Pillow (pronounced pil-oh)
(1) A bag or case made of cloth that is filled with
feathers, down, or other soft material, and is used to cushion the head during
sleep or rest.
(2) Any similar construction used to cushion the head; a
type of headrest.
(3) In lace-making, a hard cushion or pad that supports
the pattern and threads in the making of bobbin lace (also called lace pillow).
(4) In ship-building, a supporting piece or part, as the
block on which the inner end of a bowsprit (a spar projecting over the prow of
a sailing vessel to provide the means of adding sail surface) rests.
(5) In geology, as “pillow lava”, the rock type resembling
the shape of a typical pillow, formed when lava emerges from an underwater
volcanic vent or a lava flow enters the ocean.
(6) In engineering, as “pillow block”, a piece of wood or
metal, forming a support to equalize pressure (historically known also a “brass”,
an allusion to the alloy once commonly used for such purposes.
(7) In engineering, the socket of a pivot.
(8) A kind of plain, coarse fustian (a coarse fabric made
originally from cotton and flax and now a coarse fabric of twilled cotton or a cotton
& linen mix).
(9) With and without modifiers (love pillows; dirty pillows etc) and usually in the plural, yet another slang term for the human female's breasts.
(10) To rest on a pillow.
(11) To support with pillows.
(12) To serve as a pillow for some purpose.
1450s: From the Middle English pillow & pilow, (a
head-rest used by a person reclining, especially a soft, elastic cushion filled
with down, feathers etc), from the earlier pilwe,
from the Old English pylwe, pylu
& pyle (cushion, bed-cushion,
pillow), from West Germanic noun pulwi
& pulwin (source also of the Old
Saxon puli, the Middle Dutch polu, the Dutch peluw, the Old High German pfuliwi
and the German Pfühl), from the
Proto-West Germanic pulwī (pillow),
borrowed (possibly as early as the second century) from the Latin pulvinus (a little cushion, small pillow)
of uncertain origin but some etymologists have speculated the construct may
have been the Latin pulvis (dust,
powder) + -īnus (-ine) (in the sense of the filler of a pillow). The suffix -īnus
(-ine) was from the Proto-Italic -īnos,
from the primitive Indo-European –iHnos
and was cognate with the Ancient Greek -ινος (-inos) and the Proto-Germanic -īnaz. In use it was added to a noun base
(especially a proper noun) to form an adjective conveying the sense “of or
pertaining to” and could indicate a relationship of position, possession, or
origin. The modern English spelling dates from the 1450s. Pillow & pillowing are nouns & verbs, pillowed is a verb & adjectice and pillowless, pillowy,
pillowlike & pillowesque are adjectives; the noun plural is pillows.
Pillowslips (left) in the typical combination of (1) a pair in a matching set with sheets & (2) a pair in a set matching the duvet cover and a quartet of pillowshams (right).
Use of the pillowcase (washable enclosure drawn over a
pillow and known also as a “pillowslip”) probably long predates the first known
use of the term in 1745 but the emergence in the 1860s of the “pillowsham” is
likely indicative of the tastes of the rising middle-class. The pillowsham can be thought of as the
archetypal middle class accessory and while structurally similar to a pillow
case, in the jargon of interior decorators they are distinct. A pillowcase (or pillowslip) is a basic and
close-fitting cover which encases a pillow to protect it and provide a
comfortable surface for sleeping. Typically, pillowcases are made from soft,
washable fabrics like cotton, linen, or microfiber and usually feature an open
end with a flap; most are simple in design although there can be frills (though
not fringes which are restricted to cushions) and the fabric tends to be either
a solid color or matching the rest of the bed linen (ie as part of a set). A pillowsham is a decorative cover for a
pillow, often used on beds to add style rather than for everyday sleeping and
some shams placed over pillows for decorative effect are removed or placed at
the back when someone is sleeping. Pillowshams
are much associated with intricate designs (embroidery, ruffles, textured
fabric and worse) and usually have an opening at the back, often closed with
buttons, a zipper, or an overlapping flap to hide the closure. Sham (intended to deceive; false; act of
fakery) is thought probably to have been a dialectal form of shame (reproach
incurred or suffered; dishonour; ignominy; derision) from the Middle English
schame, from the Old English sċamu, from Proto-Germanic skamō. Thus, while interior decorators may have no
shame, they certainly have shams.
