Trope

Trope (pronounced trohp)

(1) In art and literature, any literary or rhetorical device, as metaphor, metonymy, synecdoche, and irony, that consists in the use of words in other than their literal sense and which tends to become a motif.

(2) In rhetoric, a figure of speech in which words or phrases are used with a non-literal or figurative meaning, such as a metaphor.

(3) In geometry, a tangent space meeting a quartic surface in a conic or the reciprocal of a node on a surface (archaic).

(4) In music, a short cadence at the end of the melody in some early music; a pair of complementary hexachords in twelve-tone technique.

(5) In the rituals of Judaism, a chanting (cantillation) pattern, or one of the marks that represents it.

(6) In medieval Christianity (and preserved in the rituals of certain factions in Roman Catholicism), either a phrase or verse added to the Mass when sung by a choir or a phrase, sentence, or verse formerly interpolated in a liturgical text to amplify or embellish.

(7) In Athenian philosophy, any of the ten arguments used in scepticism to refute dogmatism.

(8) In Santayanian philosophy, the principle of organization according to which matter moves to form an object during the various stages of its existence.

(9) In metaphysics, a particular instance of a property, as contrasted with a universal.

1525–1535: From the Latin tropus (a figure of speech (in rhetoric)) from the Ancient Greek τρόπος (trópos) (a turn, direction, course, way; manner, fashion; a mode in music; a mode or mood in logic (in rhetoric, "a turn or figure of speech)) and related to τροπή (tropḗ) (solstice; trope; turn) and τρέπειν (trépein) (to turn).  Root was the primitive Indo-European trep (to turn), related also to the Sanskrit trapate (is ashamed, confused, literally "turns away in shame") which Latin picked up trepit (he turns), the Latin adoption in the figurative.  The meaning is now understood as something more diffuse but technically, in rhetoric, a trope was "a figure of speech in which a word or phrase is used in a sense other than the usual definition".  In English, the word is found often in combined form (such as heliotrope) and occurs also in concrete nouns that correspond to abstract nouns ending in -tropy or -tropism.  Trope is a noun & verb, troper, tropist, tropology & tropism are nouns and tropey is an adjective; the noun plural is tropes.

Use of the noun “tropism” is now generalized but in literary history it’s used in the sense of the “technique” (really more a concept) attributed to the Russian-born French-Jewish novelist and lawyer Nathalie Sarraute (1900-1999).  An exercise in abstract thought, madame Sarraute’s approach was to refer to mental and imaginative life as perceived by her and, thus perceived, it comprised (literally) millions of tiny little responses to innumerable stimuli, the classic example being her experimental narrative Tropismes (begun in 1932 but not published until 1939).  In that, with a most unconventional use of language, she “translated” her “vision of reality” into a construct of a “different reality”, the book consisting of 24 short vignettes, capturing brief scenes, described in intricate detail; it was compared by one modern critic to “a MRI (Magnetic Resonance Imaging) machine able to scan what the brain is doing to construct perceptions and render it all sequentially in text.”  The work came to be regarded as proto nouveau roman (“new novel”, an originally French literary movement that emerged in the mid-1950s); it was described by Jean-Paul Sartre (1905–1980) as un chef-d'œuvre (a masterpiece) and the Paris-based newapaper Le Monde included it in their “100 Books of the Century”.  The title of Tropismes was a botanical reference, tropisms being stimuli to plant growth and this idea madame Sarraute applied to human thought processes, tropisms imagined as “interior movements that precede and prepare our words and actions, at the limits of our consciousness.”

Tropisms (first edition of the English language edition (1963)).

In reading Tropisms, some mental gymnastics are demanded because among the mysteries of the abstract and imaginary are interspersed the real and living; with often no clear break between where one ends and the other starts, it can be helpful to re-read the odd passage.  Even in 1939 when the French language edition first was published, that “modernist” approach hardly was new but it wasn't yet part of mainstream literature.  That “slurring between” what's “real” and what's not adds to the experience and, within the internal logic of the author's premise, probably is essential but the traditionalists of the pre-Nouveau Roman world likely have dismissed the “blurring” as a technical flaw.  After the “very modern” novelist Sir Martin Amis (1949–2023) told one interviewer people “should read my books twice” fully to understand them, his father (Sir Kingsley Amis (1922–1995)), possibly with a glance at the Booker on his shelf, observed: “Well that means the little shit has failed doesn't it?”

One can see why it seduced Sartre but the idea of the Nouveau Roman becoming fashionable didn’t at the time appeal to most of the “reading for pleasure” segment of the market (ie those who paid for and read novels rather than “deconstructing” them in seminar rooms).  For a mainstream readership, the conventions of the nineteenth century novel (beginning, middle, end; plots; characters, right & wrong etc) that seemed dreary to literary theorists were the essence of fiction and to replace these with “cold, meticulous descriptions of external objects” seemed hardly “literature”; for “that sort of thing”, there were repair manuals and political science tracts.  Read however on its own terms and not as an “exemplar of a genre”, Tropismes can be compelling in the way a half-century before, those prepared to spend time looking from different angles at the work of the early cubists must have found fascinating new insights.

