and Peggy, which was quite common in the mid-20th century.

Centuries ago, the nickname Mally was a common shorthand for people born Mary, but it largely fell out of use by the mid-18th century. Molly as a nickname for Mary also died out by the end of the 18th century, though it remains a common baby name on its own. But from Molly we got the rhyming moniker Polly, and that somehow stuck around long after Mally and Molly.

The shift from John to Jack is yet another example of medieval nicknames with lasting appeal. In the Middle Ages, John — an extremely popular male name — was made into nicknames such as Johnkin, Jankin, and Jackin. Eventually, Jackin was shortened to simply Jack, which has maintained its popularity all these years later.

Disconnected nicknames aren’t only an English-language phenomenon. In Russian culture, Sasha is a common nickname for Alexander (or the Russian equivalent Aleksandr). When it comes to Russian nicknames, it’s common to add “–sha” as a diminutive suffix. Take Aleksandr, shorten it to Sandr, and then replace the final few letters with the “–sha” suffix, resulting in Sasha. 

The name José is the Spanish version of the English name Joseph. The original version was Josepe, which was shortened to José over time. This explains, in part, why Pepe is a common nickname for people named José. It’s an abbreviation of the old name José comes from, taking the end portion and doubling it.

You may be surprised to learn that Game of Thrones actor Kit Harington’s birth name is Christopher. It’s not as common a nickname today as it was centuries ago, but Kit is indeed a sobriquet for the given name Christopher. Meaning “bearing Christ,” this name is an abbreviated form of the first portion of Christopher, taking out three letters and changing the “C” to a “K” for a more prominent starting sound.