Pillowsham is the generic term for these items (whether
put over a pillow or cushion) and “cushionsham” is not part of the jargon; the
terms pillowcase, pillowslip & pillowsham appear variously also as separate
words and hyphenated. The pillowsham is
notorious for its use as a platform for kitsch and Adolf Hitler’s (1889-1945;
Führer (leader) and German head of government 1933-1945 & head of state
1934-1945) mountain home (the Berghof in the Obersalzberg of the Bavarian Alps
near Berchtesgaden, Bavaria) featured many, sent to him by his many female
admirers. At the aesthetic level, he of course didn't approve but appreciated the gesture although they seem never to have appeared in
photographs of the house’s principle rooms, banished to places like
the many surrounding buildings including the conservatory of Hans Wichenfeld (the chalet on which the was Berghof based).
Hitler's study in the Berghof with only matched cushions (left) and the conservatory (centre & right) with some pillowshams (embroidered with swastikas and the initials A.H.).
In the US, Life magazine in October 1939 (a few weeks
after the Nazis had invaded Poland) published a lush color feature focused on Hitler’s
paintings and the Berghof, the piece a curious mix of what even then were
called “human-interest stories”,
political commentary and artistic & architectural criticism. One heading :“Paintings by Adolf Hitler: The Statesman
Longs to Be an Artist and Helps Design His Mountain Home” illustrates
the flavor but this was a time before the most awful aspects of Nazi rule were
understood and Life’s editors were well-aware a significant proportion of its
readership were well disposed towards Hitler’s regime. Still, there was some wry humor in the text,
assessing the Berghof as possessing the qualities of a “…combination of modern and Bavarian chalet”
styles, something “awkward but interesting” while the interiors, “…designed and
decorated with Hitler’s active collaboration, are the comfortable kind of rooms
a man likes, furnished in simple, semi-modern, sometimes dramatic style. The
furnishings are in very good taste, fashioned of rich materials and fine woods
by the best craftsmen in the Reich.” Life seemed to be most taken with the main
stairway leading up from the ground floor which was judged “a striking bit of
modern architecture.” Whether
or not the editors were aware Hitler thought “modern architecture” suitable only for factories, warehouses and
such isn’t clear. They also had fun with
what hung on the walls, noting: “Like other Nazi leaders, Hitler likes pictures of nudes
and ruins” but anyway concluded that “in a more settled Germany, Adolf Hitler
might have done quite well as an interior decorator.” There was no comment on the Führer’s pillows
and cushions.
Whatever Life’s views on him as potential interior
decorator, decades later, his architect was prepared to note the dictator’s “beginner’s
mistake” in the building’s design.
In Erinnerungen (Memories or
Reminiscences) and published in English as Inside
the Third Reich (1969)), Albert Speer (1905–1981; Nazi court architect
1934-1942; Nazi minister of armaments and war production 1942-1945) recalled:
“A huge picture window in the living room, famous for its
size and the fact that it could be lowered, was Hitler s pride. It offered a view of the Untersberg,
Berchtesgaden, and Salzburg. However, Hitler had been inspired to situate his
garage underneath this window; when the wind was unfavorable, a strong smell of
gasoline penetrated into the living room.
All in all, this was a ground plan that would have been graded D by any professor
at an institute of technology. On the other hand, these very clumsinesses gave
the Berghof a strongly personal note. The place was still geared to the simple
activities of a former weekend cottage, merely expanded to vast proportions.”
He commented also on the pillowshams: “The furniture was bogus old- German peasant style and gave the house a comfortable petit-bourgeois look. A brass canary cage, a cactus, and a rubber plant intensified this impression. There were swastikas on knickknacks and pillows embroidered by admiring women, combined with, say, a rising sun or a vow of "eternal loyalty." Hitler commented to me with some embarrassment: "I know these are not beautiful things, but many of them are presents. I shouldn't like to part with them."