Nu descendant un escalier n° 2 (Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 2), oil on canvas by Marcel Duchamp (1887–1968), Philadelphia Museum of Art,  Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.  The Spanish illustrate the meaning of “enigmatic” with the example “of meeting a man on the stairs and being unable to tell if he's going-up or coming down”.  One could describe Tropisms as: “an enigmatic work”.   

Just as the cubists could depict the human form simultaneously in the way the brain might separately process the sight viewed in different aspects, what Nathalie Sarraute did was explore spaces variously unremarkably mundane or threateningly claustrophobic, populated with dream-like figures, her idea being of the mind working in the almost animalistic, pre-verbal, “instinctual movements” she thought arose from human unconscious.  These she said, “constitute the secret source of our existence” and the old existentialist Sartre concurred, saying: “it is existence itself”.  Even Winston Churchill (1875-1965; UK prime-minister 1940-1945 & 1951-1955), fond of the novels of Anthony Trollope (1815-1882) and unlikely to have found much of worth in nouveau roman, in a way, thought like Sarraute and Sartre.  In 1949, after a minor stroke, his personal physician (Lord Moran (Charles Wilson), 1882-1977; President of the RCP (Royal College of Physicians) 1941-1949), seeking to reassure his patient the consequences were minor, explained: “…there was no paralysis; it had only cut off the nutrition of certain central cells concerned with sensation”, adding, in the clinician’s reductionist way: “Sensation doesn’t matter.”  Churchill at once interrupted: “Life is sensation; sensation is life.”

Visitatio Sepulchri Double Bass Sheet Music by Sir James MacMillan (b 1959).

In modern use, “trope” continues to be used to denote any rhetorical or figurative device but the history was varied, one special use occurring during the Middle Ages when it came to be applied to a verbal amplification of the liturgical text used Church rituals.  Regionally, there were likely a few (now lost) but the best–documented of such interpolations was the Quem quaeritis trope preceding Easter Sunday's Introit.  The Latin phrase Quem quaeritis (Whom do you seek?) was used as the opening line (of four) in the Easter liturgical dialogue introduced during the tenth century and which came to be the basic structural element in what became a vast body of medieval liturgical drama (known also as isitatio sepulchri (Visit to the tomb)).  From this perhaps unpromising ecclesiastical origin came the rebirth of European theatre as it developed into a dramatized form (detached from the sacred Liturgy); what was genuinely a new genre became a trope of great significance in the evolution of European drama.  The Easter Introit (a short musical piece or chant sung at the start of an Easter service) was in a sense “ready-made” for adaptation and proved in the hands of many authors ideal for elaboration into the dialogues that were the basis of an entire school of liturgical drama.  Although never long pieces, so influential was their form the English literary critic and Shakespearean scholar Sir Edmund Kerchever “E.K.” Chambers (1866–1954) devoted many pages to tracing their lineage in his two volume The Mediaeval Stage (1903), a work long overshadowed by his four-volume The Elizabethan Stage (1923) but which benefited from the latter-day revival of interest in and re-assessment of the period dubbed the “Late Middle Ages”.

DVD covers: (The Parent Trap (1998), Freaky Friday (2003) and I Know Who Killed Me (2007).  

When younger, Lindsay Lohan's signature trope was playing dual roles (The Parent Trap, Freaky Friday and I Know Who Killed Me while during her “troubled Hollywood starlet” phase” (2007-2012) she became emblematic of the “downward spiral” trope.  In 2022, she appeared in Falling for Christmas, a Netflix take on the "Christmas movie trope".  Although the scripts for tropes have long followed an algorithm, the studios are said now to be using a predictive form of AI (artificial intelligence) to hone the generation of whatever should have the most audience appeal (an approach with a history in popular music pre-dating AI).  The flesh & blood screen-writers (most of whom have for decades driven cars and made their toast using products manufactured in plants where machines (industrial robots) substantially have displaced the human labor content) are are unlikely ultimately to succeed in keeping AI out of their profession; in the medium term, their future may lie in the creation of the quirky and bizarre (in the pop-culture ecosystem, that's a niche to inhabit until AI also perfects those tropes and at marginal cost).  Indeed, what's predictable is the emergence of the "obviously not AI generated" trope although, presumably, it's a matter of time until machines master also that genre.  For the formulaic stuff (most commercial screen product), the studios are likely to find the AI path "better, cheaper, faster" and the history of US industrial relations suggests these imperatives will prove irresistible.  It's doubtful whether, over the last 40-odd years, many screen-writers gave much thought to the blue-collar workers displaced by robots from assembly lines; it's likely they were just delighted by cheap toasters and better-built cars.  Whether the quality of what ends up on screen will much be improved by AI remains to be seen but the studios will benefit from lower production costs while hoping those rendered redundant will find ways to generate sufficient disposable income to be able to pay to watch what the machines are making.       

