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.

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.”

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.”

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.”

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.”

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.

The writers and editors on our editorial staff naturally have strong opinions about language, from grammar pet peeves to bad writing habits. But we’re not outspoken just about things we don’t like. While we examine text with a critical eye, we also appreciate how certain words can vastly improve the quality of a written piece. 

For instance, think of the many adjectives with fascinating spellings, pleasing sounds, or interesting definitions, all of which go a long way toward making a sentence more compelling. I asked my colleagues for their favorite such adjectives, whether based on the sound and spelling of the word, the etymology, or its descriptive powers.

The word “twee” is a favorite for Mike Newman, the SVP of Editorial Strategy. It’s defined as “affectedly or excessively dainty, delicate, cute, or quaint,” and it originated in 1905 as a childish pronunciation of the word “sweet,” according to the Online Etymology Dictionary. When asked what makes “twee” his favorite, Mike said, “It’s mostly due to how fun it is to say, but it’s also one of those words that somehow sounds like the thing it’s describing.”

Jennifer Freeman is the senior editor of not only this site, but also Word Daily. Her favorite adjective is “Brobdingnagian,” defined as “marked by tremendous size.” Jennifer’s affinity for this term is due to the fact that “it was one of the earliest words I researched and selected for Word Daily.” She added, “It’s from Gulliver’s Travels, and it relates to the Brobdingnag people, who were gigantic.”

Some adjectives aren’t necessarily unusual or eye-catching, but are still quite gratifying to say. Just ask Meg Neal, editor of History Facts, who said her favorite adjective is the word “preposterous” — defined as “contrary to nature, reason, or common sense.” Meg said that the word is “somehow more satisfying than ‘crazy’ or ‘strange’ or other similar adjectives in truly confounding situations.”

The word “spooky” is formally defined as “strange, unsettling, or frightening in a way that suggests or relates to the supernatural.” But to Michael Nordine — editor of Movie Brief — it’s his favorite adjective because of the mixed messages it sends. “I like when things are kind of scary but also kind of silly,” Michael said, adding that “spooky” is the perfect way to convey that combined meaning.

Kelsey Morrison is the editor of House Outlook and a self-professed fan of the adjective “stupendous,” defined as “causing astonishment or wonder.” Kelsey was reminded of how much she likes it after hearing the word during an Olympic figure skating broadcast; a commentator used it to describe a world-class performance. Kelsey thinks “we’re not using it enough” and “we need to bring it back” with greater frequency.

Senior managing editor Allie Takeda is a fan of the adjective “quixotic,” particularly due to its literary origins. The word means “foolishly impractical especially in the pursuit of ideals,” and it comes from the 17th-century Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra novel Don Quixote. The adjective describes the title character from that piece, who was known to act foolishly in pursuit of his various goals.

Brooke Robinson is the editor of Interesting Facts, and Peter Vanden Bos edits Daily Passport. In a serendipitous coincidence, they both selected “resplendent” as their favorite adjective. The term is defined as anything “characterized by a glowing splendor.” Brooke laments not having the chance to use the term often, and said, “I love when I do because it just sounds like the most glorious word. It always brings to mind the image of light pouring through a stained glass window.” As for Peter, he mentioned how he’s “always looking for new ways to describe landscapes or landmarks. This adjective really paints a picture and gives a strong sense of place.”

Last but not least, my own selection comes from my all-time favorite television show: The Simpsons. The word “cromulent” is defined as “acceptable, or satisfactory,” and it was first coined as an intentionally silly, nonsensical word in the 1996 episode “Lisa the Iconoclast.” But the adjective was used so frequently by fans of the show that it transcended the fandom and entered society’s collective lexicon. “Cromulent” achieved lexicographical immortality when it was added to the Merriam-Webster dictionary in 2023.

Have you ever made your own hamburgers? The recipe starts with ground beef, which makes the name “hamburger” seem like a misnomer. You can order a bacon hamburger if you’re really craving pork products, but that still doesn’t give us the “ham” in the name. For that, we have to go back to the origins of the food. 

Since the 17th century, Germans have enjoyed a dish called frikedellen — flattened and pan-fried ground-meat patties. During the global German migration of the 19th century, immigrants introduced those culinary traditions to other areas around the world. 

In the United States, locals created an anglicized alternative for frikedellen, leading to a new Americanism: “Hamburger steak.” This name referred to the city of Hamburg, Germany, which offered direct steamship service to New York for nearly 1 million German immigrants between 1836 and 1880.

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, an early mention of Hamburger steak appeared in the Ohio-based Eaton Democrat newspaper: “Sometimes we have what the Germans call a Hamburger steak, that is, the meat, chopped fine like sausage, flavored delicately with onions, and broiled rapidly.” These Hamburger steaks looked similar to modern hamburger patties but were served without buns and usually smothered in sauce.

Sometime in the late 19th century, U.S. chefs found inspiration in this German creation and came up with a similar recipe. They served the meat patties between two pieces of bread, and the name was shortened to “hamburger.” It wasn’t long before hamburgers came to be more closely associated with America than Germany, though the word continues to pay homage to the dish’s German roots.

The duffle bag (or duffel bag — both spellings are correct) gets its name from a small Belgian town that most Americans have never heard of. Duffel is a municipality near Antwerp in Flanders, Belgium, where thick, coarse, woolen cloth has been produced since at least the mid-17th century.

This durable fabric became known as “duffel cloth,” or simply “duffel,” and it was prized for its resistance to wear and tear. Unlike the many fine fabrics produced in Europe, the material was used to make lower-cost, durable clothing, particularly coats, which were popular among fishermen. (The Paddington Bear character wears a classic-style duffel coat.) Spanish and Portuguese sailors traditionally used duffel as a covering material for ships, too. These sailors also used offcuts from the cloth to fashion crude bags in which to carry their belongings — possibly marking the first use of a duffle bag. (The town of Duffel produced only the fabric, not the bags.) 

Merriam-Webster dates the word “duffel” to the late 17th century, when it initially referred to the fabric. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the first mention of the bags, meanwhile, appeared in 1768 in the “Public Advertiser” newspaper, which ran an advertisement for “an old green Duffil Bag” (spelling was not standardized yet in 18th-century English). By this time, duffel cloth was known throughout much of Europe. William Wordsworth mentioned it (by its alternate spelling) in the 1802 poem “Alice Fell”: “And let it be of duffil grey, / As warm a cloak as man can sell!” 

And in Thomas Carlyle’s History of Friedrich II. of Prussia, published in the mid-19th century, the original spelling returned: “wholesome useful duffel.”

While merchant sailors may have been among the first to make bags out of duffel cloth, duffle bags as we know them today arguably owe more credit to the military. American soldiers began using duffle bags in World War I. These early military versions were short and resembled knapsacks. Soldiers often found them cumbersome when fully packed and abandoned them in trenches. 

It was World War II that transformed the duffle bag. The military developed longer, wider versions with stronger construction and sturdy straps, creating the typical cylindrical design we recognize today. After the war, surplus duffle bags flooded Army and Navy stores, and soon they found their way into the hands of the civilian population, who appreciated their simplicity and ruggedness. Today, any long, horizontal bag with carrying straps can be called a duffle bag, no matter what type of fabric it is.