Life’s assessment of Hitler’s alternative career path as an interior decorator wasn’t the first time the observation had been made of a head of state & government. Woodrow Wilson (1856–1924; US president 1913-1921) had gone to the Paris Peace Conference (1919) determined above all to secure the agreement of all parties to the creation of the League of Nations (1920-1946) and this he pursued with a vigour not matched by other leaders present, all of who had a focus on the immediate needs of their own countries. Wilson, knowing political pressure on him was rising in the US and whose health had long been fragile, found the negotiations exhausting and doctors in recent years have concluded he likely suffered several small strokes while in Paris, a prelude to the major event later in the year which substantially would incapacity him for the remainder of his presidency.
Wilson’s personal physician (Cary Grayson (1878–1938) had accompanied him to the conference and in his diary noted one manifestation of what he described as “the strain” when, after hours of “intense discussion” on matters ranging from tiresome US senators to the treaty terms sought by the delegation from Japan to the arraignment of the former Kaiser Wilhelm II (1859–1941; German Emperor & King of Prussia 1888-1918), the president suddenly made an announcement.
“I don’t like the way the colors of this furniture fight each other. The greens and the reds are all mixed up here and there is no harmony. Here is a big purple, high-backed covered chair, which is like the Purple Cow, strayed off to itself, and it is placed where the light shines on it too brightly. If you will give me a lift, we will move this next to the wall where the light from the window will give it a subdued effect. And here are two chairs, one green and the other red. This will never do. Let’s put the greens all together and the reds together.” He went on to relate to his doctor how at the “Council of Four” (the leaders of France, Italy, the US & UK) meeting how “…each delegation walked like schoolchildren each day to its respective corner. Now, with the furniture regrouped, he said each country would sit according to its color.” Dr Grayson attributed the “aberrant behaviour” to “stress” and prescribed only going for a drive in an automobile, remarking to his patient: “I think if you ever want a job after leaving the presidency you would make a great success as an interior decorator.” Wilson concurred, answering: “I don’t mean to throw bouquets at myself but I do think that I have made a success of the arrangement of the furniture.”
Mrs Wilson fitted-out the bedroom on S Street, Kalorama almost to exactly replicate the one he’d used at the White House, down to the footrests, pillows and reading lights. Mrs Wilson commissioned the bed to be exactly the imposing dimensions (8 feet, 6 inches x 6 feet, 6 inches (2590 x 1981 mm)) of the White House’s Lincoln Bed; built in Grand Rapids, Michigan in a colonial revival style, it's made of mahogany. After his stroke in October, 1919, Wilson substantially was confined to his bed and it was in this bed he died on 3 February, 1924, aged 67. He was buried at the Washington National Cathedral, the only US president whose body lies in the national capital.
The "furniture incident" is now assessed in the light of the knowledge of the president’s previous neurological issues and analysts since have compared the behaviour to that of the anorexic who takes control of their diet because it is one thing they are able completely and immediately to control, in contrast to other aspects of their life which they have come to believe they are unable to influence and neurologists who have written on the subject do seem to agree a stroke would likely have induced the episode. In October 1919, shortly after returning to the US, Wilson suffered a major stroke, us stroke, leaving him paralyzed on his left side, and with only partial vision in the right eye. Despite this, he continued in office until his term expired in 1921 though he was physically isolated and few were able to see him except his wife and doctor, a situation not greatly different from the situation in 1953 when Winston Churchill’s (1875-1965; UK prime-minister 1940-1945 & 1951-1955) son-in-law for months acted as something of a prime-ministerial proxy in the aftermath of Churchill’s massive stroke. The ad-hoc apparatus constructed by Mrs Wilson and Dr Grayson had led some claim she was, in effect, the nation’s “first female president” and while that’s drawing a long bow, it was something discussed in 2024 when Joe Biden’s (b 1942; US president 2021-2025) descent into senility was a topic of interest. The roles played by of Dr Grayson, Lord Moran (Charles Wilson, 1882-1977, personal physician to prime minister Winston Churchill) and Ross McIntire (1889–1959; personal physician to Franklin Delano Roosevelt (FDR, 1882–1945, US president 1933-1945)) remain controversial and reflect the sometimes conflicting duality of responsibility a physician has (1) to their patient and (2) their patient’s position as head of government.