Of the Stage 5 Clinger trope, most sources cite the origin as the movie Wedding Crashers (2005) although there are claims it merely popularized the use; without earlier citations however, the source must be assumed to be the film.  As a technical point, a stage one clinger isn’t initially labelled as such, the term applied retrospectively after syndrome is diagnosed.  If men are smart or lucky, they’ll by stage two realize what is happening but some men are so stupid things don't "click" until stage four.  While in movie there was no discussion of stages other than “5”, by implication that was most extreme and memes soon fleshed out 1-4.  Although unverified, the following cautionary tale reputedly was written by Bill Clinton:

SC1, the Stage 1 Clinger: She seems fine

First date went well, she was attentive, interested, and even sometimes got the drinks.  Best of all, she made breakfast!.  Afterwards, the text messages were fun and flirtatious.

SC2, the Stage 2 Clinger: Hunter and game

The text messages become frequent and your first impression was of course positive but, in retrospect, that was the first first hint of the lure / engage / trap strategy of the lone hunter, the point of a lure being to tempt prey and "lure them into a false sense of security".  Lures are of course used because they work and, before long, you'll be exchanging texts with her, most of which will demand little more than agreeing with her about innocuous topics like the weather or the day's traffic.  She has engaged her prey.  When the conversational dynamic has achieved the required level of "naturalness", she’ll suggest a second date and will extract a commitment to a specific time / date / place.  That will be soon.  At this point, an escape still is simple but appears not necessary because a second date seems hardly a threat.

"I've got a stage five clinger", Wedding Crashers (2005).         

SC3, the Stage 3 Clinger: Tactical Manoeuvres

The second day was maybe something you'd not wish to repeat because there was a creepiness in the way she knew so much about your life.  Of course, in the age of social media, such "biodata mining" is hardly a challenge but her knowledge seemed so comprehensive as to suggest the skills of a stalker.  The most dopey men at this point are flattered because they enjoy a date in which about the only topic of conversation was themselves but the more socially sophisticated should at this point sense danger.  The mistake is to continue the engagement by agreeing to a third date, even if thought a clever ploy by not confirming a time; at this point, delusions remain comforting.  Within hours, text messages become frequent to the point of nuisance; you check Facebook and find she's friended everybody one knows while on Instagram she's posted positive comments on your posts.  Needing time to think, you ignore the texting and eventually it goes quiet… for about an hour.  Then she phones.  By being terse to the point of brutish, it can now be ended but many men allow themselves to be trapped into a third date, usually with the illusion they'll use the event to end things.  The S3C stage frequently is the point of no return and exactly when you should have acquainted yourself with the tale of Julius Caesar (100-44 BC; Roman general and dictator of Rome 49-44 BC) crossing the Rubicon and pondered whether to cast the di or cut your losses and run.      

SC4, the Stage 4 Clinger: The circling vulture

By stage four, clinging has slurred effortlessly into stalking and S4C is likely to send your mother flowers on her birthday and attempts at avoidance will prompt texting and calling from other phones.  SC4s who drive are even more of a threat because, wherever you go, she can follow; you'll "run into her" at the most improbable places and usually she’ll suggest taking advantage of the coincidence by going to lunch, dinner or whatever else might be close.  No matter how studiously you might watch the rear-view mirror, she’ll hunt you down and find you.

S5C, the Stage 5 Clinger: Thrill of the kill

A "cheater's" Volvo C30 (2006-2013).  Over dark blue, a stark white "CHEATER" probably is a better contrast the the traditionally preferred red or lurid fuchsia.

The "Cheater Car" phenomenon is due often to wanton philandering but also in some instances because S5C-APCs seek to "dissuade the competition"; Hell hath no fury like a S5C-APC.  In the days of solid machines like the 140/160 (1966-1975) and 240/260 series (1974-1993) series cars, it was once accepted, as a sociological reality, no Volvo ever would suffer the fate but clearly, both Volvos and their ownership profile have changed.  While obviously not desirable, some vehicles have suffered more.