“Pillow dictionary” was a synonym of “sleeping dictionary”
(a sexual partner who also serves as a native informant or language teacher for
an outsider). It was thus something of a
euphemism for a tutor in a foreign language who, as is implied, gives “tuition
in bed”; the term said (as might be expected) to be used more commonly used by
men of women than vice versa. Those who
practice hypnopaedic techniques use a different kind of dictionary. Hypnopedia (or hypnopædia) was a form of “sleep-learning
(or sleep-teaching) and was an attempt to convey information to a sleeping
person, typically by playing a sound recording to them while they sleep. Because the role of sleep in memory
consolidation had come to be understood, the hypothesis of hypnopedia was not
unreasonable but it has been wholly discredited.
The “pillow fight” (a form of domestic mock-combat fought
using pillows as weapons) is presumably a most ancient practice but the first
known reference is from 1837. Pillows
being much associated with beds, in idiomatic use, the pillow naturally
features in phrases associated with sex.
The slang “pillow talk” (relaxed, intimate conversation between a couple
in bed) is doubtlessly more ancient still but the term may not have been used
prior to 1939 and it now carries the implication of some indiscrete disclosure,
often in the context of politics or espionage).
A “pillow word” was a calque of the Japanese 枕詞 (makurakotoba) and described the use in Waka (和歌) (Japanese poem) of a poetic
device in which a certain introductory phrase is commonly used to allude to
something else.
A “pillow queen” was a woman concerned only with her own gratification
during sex and interestingly, the equivalent creature among lesbians was
apparently more often a “pillow princess”, both classified as “takers” rather
than “givers”, the synonyms in the vernacular including “stone”, “rock”,
“slate”, “cold fish”, “dead fish” and “starfish”. The more evocative phrase “pillow-biter”
seems first to have entered general use after it was used by Norman Scott (b
1940) when giving evidence in the 1979 trial of Jeremy Thorpe (1929–2014;
leader of the UK Liberal Party 1967-1976), the witness describing the way he
handled his unwilling participation as the alleged victim of Mr Thorpe
committing upon him what in some jurisdictions used to be called “the detestable and abominable vice of buggery”: “I just bit the pillow, I tried not to scream
because I was frightened of waking Mrs Thorpe.” A pillow-biter is thus (in certain circles of
the LGBTQQIAAOP communities) a “gay man who engages in passive anal sex”; a
“bottom”, as opposed to Mr Thorpe who allegedly was a “top”.
Pillowbook describes a journal-type book kept to record sexual dreams and escapades, most intended only for the eyes of the writer. It was a specific form of a quite commonplace book which appears to have originated in Japan as a compilation of notes & jottings, those periodic or occasional writings that might go into an extended diary. The most famous example (and among the earliest extant) was the The Pillow Book (枕草子) (Makura no Sōshi) (Notes of the Pillow), a volume of observations and musings recorded by Sei Shōnagon (清少納言), circa 966–circa 1020, a lady of the court to Fujiwara no Teishi (藤原 定子) 977–1001 (known also as Sadako), an empress consort of the Japanese Emperor Ichijō (一条天皇) (Ichijō-tennō), 980–1011; 66th emperor of Japan, 986-1011; the last entries in the book were made in the year 1002. According to Japanese legend, the origin of the pillow book lies in a bundle of unused notebooks being brought to the empress who began musing on what should be done with them. The lady-in-waiting suggested she should have them and make them into a pillow (which meant putting them into the drawers of “a wooden pillow” (a part of the Japanese sleeping apparatus). Subsequently, she filled the notebooks with random facts, lists and discursive jottings and from this tradition came the traditional Japanese genre zuihitsu (随筆) (occasional writings) which exists still, describing a form of literature consisting of loosely connected personal essays and fragmentary ideas typically influenced by the author's surroundings and daily interactions with them.
“Loose pillow” upholstery had been in furniture for a
while, implemented usually as detachable cushions designed to be removed for
cleaning but it was Oldsmobile which first used the concept for
automobiles. Since the mid 1960s
“luxury” versions (as opposed to mere “deluxe” editions which often included
just a bundle of options anyway available on a “standard” car at a discount
compared with ordering them individually) had begun to appear and this would
evolve into what came to be called “the
great Brougham era”. That term seems
to have been invented by Curbside Classic, a curated website which is a
gallimaufry of interesting content, built around the theme of once-familiar and
often everyday vehicles which are now a rare sight until discovered by Curbside
Classic’s contributors (who self-style as "curbivores"), parked next
to some curb. These are the often the
machines neglected by automotive historians and collectors who prefer things
which are fast, lovely or rare.
According to Curbside Classic, the “great brougham era” began in 1965
with the release of the LTD option for the mass-market Ford Galaxie and that
approach was nothing new because even the Galaxie name had in 1959 been coined
for a "luxury" version of the Fairlane 500, a trick the US industry
had been using for some time.
Once, Detroit’s most elaborate interiors had been
restricted to the top-of the range models (Cadillac, Lincoln & Imperial)
but when Oldsmobile in introduced the “Regency” option for their Ninety-Eight
range, it was quite a jump in middle-class opulence and it must have been galling
for Cadillac: Oldsmobile, two notches down the GM pecking list from Cadillac
had in one stroke out-done Cadillac’s interiors with not just tufted velour
upholstery but the novelty also of the welcoming loose pillow style. Cadillac had nothing like it but scrambled to
respond, offering in 1973 the d'Elegance package, a US$750 option which
included pillow-style velour seating as well as a more plush carpeting and
bundled a few of the otherwise optional features.
However, all the d'Elegance bling did was match what
others were doing and there was still the corporate memory of the Cadillac
mystique, a hankering for the time when Cadillac had been the “standard of the
world”, a reputation built in the 1930s on basic engineering such as almost
unique sixteen cylinder engines and maintained a generation later with cars
such as the Eldorado Brougham, times when the name stood for something truly
impressive. By 1974 the world had
changed and such extravagances were no longer possible but what could still be
done was to add more gingerbread and for 1974, Cadillac announced the Talisman
package. Much more expensive than the
d'Elegance and consequently more exclusive, the Talisman included an extended
centre console, the front section housing an illumined writing tablet, the rear
a storage compartment. This had been
done before but never with this opulence although it had the effect of reducing
the huge car, a size which historically been a six-seater, into something
strictly for four. The interior was
available in four colors in "Medici" crushed velour at US$1800 or in
two shades in leather at US$2450 at a time when the Chevrolet Vega, GM’s
entry-level automobile of the era cost US$2087.
The Talisman additionally gained matching deep-pile interior carpeting
and floor-mats, a fully padded elk grain vinyl roof, exterior badge
identifications, a stand-up, full-color wreath and crest hood ornament and
unique wheel-covers. For those who
needed more, for an additional US$85, a matching pillow and robe was available
although the robe unfortunately wasn't cut in leather. Optioned with the leather package, a 1974
Cadillac Talisman cost about US$13,200, matching what the company charged for
the even bigger Fleetwood 75 limousines. The additional gingerbread wasn’t all that
expensive to produce; what Cadillac was selling was exclusivity and the market
responded, 1898 Talismans coming off the production line that year, all sold at
a most impressive profit. Most prized
today are the relative handful trimmed in leather, the urban legend being all
were in medium saddle with none in the dark blue which was on the option
list. If any were sold with the blue
leather, none appear now to exist and Cadillac’s records don’t record the
breakdown.
1974 Imperial LeBaron four-door hardtop (left) in chestnut tufted leather though not actually “fine Corinthian leather” which was (mostly) exclusive to the Cordoba (1975-1983) until late 1975 when not only did the Imperial's brochures mention "genuine Corinthian leather (available at extra cost)" but for the first time since 1954 the range was referred to as the "Chrysler Imperial", a harbinger the brand was about to be retired. Imperial's advertising copy noted of the brochure photograph above: “...while the passenger restraint system with starter interlock is not shown, it is standard on all Imperials.”; the marketing types didn't like seat-belts messing up their photos. While all of the big three (GM, Ford & Chrysler) had tufted interiors in some lines, it was Chrysler which displayed the most commitment to the motif.
Fashions change and the 1997 Buick Park Avenue (right) was the last of the "pillowed cars". The loose pillow style certainly caught on although the name was a little misleading because the pillows were loose only in the sense of moving a little to accommodate the frames sitting on them and were not removable. In the showroom they looked good and attracted many buyers but were noted also for the propensity to trap crumbs, small coins and the other detritus of life in the many folds, tufts and crevasses. The fad lasted for more than a generation and Detroit’s last fling of the pillow was the 1997 Buick Park Avenue.