At this point, her life is scheduled around you, even to the point where she may now work in the same building; she expects to have lunch with you every day and a drink after work whenever possible.  Should you try to avoid these meetings, emotional meltdowns (sometimes in public) ensue, the only way to avoid a scene being to agree.  Your friends will start asking you out as a couple and tell one how lucky you are to have her because "she’s wonderful"; the most helpful will hint "she's too good for you" and "you won't do any better".  They know that because they've invited her to their dinner parties where she talks about your plans together.  The S5C can also be APC ("actual psycho-chick", the two not synonymous but there’s frequent overlap).  Pursuing another relationship (even in desperation a fake one) as in an attempt to dissuade her brings its own problems; the S5C-APC will spray-paint CHEATER on their car (usually in some reddish hue but black or white also are used, the required contrast depending on the car's color; these are APC conventions of use).  At this point, faking your own death begins to seem a good tactic.

Cling on and no matter what, never let go: Victorious S5C crooked Hillary Clinton (b 1947; US secretary of state 2009-2013) and Bill Clinton (b 1946; POTUS 1993-2001) under gloomy skies for the formal dedication of the William J Clinton Presidential Center, Little Rock, Arkansas, November 2004.  

The significance of dividing the path of the clinger into stages is it’s vital to extricate yourself from their clutches at the earliest stage possible; it needs to be remembered progression can be rapid, some clingers so adept at the art they're able to skip one or even two stages.  The longer delayed the excision, the harder it becomes and if allowed to reach the later stages, one may be stuck with her forever, the hunter has been captured by the game and for that, you can’t blame her: You're trapped and it's all your fault; you have only yourself to blame.

Fluff

Fluff (pronounced fluhf)

(1) Light, downy particles, as of cotton.

(2) A soft, light, downy mass.

(3) In slang, a cloth diaper (nappy).

(4) In slang (New England region in the US), marshmallow crème, thus the local delicacy the “fluffernutter” (a sandwich made with peanut butter and marshmallow fluff), once a favorite of children’s school lunches but now likely to attract “mom shaming” on Instagram.

(5) In LGBTQQIAAOP slang, the passive partner in a lesbian relationship, known also as a “ruffle” (unfortunately the dominant partner is not known as a “flounce” which seems a missed linguistic opportunity).

(6) In slang, (Australia, New Zealand, Canada), a fart.

(7) In the slang of pop-culture fandom, fan fiction (in whole or in part) is “sweet and feel-good” in tone, often involving romance.

(8) In the slang (UK) of the role-playing game community, a form of role-playing that is inconsequential and not related to the plot; it's used sometimes in the context of (but not limited to)  “fulling in time”.

(9) In UK slang, short change deliberately given by a railway clerk (keeping the money for themselves), an clipping of “deliberate fluff” (obsolete).

(10) Figuratively, something of no consequence; insubstantial. 

(11) Figuratively (of literature, political argument, philosophy etc), a slight work or one of dubious artistic or intellectual value; unscholarly (used also as a polite euphemism for BS (bullshit), being less explicit than “cattle feces” (faeces in non-US English)).

(12) An error (flub, lapse, blooper, blunder, boo-boo, defect, error, fault, faux pas, gaffe, lapse, mistake, slip, stumble, brain-fart, brain-explosion), especially an actor's memory lapse in the delivery of lines (often in the form “fluffed their lines”).

(13) A young woman (often as “a bit of fluff”), the implication being of her providing a brief, amusing diversion rather than one sought for a permanent relationship).

(14) To make into fluff; shake or puff out (feathers, hair etc) into a fluffy mass (often followed by up).

(15) To make a mistake.

(16) To become fluffy; move, float, or settle down like fluff.

(17) To embellish (often as “fluffed up”).

1780s: From the earlier (or perhaps contemporary) floow (woolly substance, down, nap, lint (which appeared also as flough, flue & flew)), possibly from the West Flemish vluwe (an imitative modification of floow), of uncertain origin but which may be from the French velu (hairy, furry), from the Latin villūtus (having shaggy hair), from villus (shaggy hair, tuft of hair) and may be compared with the Old English flōh (that which is flown off, fragment, piece), linked to the later “flaw”.  Although undocumented, etymologists generally conclude the word may have been a blend of flue +‎ puff.  “Fluffy stuff” is a common phenomenon in the natural world and descriptors existed in many European languages including the possibly onomatopoeic Middle Dutch vloe, the dialectal English floose, flooze & fleeze (particles of wool or cotton; fluff; loose threads or fibres), the Danish fnug (down, fluff) and the Swedish fnugg (speck, flake).  Traces of the sound of the word “fluff” are found in other languages including the Japanese フワフワ (fuwafuwa) (lightly, softly), the Hungarian puha (soft, fluffy), the Polish puchaty (soft, fluffy) and the Romanian puf (down; peachfuzz; soft hair of some animals; powderpuff).  Fluff & fluffing are nouns & verbs, fluffed is a verb, fluffiness & fluffer are nouns, fluffless & flufflike are adjectives, fluffy is an adjective (and non-standard) noun and fluffily is an adverb; the noun plural is fluffs.

Fluffied: Lindsay Lohan in bikini embellished with faux fur, photo-shoot for the fifth anniversary of ODDA magazine, April 2017.

In idiomatic use there’s “fluff around” of “fluff about” (ineffectually to act or waste time”, “fluff off” (an affectionate form of “fuck off”), “fluff-ball” or “ball of fluff” (a fluffy kitten or puppy with the quality of “cuteness”), “bum fluff” or “belly-button fluff” (small particles the fabric of clothing which accumulates in body crevices), “fluffhead” (someone vague or confused (synonymous with “airhead”), “fluff up” (a polite version of “fuck up”).  The term “fluffy bunny” isn’t from lagomorphology (the scientific study of rabbits (small mammals in the family Leporidae)) although it may be assumed the term is used in pet shops.  Fluffy bunny (also as “fluff bunny” & “fluffbunny”) was an adaptable noun used to mean: (1) a synonym of chubby bunny (a competitive eating game in which contestants had to pronounce words or phrases (such as “Irish wristwatch”) while holding increasing numbers of marshmallows is their mouth), (2) in the strange world of quantum mechanics, quantum entanglement, which in theory can occur but may or may not happen because of "other physics" and (3) a derogatory descriptor of a casual, naive practitioner of Wicca (or other neo-pagan religions), especially one deemed to have only a superficial understanding.  The slang “bit of fluff” (young woman with whom one is enjoying or planning a brief affair) was first recorded in 1903 while the use to describe the marshmallow confection seems to date from at least 1920, noted in Massachusetts.  The verb in the sense of “to shake into a soft mass” was in use by 1875 (directly from the noun) while the meaning “make a mistake” dates from 1884 as theatre slang referring to actors who had forgotten or weongly spoken (fluffed) their lines.  The adjective fluffy (containing or resembling fluff) came into use in the 1820s.

“Fluff jobs” were those deemed of dubious worth or existing only to fulfil some government-imposed mandate, one marker of which was said to be the length of the job title (eg deputy regional assistant coordinator of diversity and inclusion).  The concept was satirised by Douglas Adams (1952–2001) in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (1979-1992), the profession of “telephone sanitizer” being a classic “Fluff job”.  The the joke was that having exiled the fluffy (telephone sanitizers, advertising account executives, management consultants and such) the ancient civilization of the planet Golgafrincham being driven to extinction by the spread of a lethal pathogen through the vector of uncleaned telephone handsets.  The exiled “fluffies” ended up on Planet Earth where they became the ancestors of modern humans, explaining the proliferation of “fluff jobs” now so obvious.  

A Bit of Fluff (1963) by Kimberly Kemp.

Kimberly Kemp was a pseudonym adopted by Gilbert Fox (1917-2004) for his “lesbian pulp novels”, dozens of which were published during the 1960s & 1970s.  His other lesbian fiction (in a slightly different) vein appeared under names including Dallas Mayo and Violet Loring while for his “heterosexual erotica” he used Peter Willow and Paul Russo.  Unfortunately, the cover-art for his titles is unattributed and the publishers may have used many graphic artists while maintaining the thematic consistency (which was something like “Mills & Boon undressed”).  Mr Fox led a varied and interesting life and A Bit of Fluff (1963) was illustrative of the lesbionic component of his oeuvre, other titles including: Intimate Nurse; A World All Their Own; The Houseguest; My Secret Lesbian Life, Vol I; My Secret Lesbian Life, Vol II; Lesbian Obsession; Perfume and Pain; Private party; Different; The Last Resort; Coming Out Party; Pleasant Company; Operation: Sex; A Cunning Among Lesbians; Play With Me; Illicit Interlude; Two Women; The houseguest; Love like a Shadow; A labor of love; Party Time; Secret Cravings; Draw the Blinds; Two of a Kind, Virgin Wanted; Perfumed/Pampered.

Middlemarch by George Eliot, first edition, 1871 (vol I) & 1872 (Vol II, III & IIII).  Appearing originally in eight paper-bound instalments (1871-1872), the hardback editions (in four volumes) were published in parallel, something not at the time the industry's universal practice.

Mr Fox opted to use a feminine pen-name for his lesbian erotica to lend a touch of authenticity, suggesting what would now be called “lived experience” rather than the rather formulaic approach to the topic taken by male authors who tended often to indulge their own fantasies; definitely he was interested in attracting a female readership and reverse-gender pseudonyms have a history, the most famous probably George Eliot (pen name of Mary Ann Evans (1819–1880)).  Ms Evans adopted a masculine pen-name not because it wasn’t possible for women novelists to find publishers but because “women’s fiction” was at the time regarded as a “fluffy, trivial amusements” while she wanted to focus on the more challenging themes men were exploring in the “realism” genre then fashionable in European literature.  It’s good she did because, although dated, works like Romola (1862–1863) and Middlemarch (1871–1872) are rewarding and even valuable source documents for social historians.

Catch 22 (1961) by Joseph Heller: Polymesmeric but not fluffy.

Literary editors use the phrase “brushing the dog” to describe the process of “removing the fluff” from a manuscript, hopefully leaving only nice, glossy text.  Literary historians sometimes compare originals with the edited versions that appeared in print and although there’s sometimes come regret for some of what was lost, generally the view seem to be that editors produce a better book.  Once who suggested an editor should have used a stiffer brush was the old curmudgeon Norman Mailer (1923–2007) who, writing of Joseph Heller’s (1923-1999) Catch-22 (1961), joked that a reader wouldn’t notice were “100 pages pulled from the middle”, adding “not even the author could be certain they were gone.”  The non-lineal structure of Catch 22 certainly demanded some mental gymnastics from readers (one publisher coined “polymesmeric” for the blurb) and, pace Norman Mailer but it might have been more accurate to suggest the chapter order could have been re-arranged without compromising the literary value.  Even if those same readers might find 100 pages to remove, not all would agree on which 100 pages.

Watergate Fluff

Watergate fluff is one of the alternative terms for the dish “Watergate Salad”, the others including Green Fluff, Green Goddess, Fluff Salad and Funeral Salad, the last picked up reputedly because it was so often served at wakes.  It’s not clear how the culinary delight came to be called “Watergate Salad” although there’s no doubt the use was triggered by some association the Watergate scandal of the early 1970s which revolved around attempts by the administration of Richard Nixon (1913-1994; VPOTUS 1953-1961 & POTUS 1969-1974) to “cover up” the involvement of operatives connected to the White House with the break-in in June 1972 of the Democratic National Committee (DNC) headquarters in Washington DC’s Watergate Building.  Interestingly, although the scandal (in the public perception, although the legal proceedings would last longer) ended in August 1974 when Nixon resigned, the first known use of the term “Watergate Salad” dates from 1975 although in September 1974, Maryland's Hagerstown Daily Mail had published the recipe for “Watergate Cake”, also a similarly green-tinted dessert made with pistachio pudding in the mix and sometimes the icing.

Fluffy dice (in period 1970s brown) in 1974 Ford Mustang II Ghia.  It is a truth universally acknowledged, that of the seven generations of Ford Mustang produced since 1964, it is a second generation (Watergate scandal era) Mustang II (1973-1978) in which it is most likely a pair of fluffy dice will be hanging from the rear-view mirror.  If they're seen dangling in a Boss 429 (1969-1970), that's irony.

The dish however predates the term.  Some claim the Kraft Foods Corporation deserves credit (apparently as a proud boast rather than an admission of guilt) as the creator because in 1975 they published a recipe called “Pistachio Pineapple Delight” as part of a promotional campaign to support the release that year of their “Pistachio Pudding Mix” (something with a long tradition, a whipped cream and pineapple concoction detailed in a Kansas newspaper in 1913, the year Richard Nixon was born).  At that point, history and myth become hard to untangle, one story saying the food editor of the Chicago Tribune named it to stimulate interest, suggesting it was the ideal snack to enjoy while watching the televised hearings of proceedings pursuant to the scandal while another claimed it was associative because the Watergate Hotel (in the by then infamous building) served the salad on their popular weekend buffets; no menus appear to have survived to prove or disprove that one.  Best suggestion was the name was chosen because the salad was “full of nuts” (like the crew involved in the scandal, including the memorable lawyer and Watergate burglary coordinator G Gordon Liddy (1930–2021) who wasn’t really “a nut” but often has been portrayed as one).  True or not, that’s the one which deserves to be accepted.

Aleita Dupree's Watergate Salad recipe

Ingredients

1 (3 ½ oz) box of instant pistachio pudding mix.
1 (20 oz) can of crushed pineapple with juice (most use sweetened).
1 (8 oz) container of cool whip, thawed.
1 heaped cup of miniature marshmallows.
½ cup of chopped pecan nuts.
Stemmed maraschino cherries for garnish (optional).

Instructions

(1) In glass serving bowl, mix crushed pineapple and juice with pistachio pudding mix.  Stir pudding until mix completely is dissolved and mixture is smooth.

(2) Fold in the thawed cool whip.  Gently fold until pudding and cool whip is completely blended.

(3) Add miniature marshmallows and pecans.  Cover and chill until salad is set (should take up to 30 minutes).

(4) To serve, garnish with stemmed cherries and extra chopped pecans (if desired).

Fluff in fashion

Fluffiness in fashion: Lindsay Lohan in Falling for Christmas (Netflix, 2022, left) and in New York to promote Irish Wish (Netflix, 2024, right).  The fluffy cream coat is by David Koma (Davit Komakhidze b 1985), a London-based, Georgian-born fashion designer (the label of his fashion house is stylized as DΛVID KOMΛ).  The crystal payette-embroidered layered cup bra hints at the profile of the customer base and did appear on sale at US$1250 (down from US$1750).  The fashion business is regarded by some as a bit “fluffy” (frocks and such) compared with “hard” industries (heavy engineering, nuclear weapons etc) but globally the annual turnover of the fashion industry is substantial.  The numbers bounce around a bit because it difficult to determine where “fashion” ends and “commodities” begin but estimates between US$1.5-2.5 trillion widely are quoted (In financial use, one trillion = 1,000,000,000,000 (one million million or 1,000 billion)).

Blazon

Blazon (pronounced bley-zuhn)

(1) In heraldry, an escutcheon or coat of arms or a banner depicting a coat of arms.

(2) In heraldry, a description (verbal or written or in an image) of a coat of arms.

(3) In heraldry, a formalized language for describing a coat of arms (the heraldic description of armorial bearings).

(4) An ostentatious display, verbal or otherwise.

(5) A description or recording (especially of the good qualities of a person or thing).

(6) In literature, verses which dwelt upon and described various parts of a woman's body (usually in admiration). 

(7) Conspicuously or publicly to set forth; display; proclaim.

(8) To adorn or embellish, especially brilliantly or showily.

(9) To depict (heraldic arms or the like) in proper form and color.

(10) To describe a coat of arms.

1275-1300: From the late thirteenth century Middle English blazon (armorial bearings, coat of arms), from the twelfth century Old French blason (shield, blazon (also “collar bone”).  Of the words in the Romance languages (the Spanish blason, Italian blasone, Portuguese brasao & Provençal blezo, the first two are said to be French loan-words and the origins of all remain uncertain.  According to the OED (Oxford English Dictionary), the suggestion by nineteenth century French etymologists of connections with Germanic words related to English blaze is dubious because of the sense disparities.  The verb blazon (to depict or paint (armorial bearings) dates from the mid sixteenth century and was either (or both) from the noun or the French blasonner (from the French noun).  In English, it had earlier in the 1500s been used to mean “descriptively to set forth; descriptively” especially (by at least the 1530s) specifically “to vaunt or boast” and in that sense it was probably at least influenced by the English blaze.  Blazon & blazoning are nouns & verbs, blazoner, blazonry & blazonment are nouns and blazoned & blazonable are adjectives; the noun plural is blazons.

A coat of arms, possibly of dubious provenance. 

The now more familiar verb emblazon (inscribe conspicuously) seems first to have been used around the 1590s in the sense of “extol” and the still common related forms (emblazoning; emblazoned) emerged almost simultaneously.  The construct of emblazon was en- +‎ blazon (from the Old French blason (in its primary sense of “shield”).  The en- prefix was from the Middle English en- (en-, in-), from the Old French en- (also an-), from the Latin in- (in, into).  It was also an alteration of in-, from the Middle English in-, from the Old English in- (in, into), from the Proto-Germanic in (in).  Both the Latin & Germanic forms were from the primitive Indo-European en (in, into).  The intensive use of the Old French en- & an- was due to confluence with Frankish intensive prefix an- which was related to the Old English intensive prefix -on.  It formed a transitive verb whose meaning is to make the attached adjective (1) in, into, (2) on, onto or (3) covered.  It was used also to denote “caused” or as an intensifier.  The prefix em- was (and still is) used before certain consonants, notably the labials “b” & “p”.

Google ngram: It shouldn’t be surprising there seems to have been a decline in the use of “blazon” while “emblazoned” has by comparison, in recent decades, flourished.  That would reflect matters of heraldry declining in significance, their appearance in printed materials correspondingly reduced in volume.  However, because of the way Google harvests data for their ngrams, they’re not literally a tracking of the use of a word in society but can be usefully indicative of certain trends, (although one is never quite sure which trend(s)), especially over decades.  As a record of actual aggregate use, ngrams are not wholly reliable because: (1) the sub-set of texts Google uses is slanted towards the scientific & academic and (2) the technical limitations imposed by the use of OCR (optical character recognition) when handling older texts of sometime dubious legibility (a process AI should improve).  Where numbers bounce around, this may reflect either: (1) peaks and troughs in use for some reason or (2) some quirk in the data harvested.

Self referential emblazoning: Lindsay Lohan's selfie of her modeling a sweater by Ashish, her visage emblazoned in sequins, London, November 2014.

Impressionistically though this assumption is, few would doubt “blazon” is now rare while “emblazoned” is far from uncommon.  While “emblazon” began with the meaning “that which the emblazoner does” (ie (1) to adorn with prominent, (2) to inscribe upon and (3) to draw a coat of arms) it evolved by the mid-nineteenth century with the familiar modern sense of “having left in the mind a vivid impression” (often in the form “emblazoned on one’s memory”).  In English, there’s nothing unusual in a derived or modified form of a word becoming common than its original root, even to the point the where the original is rendered rare, unfamiliar or even obsolete, a phenomenon due to changes in usage patterns, altered conventions in pronunciation or shifts in meaning that make the derived form more practical or culturally resonant.  That’s just how English evolves.

Other examples include (1) ruthless vs. ruth (ruth (pity; compassion) was once a common noun in Middle English but has long been extinct while ruthless, there being many who demand the description, remains popular), (2) unkempt vs kempt (kempt (neatly kept) would have been listed as extinct were it not for it finding a niche as a literary and poetic form and has also been used humorously or ironically), (3) disheveled vs sheveled (sheveled was from the Old French chevelé (having hair) and was part of mainstream vocabulary as late as the eighteenth century but, except in jocular use, is effectively non-existent in modern English) and (4) redolent vs dolent (redolent (evocative of; fragrant) was from dolent (sorrowful), from the Latin dolere (to feel pain)); redolent both outlived and enjoyed a meaning-shift from its root.

Etymologists think of these as part of the linguistic fossil record, noting there’s no single reason for the phenomenon beyond what survives being better adapted to cultural or conversational needs.  In that, these examples differ from the playful fork of back-formation which has produced (1) combobulate (a back-formation from discombobulate (to confuse or disconcert; to throw into a state of confusion) which was a humorous mock-Latin creation in mid-nineteenth century US English) (2) couth (a nineteenth century back-formation from uncouth and used as a humorous form meaning “refined”), (3) gruntled (a twentieth century back-formation meaning “happy or contented; satisfied”, the source being disgruntled (unhappy; malcontented) and most sources indicate it first appeared in print in 1926 but the most celebrated example comes from PG Wodehouse (1881–1975) who in The Code of the Woosters (1938) penned: “He spoke with a certain what-is-it in his voice, and I could see that, if not actually disgruntled, he was far from being gruntled.”  Long a linguistic joke, some now take gruntled seriously but for the OED remains thus far unmoved and (4) ept (a back-formation from inept (not proficient; incompetent or not competent (there is a functional difference between those two)) which was from the Middle French inepte, from the Latin ineptus).

Literary use

In literary use, “blazon” was a technical term used by the Petrarchists (devotes of Francis Petrarch (1304-1374), a scholar & poet of the early Italian Renaissance renowned for his love poems & sonnets and regarded also as one of the earliest humanists).  Blazon in this context (a subset of what literary theorists call “catalogue verse”) was adopted because, like the structured and defined elements of heraldic symbolism, Petrarch’s poems contained what might be thought an “inventory” of verses which dwelt upon and detailed the various parts of a woman's body; a sort of catalogue of her physical attributes.  Petrarch’s approach wasn’t new because as a convention in lyric poetry it was well-known by the mid thirteenth century, most critics crediting the tradition to the writings of Geoffrey of Vinsauf, a figure about whom little is although it’s believed he was born in Normandy.  In England the Elizabethan sonneteers honed the technique as a devotional device, often, in imaginative ways, describing the bits of their mistresses they found most pleasing, a classic example a fragment from Amoretti and Epithalamion (1595), a wedding day ode by the English poet Edmund Spenser (circa 1552-1599) to his bride (Elizabeth Boyle) in 1594:

Her goodly eyes like sapphires shining bright.
Her forehead ivory white,
Her cheeks like apples which the sun hath rudded,
Her lips like cherries charming men to bite,
Her breast like to a bowl of cream uncrudded,
Her paps like lilies budded,
Her snowy neck like to a marble tower,
And all her body like a palace fair.

Two bowls of cream uncrudded.

So objectification of the female form is nothing new and the poets saw little wrong with plagiarism, most of the imagery summoned salvaged from the works of Antiquity by elegiac Roman and Alexandrian Greek poets.  Most relied for their effect on brevity, almost always a single, punchy line and none seem ever to attempt the scale of the “epic simile”.  As can be imagined, the novelty of the revival didn’t last and the lines soon were treated by readers (some of whom were fellow poets) as clichés to be parodied (a class which came to be called “contrablazon”), the London-based courtier Sir Philip Sidney (1554–1586) borrowing from the Italian poet Francesco Berni (1497–1535) the trick of using terms in the style of Petrarch but “mixing them up”, thus creating an early form of body dysmorphia: Mopsa's forehead being “jacinth-like”, cheeks of “opal”, twinkling eyes “bedeckt with pearl” and lips of “sapphire blue”.

William Shakespeare (1564–1616) however saw other possibilities in the blazon and in Sonnet 130 (1609) turned the idea on its head, listing the imperfections in her body parts and characteristics yet concluding, despite all that, he anyway adored her like no other (here rendered in a more accessible English):

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
   And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
   As any she belied with false compare.