Built-in foam pillows: 1972 Imperial LeBaron four-door hardtop (left) and 1977 Chrysler New Yorker Brougham four-door hardtop (right).
Chrysler
corporation’s implementation of the “loose pillow look” was the industry’s most
sumptuous and on the more expensive in the range, the look extended even to “built-in foam
pillows” affixed to the C-pillars, a luxury for dozing customers and
these were the sort of cars which were famous for “floating” effortlessly down
freeways so probably it wasn’t uncommon for folk in the back to be lulled into
sleep; the huge machines of the 1970s were nicknamed “land yachts” with good reason.
The pillows also proved to be dual-purpose. Between 1969-1973, the Imperial’s rear
map-reading lamps (maps used to be printed on paper) were located next to the
rear windscreen and while they worked as intended, they had a sort of “stuck-on”
look which didn’t suit the ambiance of the interior. When illuminated, they also glowed in the
driver’s rear-view mirror and because the stylists were anyway intending to better
integrate the units, it was decided to do so in such a way that would make the
light unobtrusive for the driver, removing a potential distraction. The new design made it debut with the 1974
range.
Chrysler made many mistakes during the 1970s but the basic engineering was usually sound and the new map-reading lamps were indicative of the approach. Not only did the new lamps offer “increased luminosity” but the glow was now “warmer and softer” which sounds like advertising “puffery” but the terms are an accepted part of the jargon of light and the wider aperture of the lens meant what was cast was in a broader beam, better suited to maps or anything else being read. The shape of the built-in foam pillows was used also to ensure the light couldn’t distract the driver, the engineers devoting some energy to working out just how much padding should be used to achieve this, while not detracting from the lamp’s functionality. On the four-door models, there was also on each C-Pillar a “lavaliere strap”.
In the era, Chrysler's Australian outpost did cut a few corners when implementing the “pillowed look”, economies achieved by (1) using fewer buttons for the tufting of the fabric or optional leather and (2) attaching the tufted “feature sections” directly to the cushion & squab rather than creating an emulated “pillowed” look (in which a separate piece appears to sit atop the structure). Even by the time of the release of the CL range (1976-1978) the feeling was the writing was on the wall for the once popular Australian Valiant (1962-1981) and the top-of-the-line Regal SE was created in the Q&D (quick & dirty) way by including all the lesser Regal’s options (including the 318 cubic inch (5.2 litre) V8) as standard equipment; only the tufted upholstery and optional leather was unique to the model. Sales were modest but there remained a devoted following for the Valiant which was durable enough to endure the sometimes harsh environment and it was highly regarded for its towing capabilities, even when fitted with the lusty six cylinder engines which were the best produced by the local industry. Built on the US A-body platform, when production ended in 1981 it had lasted a half-decade longer than the Plymouth and Dodge versions sold in the home market and only in Mexico would use continue until 1988.& frozen water), were quixotic.
White Rabbit © Copperpenny Music, Mole Music Co
White Rabbit was a song written by Grace Slick (b 1939) and released on the album Surrealistic Pillow (1967) by Jefferson Airplane, the lyrics inspired by Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and the sequel Through the Looking-Glass (1871). It was the psychedelic era, a time when drug references were common in popular music and in the case of White Rabbit it may have been appropriate if the speculation the books been written while the author was under the influence of Laudanum (a then widely-available and popular opiate-infused drug) is true (there's no evidence beyond the circumstantial). Given the imagery in the text, it’s not difficult to believe he may have been on something and among authors and poets it was a common resort to stimulate the imagination, inspiring at least some of one of the most beloved fragments of English verse, Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s (1772-1834) Kubla Khan (1797) which ends abruptly at 54 lines. According to Coleridge, he was unable to recall the rest of the 300-odd which had come to him in an opium-laced dream (the original publication was sub-titled “A Vision in a Dream”) because he was interrupted by “a person on business from Porlock” (a nearby Somerset village). Grace Slick would have sympathized with an artist being intruded on by vile commerce.
White Rabbit lyrics:
