Vogue

Vogue (pronounced vohg)

(1) Something in fashion at a particular time or in a particular place.

(2) An expression of popular currency, acceptance, or favor.

(3) A highly stylized modern dance that evolved out of the Harlem ballroom scene in the 1960s, the name influenced by the fashion magazine; one who practiced the dance was a voguer who was voguing.

(4) In Polari, a cigarette or to light a cigarette (often in the expression “vogue me up”).

(5) The world's best known women's fashion magazine, the first issue in 1892 and now published by Condé Nast.

1565–1575: From the Middle English vogue (height of popularity or accepted fashion), from the Middle French vogue (fashion, success (literally, “wave or course of success”)), from the Old French vogue (a rowing), from voguer (to row, sway, set sail), from the Old Saxon wegan (to move) & wogōn (to sway, rock), a variant of wagōn (to float, fluctuate), from the Proto-Germanic wagōną (to sway, fluctuate) and the Proto-Germanic wēgaz (water in motion), wagōną (to sway, fluctuate), wēgaz (water in motion) & weganą (to move, carry, weigh), from the primitive Indo-European weǵh- (to move, go, transport (and an influence on the English way).  The forms were akin to the Old Saxon wegan (to move), the Old High German wegan (to move), the Old English wegan (to move, carry, weigh), the Old Norse vaga (to sway, fluctuate), the Old English wagian (to sway, totter), the Proto-West Germanic wagōn, the German Woge (wave) and the Swedish våg.  A parallel development the Germanic forms was the Spanish boga (rowing) and the Old Italian voga (a rowing), from vogare (to row, sail), of unknown origin and the Italianate forms were probably some influence on the development of the verb.  Vogue, voguie & voguer are nouns (voguette an informal noun), voguing is a noun and adjective, vogued is a verb and vogueing & voguish are adjectives; the noun plural is vogues.  The noun voguie is a special use and is a synonym of fashionista ((1) one who creates or promotes high fashion (designers, editors, models, influencers etc) or (2) one who dresses according to the trends of fashion, or one who closely follows those trends).

All etymologists seem to concur the modern meaning is from the notion of being "borne along on the waves of fashion" and colloquially the generalized sense of "fashion, reputation" is probably from the same Germanic source.  The phrase “in vogue” (having a prominent place in popular fashion) was recorded as long ago as 1643.  The fashion magazine (now owned by Condé Nast) began publication in 1892 and young devotees of its advice (they are legion) are voguettes.  In linguistics, vogue words are those words & phrases which become suddenly (although not always neologisms) popular and fade from use or becoming clichéd or hackneyed forms (wardrobe malfunction; awesome; problematic; at this point in time; acid test; in this space; parameters; paradigm etc).  Because it’s so nuanced, vogue has no universal synonym but words which tend to the same meaning (and can in some circumstances be synonymous) include latest, mod, now, rage, chic, craze, currency, custom, fad, favor, mode, popularity, practice, prevalence, style, stylishness, thing, trend & usage.

Lindsay Lohan cover, Vogue (Spanish edition), August 2009.

In Regional English, "vogue" could mean "fog or mist" and in Cornwall, the hamlet of Vogue in the parish of St Day gained its name from the Medieval Cornish vogue (a word for a medieval smelting furnace (ie "blowing house", the places generating much smoke)); civilization contributing to the increase in atmospheric concentrations of greenhouse gasses is nothing new.  Clearly better acquainted with trademark law than geography, in early 2022 counsel for Condé Nast sent a C&D (cease and desist letter) to the inn-keeper of the village’s The Star Inn at Vogue pub, demanding the place change its name to avoid any public perception of a connection between the two businesses.  The owners of the venerable pub declined the request (cheekily suggesting they might send their own C&D to Vogue demanding the publication find a new name on the basis of usurpation (an old tort heard before the Court of Chivalry).  Condé Nast subsequently apologized, citing insufficient investigation by their staff, a framed copy of their letter hung on the pub's wall.  Honor apparently satisfied on both sides, the two Vogues resumed the peaceful co-existence which had prevailed since 1892. 

1981 Range Rover In Vogue from the first run with the standard stylized steel wheels (left) and a later 1981 In Vogue with the three-spoke aluminum units.

Much of the 1970s was spent in what to many felt like a recession, even if there were only some periods in some places during which the technical definition was fulfilled and the novel phenomenon of stagflation did disguise some of the effects.  Less affected than most (of course) were the rich who had discovered a new status-symbol, the Range Rover which, introduced in 1970 had legitimized (though there were earlier ventures) the idea of the "luxury" four-wheel-drive (4WD) segment although the interior of the original was very basic (the floor-coverings rubber mats rather than carpets on the assumption that, as with the even more utilitarian Land Rovers, there would be a need to "hose out" the mud accumulated from a day's HSF (huntin', shootin' & fishin')), the car’s reputation built more on it's then unique blend of competence on, and off-road.  So good was the Range Rover in both roles that owners, used to being cosseted in leather and walnut, wanted something closer to that to which they were accustomed and dealers received enquiries about an up-market version.

Lindsay Lohan at the opening of the Ninety years of Vogue covers exhibition, Crillon Hotel, Paris, 2009.

That had been Rover’s original intention.  The plan had been to release a basic version powered by four cylinder engines and a luxury edition with a V8 but by 1970 time and development funds had run out so the car was released with the V8 power-train and the more spartan interior although it was quickly apparent few owners took advantage of being able to hose out the mud.  Indeed, so skewed was the buyer profile to urban profiles it's likely the only time many ventured off the pavement was to find a good spot in the car parks of polo fields.  In something which must now seem remarkable, although already perceived as a "prestige" vehicle, for the first decade-odd, the Range Rover was not available with either air-conditioning or an automatic transmission.  However, if the rich were riding out the decade well, British Leyland (which owned Rover) was not and it lacked the capital to devote to the project.  Others took advantage of what proved a profitable niche and those with the money (or spending OPM (other people's money) could choose from a variety of limited-production and bespoke offerings including LWB (long-wheelbase) models, four-door conversions, six wheelers and even open-topped versions from a variety of coach-builders such as Wood & Pickett and low-volume manufacturers like Switzerland’s Monteverdi which anticipated the factory by a number of years with their four-door coachwork.

Rendez-vous à Biarritz, Vogue magazine, March 1981.  The eight page advertising supplement was for Lancôme and Jaeger fashion collections, the Wood & Pickett-trimmed Range Rover a "backdrop" which would prove a serendipitous piece of product placement. 

British Leyland was soon subject to one of the many re-organizations which would seek (without success) to make it a healthy corporation and one consequence was increased autonomy for the division making Range Rovers.  No longer compelled to subsidize less profitable arms of the business, attention was turned to the matter of a luxury model, demand for which clearly existed.  To test market reaction, in late 1980, the factory collaborated with Wood & Pickett to design a specially-equipped two-door model as a proof-of-concept exercise to gauge market reaction.  The prototype (HAC 414W) was lent to Vogue magazine, a crafty choice given the demographic profile of the readership and the by then well-known extent of women’s own purchasing power and influence on that of their husbands.  Vogue took the prototype to Biarritz to be the photographic backdrop for the images taken for the magazine’s co-promotion of the 1981 Lancôme and Jaeger fashion collections, published in an eight-page advertising spread entitled Rendez-vous à Biarritz in the March 1981 edition.  The response was remarkable and while Lancôme and Jaeger’s launch attracted polite attention, Vogue’s mailbox (which then received letters in envelopes with postage stamps) was overwhelmingly filled with enquiries about the blinged-up Range-Rover (although "bling" was a linguistic generation away from use).

Vogue's Range Rover In Vogue (HAC 414W) in Biarritz, 1981, all nuts on board or otherwise attached.  The model name was a play on words, Range Rovers very much "in vogue" and this particular version substantially the one "in Vogue".

Rover had expected demand to be strong and the reaction to the Vogue spread justified their decision to prepare for a production run even before publication and the Range Rover In Vogue went on sale early in 1981, the limited-edition run all closely replicating the photo-shoot car except for the special aluminum wheels which were not yet in volume production.  Amusingly, the triple-spoke wheels (similar to the design Ford had used on the 1979 (Fox) Mustang) had been a problem in Biarritz, the factory supplying the wrong lug nuts which had a tendency to fall off, meaning the staff travelling with the car had to check prior to each shoot to ensure five were present on each wheel which would appear in the picture.  Not until later in the year would the wheels be ready so the In Vogue’s went to market with the standard stylized steel units, meaning the brochures had to be pulped and reprinted with new photographs and some small print: "Alloy wheels, as featured on the vehicle used by Vogue magazine will be available at extra cost through Unipart dealers later in 1981".  British Leyland's record-keeping was at the time as chaotic as much of its administration so it remains unclear how many were built.  The factory said the run would be 1,000, all in right hand drive (RHD) but many left hand drive (LHD) examples exist and it’s thought demand from the continent was such another small batch was built although this has never been confirmed.  The In Vogue’s exclusive features were:

Light blue metallic paint (the model-exclusive Vogue Blue) with wide body stripes in two shades of grey (not black as on the prototype).
High compression (9.35:1) version of the V8 (to provide more torque).
Higher high-gear ratio (0.996:1) in the transfer box (to reduce engine speed and thus noise in highway driving).
Air conditioning
Varnished walnut door cappings.
Armrest between the front seats.
Map pockets on the back of the front seats (the rationale for not including the folding picnic tables so beloved by English coach-builders being the design of the Range Rover's rear tailgate had made it the "de-facto picnic table".
Fully carpeted luggage compartment.
Carpeted spare wheel cover and tool-kit curtain.
Picnic hamper.
Stainless steel tailgate cap.
Black wheel hub caps.

The "fitted picnic hamper".

Condé Nast would later describe the In Vogue’s custom picnic hamper as the car’s "pièce de résistance". which might have amused Rover's engineers who would have put some effort into stuff they'd have thought "substantive".  Now usually written in English as "piece de resistance" (masterpiece; the most memorable accomplishment of one’s career or lifetime; one's magnum opus (great work)), the French phrase pièce de résistance (literally the "piece which has staying power") seems first to have appeared in English in Richard Cumberland (1732–1811) novel Arundel (1789).  One can see the writer's point.  Although the walnut, additional torque and certainly the air conditioning would have been selling points, like nothing else, the picnic hamper would have delighted the target market.

Demand for the In Vogue far exceeded supply and additional production runs quickly were scheduled.  In response to customer demand, the most frequently made request was acceded to, the second series available with Chrysler's robust TorqueFlite automatic transmission, introduced at the same time as the debut of a four-door version, another popular enquiry while the three-spoke wheels became standard equipment and equipment levels continued to rise, rear-head restraints fitted along with a much enhanced sound-system.  In what was perhaps a nod to the wisdom of the magazine's editors, although a cooler replaced the hamper for the second run, for the third, buyers received both cooler and hamper.  The third series, launched in conjunction with the Daks autumn fashion collection at Simpson's of Piccadilly, included a digital radio, the convenience of central locking and the almost unnoticed addition of front mud flaps so clearly there was an understanding that despite the Range Rover's well deserved reputation as a "Chelsea taxi", the things did sometimes see the mud and ladies didn't like the stuff getting on their dresses as they alighted.  In 1984, as "Vogue", it became the regular production top-of-the-range model and for many years served in this role although, for licencing reasons, when sole in the US it was called the "Country").  For both companies, the In Vogue and subsequent Vogues turned out to be the perfect symbiosis.

Art and Engineering

Vogue, January 1925, cover art by Georges Lepape.

From the start, Vogue (the magazine) was of course about frocks, shoes and such but its influence extended over the years to fields as diverse as interior decorating and industrial design.  The work of Georges Lepape (1887-1971) has long been strangely neglected in the history of art deco but he was a fine practitioner whose reputation probably suffered because his compositions habitually were regarded as derivative or imitative which seems unfair given there are many who are more highly regarded despite being hardly original.  His cover art for Vogue’s edition of 1 January 1925 juxtaposed one of French artist Sonia Delaunay’s (1885–1979) "simultaneous" pattern dresses and a Voisin roadster decorated with an art deco motif.

1927 Voisin C14 Lumineuse.

One collector in 2015 was so taken with Pepape’s image that when refurbishing his 1927 Voisin C14 Lumineuse (literally “light”, an allusion to the Voisin’s greenhouse-inspired design which allowed natural light to fill the interior), he commissioned Dutch artist Bernadette Ramaekers to hand-paint a geometric triangular pattern in sympathy with that on the Vogue cover in 1925.  Ms Ramaekers took six months to complete the project and when sold at auction in London in 2022, it realized Stg£202,500.  There are few designers as deserving of such a tribute as French aviation pioneer Gabriel Voisin (1880–1973) who made military aircraft during the First World War (1914-1918) and, under the name Avions Voisin, produced a remarkable range of automobiles between 1919-1939, encapsulating thus the whole inter-war period and much of the art deco era.  Because his designs were visually so captivating, much attention has always been devoted to his lines, curves and shapes but the underlying engineering was also interesting although some of his signature touches, like the (briefly in vogue) sleeve valve engine, proved a mirage.

Voisin's extraordinary visions:  1934 C27 Aérosport (left), 1934-1935 Voisin C25 Aérodynes (centre) & 1931 C20 Mylord Demi Berline (right).

Also a cul-de-sac was his straight-12 engine.  Slow-running straight-12 (there is even a straight-14 which displaces 25,340 litres (1,546,000 cubic inches) and produces 107,290 hp (80,080 kW)) engines are known at sea where they’re used in (very) big ships but on the road (apart from some less than successful military vehicles), only Voisin and Packard ever attempted them, the former making two, the latter, one.  Voisin’s concept was simple enough; it was two straight-6s joined together, end-on-end, the same idea many had used to make things like V12s (2 x V6s) straight-8s (2 x straight-4s) H16s (two flat-8s, one atop another) and even V24s (2 x V12s) but the sheer length of a straight-12 in a car presented unique problems in packaging and the management of the torsional vibrations induced by the elongated crankshaft.  Straight-12s were built for use in aircraft (Bristol's Type 25 Braemar II in 1919 using four of them!) where the attraction was the aerodynamic advantage conferred by the small frontal area but as engine speeds increased in the 1920s, so did the extent of the problem of crankshaft flex and the concept was never revived.

1934 Voisin C15 Saloit Roadster (left) and the one-off Packard straight-12, scrapped when the decision was taken not to proceed to production (right).

The length of the straight-12 meant an extraordinary amount of the vehicle’s length had to be devoted to housing just the engine and that resulted in a high number for what designers call the dash-to-axle ratio.  That was one of the many reasons the straight-12 never came into vogue and indeed was one of the factors which doomed the straight-8, a configuration which at least had some redeeming features.  Voisin must however have liked the appearance of the long hood (bonnet) because the striking C15 Saloit Roadster (which could have accommodated a straight-12) was powered by a straight-4, a sleeve valve Knight of 2500 cm³ (153 cubic inch).  The performance doubtlessly didn’t live up to the looks but so sensuous were those looks that many would forgive the lethargy.  The concept of a short engine in a lengthy compartment was revived by Detroit in the 1960s & 1970s, many of the truly gargantuan full-sized sedans and coupes built with elongated front & rear structures.  At the back, the cavernous trunks (boots) often could swallow four sets of gold clubs which would have had some appeal to the target market but much of the space under the hood was unused.  While large enough to accommodate a V16, the US industry hadn't made those since the last of the Cadillac V16s left the line in 1940 after a ten-year run.  While one of the reasons the V8 had supplanted the straight-8 was its relatively compact length, that virtue wasn't needed by the late 1950s when, in all directions, the sheet-metal grew well beyond what was required by the mechanical components, the additional size just for visual impact to enhance the perception of prestige and luxury in an era when bigger was better.  Dramatic though the look could be (witness the 1969 Pontiac Grand Prix), the packaging efficiency was shockingly wasteful.

The Dart which never was

Using one of his signature outdoor settings, Norman Parkinson (1913-1990) photographed model Suzanne Kinnear (b 1935) adorning a Daimler SP250, wearing a Kashmoor coat and Otto Lucas beret with jewels by Cartier.

The image appeared on the cover (left) of Vogue's UK edition in November 1959, the original's (right) color being "enhanced" in the Vogue pre-production editing tradition (women thinner, cars shinier).  The "wide" whitewall tyres were a thing at the time, even on sports cars and were a popular option on US market Jaguar E-Types (there (unofficially) called XK-E or XKE) in the early 1960s.  The car on the Vogue cover was XHP 438, built on prototype chassis 100002 at Compton Verney in 1959; it's the oldest surviving SP250, the other two prototypes (chassis 100000 & 100001 from 1958) dismantled when testing was completed.  XHP 438 was the factory's press demonstrator and was used in road tests by Motor and Autocar magazines before being re-furbished (motoring journalists subjecting the press fleet to a brief but hard life) and sold.  Uniquely, when XPH 438 was first registered in England, it was as a "Daimler Dart".

More Issues Than Vogue sweatshirt from Impressions.

There was however an issue with the "Dart" name.  The SP250 was first shown to the public at the 1959 New York Motor Show and there the problems began.  Aware the little sports car was quite a departure from the luxurious but rather staid line-up Daimler had for years offered, the company had chosen the pleasingly alliterative “Dart” as its name, hoping it would convey the sense of something agile and fast.  Unfortunately, Chrysler’s lawyers were faster still, objecting that they had already registered Dart as the name for a full-sized Dodge so Daimler needed a new name and quickly; the big Dodge would never be confused with the little Daimler but the lawyers insisted.  Imagination apparently exhausted, Daimler’s management reverted to the engineering project name and thus the car became the SP250 which was innocuous enough even for Chrysler's attorneys and it could have been worse.  Dodge had submitted their Dart proposal to Chrysler for approval and while the car found favor, the name did not and the marketing department was told to conduct research and come up with something the public would like.  From this the marketing types gleaned that “Dodge Zipp” would be popular and to be fair, dart and zip(p) do imply much the same thing but ultimately the original was preferred and Darts remained in Dodge’s lineup until 1976, for most of that time one of the corporation's best-selling and most profitable lines.  Cynically, the name was between 2012-2016 revived for an unsuccessful and unlamented FWD (front-wheel-drive) compact sedan.

Blurb

Blurb (pronounced blurb)

(1) A brief promotional piece, almost always laudatory, used historically for books, latterly for about any product.

(2) To advertise or praise in the manner of a blurb.

1907: Coined by US graphic artist and humorist Gelett Burgess (1866–1951).  Blurbs are a specific type of advertisement, similar exercises in other contexts known also as “puff pieces”, “commendations” or “recommendations”.  The use of "puff" is thought based on the character "Mr Puff" in the burlesque satire The Critic: or, a Tragedy Rehearsed (1779) by the Anglo-Irish Whig playwright Richard Brinsley Sheridan (1751-1816).  Generally, blurbs contain elements designed to tempt a buyer which may include a précis (something less than a detailed summary), a mention of the style and a recommendation.  The term was originally invoked to mock the excessive praise printed on book jackets and was often parodied in a derisively imitative manner and is still sometimes critically used thus but it’s also now a neutral descriptor and an accepted part of the publishing industry.  Blurb is a noun & verb, blurbing & blurbed are verbs, blurbist is a noun and blurbish is an adjective; the noun plural is blurbs.

The blurb has apparently existed for some two-thousand–odd years but the word became well-known only after a publishing trade association dinner in 1907, Gelett Burgess displaying a dust jacket printed with the words “YES, this is a “BLURB”!”, featuring the (fictitious) Miss Belinda Blurb who was said to have been photographed “...in the act of blurbing”, Burgess adding that to blurb was “… to make a sound like a publisher…” and was “…a check drawn on fame, and it is seldom honoured”.  There are sources claiming the word was coined by US academic and literary critic Brander Matthews (1852–1929) in his essay American Character (1906) but Professor Matthews acknowledged the source genuinely was Burgess, writing in the New York Times (24 September 1922): “Now and again, in these columns I have had the occasion to employ the word “blurb”, a colourful and illuminating neologism which we owe to the verbal inventiveness of Mr Gelett Burgess”.

Burgess had released Are You a Bromide? in 1906 and while sales were encouraging, he suggested to his publishers (BW Huebsch) that each of the attendees and the upcoming industry dinner should receive a copy with a “special edition” dust cover.  For this, Burgess used the picture of a young lady who had appeared in an advertisement for dental services, snapped in the act of shouting.  It was at the time common for publishers to use pictures of attractive young ladies for book covers, even if the image was entirely unrelated to the tome’s content, the object being to attract a male readership.  Burgess dubbed his purloined model “Miss Belinda Blurb” and claimed she had been photographed “in the act of blurbing”; mid-blurb as it were.

Are you a Bromide? (Publisher's special edition, 1907).

The dust cover was headed with the words “YES, this is a “BLURB”! All the Other Publishers commit them. Why Shouldn’t We?” and knowing a blurb should not in moderation do what can be done in excess, went on to gush about the literary excellence of his book in rather the manner a used car salesman might extol the virtues of some clapped-out car in the corner of the yard.  His blurb concluded “This book is the Proud Purple Penultimate!”  The industry must have been inspired because the blurb has become entrenched, common in fiction and non-fiction alike and the use of the concept can be seen in film, television, social media and just about anywhere there’s a desire to temp a viewer.  Indeed, the whole idea of “clickbait” (something which tells enough to tantalize but not enough to satisfy without delving deeper) is a functional application of a blurb.  Depending on the source, the inspiration for the word came from either (1) the sound made by a book as it falls to the floor, (2) the sound of a bird chirping or (3) an amalgam of “burp” & “blather”.  The author left no clue.

In his book, Burgess innovated further, re-purposing the word "bromide".  In inorganic chemistry, a bromide is a binary compound of bromine and some other element or radical, the construct being brom- (an alternative form of bromo- (used preceding a vowel) which described a substance containing bromine (from the French brome, from the Ancient Greek βρῶμος (brômos) (stink)) + ide (the suffix used in chemistry to describe substances comprising two or more related compounds.  However, early in the twentieth century, Bromide was a trade name for a widely available medicine, taken as a sedative and in some cases prescribed to diminish “an excessive sexual appetite”.  It was the sedating aspect which Burgess picked up to describe someone tiresome and given to trite remarks, explaining “a bromide” was one “…who does his thinking by syndicate and goes with the crowd” and was thus boring and banal.  A bromine’s antonym was, he helpfully advised, a “sulphite”.  Unfortunately, while blurb flourished, bromide & sulphites as binary descriptors of the human condition have vanished from the vernacular.

Lindsay Lohan with body double during shooting for Irish Wish (Netflix, due for release in 2023).  The car is a Triumph TR4.

Nteflix's blurb for Irish Wish: Always a bridesmaid, never a bride — unless, of course, your best friend gets engaged to the love of your life, you make a spontaneous wish for true love, and then magically wake up as the bride-to-be.  That’s the supernatural, romantic pickle Lindsay Lohan (Mean Girls, The Parent Trap) finds herself in upcoming romantic comedy, Irish Wish.  Set in the rolling green moors of Ireland, the movie sees Lohan's Maddie learn her dreams for true love might not be what she imagined and that her soulmate may well be a different person than she originally expected. Apparently magic wishes are quite insightful.

Blurb Your Enthusiasm (2023, distributed by Simon & Schuster).

Louise Willder (b 1972) has for a quarter century been a copywriter for Penguin, in that time composing some 5000 blurbs, each a two-hundred-odd word piece which aims both to inform and tempt a purchase.  Her non-fiction debut Blurb Your Enthusiasm is not only a review of the classic blurbs (the good, the bad and the seriously demented) but also an analysis of the trends in the structure of blurbs and the subtle shifts in their emphasis although, over the centuries, the purpose seems not to have changed.  Ms Willder also documents the nuances of the blurb, the English tendency to understatement, the hyperbolic nature of Americans and the distaste the French evidently have of having to say anything which might disclose the blurb’s vulgar commercial purpose, tracing over time how changing attitudes and societal mores mean what’s now written of a nineteenth century classic is very different to when first it was published.  Inevitably too, there are the sexual politics of authorship and publishing and blurbs can reveal as much by the odd hint or what’s left unsaid than what actually appears on a dust cover.  Academics and reviewers have perhaps neglected the blurb because traditionally they've often been dismissed as mere advertising but, unless the author’s name or the subject matter is enough of a draw, even more than a cover illustration or title, it’s the blurb which can close the sale and collectively, they’re doubtlessly more widely read than reviews.  Blurb Your Enthusiasm is highly recommended.

Founded in New York City in 1924 by Richard L Simon (1899–1960) & Max Lincoln Schuster (1897–1970), Simon & Schuster was in 2023 acquired by private equity company KKR (Kohlberg Kravis Roberts & Co).

In 2025, there emerged an indication there was, at least in one corner of the publishing industry a push-back against what might be called the “I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine” blurb with the  publisher of Simon & Schuster’s flagship imprint in the US announcing it will “no longer require authors to obtain blurbs for their books”.  Revealed in an essay in Publishers Weekly, it was explained that while Simon & Schuster never had “a formal mandatory policy” about the matter, a culture had evolved to make blurbs “tacitly expected” and the responsibility of harvesting them from famous writers, celebrities and such devolved upon authors, their agents & editors.  The publishing house rejected the notion the blurb “production line” is “what makes the book business so special: the collegiality of authors and their willingness to support one another”, arguing the very ubiquity of the things had become “…incredibly damaging to what should be the industry’s ultimate goal: producing books of the highest possible quality.”  Memorably, Simon & Schuster’s critique of “authors feeling obliged to write blurbs for their friends” was summed up in the phrase: “an incestuous and unmeritocratic literary ecosystem that often rewards connections over talent.”  Students of the blurb will of course be disappointed if this becomes a trend and among authors it must have been fun to cast an eye over new releases just to try to work out if one individual was no longer on speaking terms with another but more practically, others did observe that while blurbs may be of marginal interest to those browsing the shelves, it was understood booksellers could be influenced to increase their orders if a book seems “well-blurbed”.  However, even if Simon & Schuster are no longer giving authors a tacit “nudge”, it may be many remain prolific blurb writers because it's a very cheap way to keep one’s brand-recognition on the shelves and up to date.

Doily

Doily (pronounced doi-lee)

(1) A small ornamental mat, historically in embroidery or of lace (the style later emulated in plastic or paper), placed under plates, vases etc.  In addition to any decorative value, their function is to protect surfaces (such as timber) from spills and scratches.

(2) A small napkin, intended to be used for the dessert course (archaic).

(3) A visually similar circular piece of lace, worn as a head-covering by some Jewish & Christian women.

(4) A wool fabric (obsolete).

Circa 1714:  The small, decorative mats were named after the linen drapery on London’s Strand, run by the Doily family in the late seventeenth century.  They were doubtless one of many products offered in the shop (and probably a minor line) but for whatever reason they were the one which picked up the name and remain admired by some while dismissed by others as kitsch.  Doily is a noun (and historically an adjective); the noun plural is doilies.

Traditionally, most doilies were circular in shape and white or beige but many which were bleached white became beige or grey after repeated launderings.  Hotels and cafés often use the paper versions atop plates on which sandwiches, slices of cake and such are served,  This isn't always ideal because paper chaff (from stamping the holes) sometimes remains partially attached (al la the "hanging chads" made infamous in the Florida vote-count during the 2000 US presidential election), only to become detached and end up in the food.      

The alternative spellings were (and in some cases still are) doiley, doilie, doyly, or doyley, sometimes used deliberately as trade-names.  Various sources claim the family name of those running the eponymous London linen drapery was Doily or Doyly but there’s evidence to suggest it really was Doily, one example from Eustace Budgell (1686–1737), an English politician & writer who was a cousin of Joseph Addison (1672–1719), poet, playwright, essayist and fellow parliamentarian, remembered as the co-founder of The Spectator (1711-1712) magazine.  Budgell wrote dozens of pieces for the magazine (unrelated to the current The Spectator published since 1828 which borrowed the name) and in 1712 one (capitalized as originally printed) recorded:

“The famous Doily is still in everyone’s Memory, who raised a Fortune by finding out Materials for such Stuffs as might at once be cheap and genteel”.

That was a reference to the summer-weight woolen clothing which was much favored at the time because it was comfortable, inexpensive and stylish, a combination of virtues which sometimes still eludes manufacturers of many products.  Doily was attached as an adjective to the distinctive garments in the 1780s as “doily suit” & “doily stuffs” and it was only in 1711 the term was picked-up for the small ornamental napkins used at formal dinners when dessert was served.  The “doily-napkins” were literally sold as such (there were many others but the term became generic) and were available in a variety of forms, some quite elaborate and because these resembled the small mats the shop also sold, they came to lend their name to the style, regardless of whether or not purchased from Mr Doily’s shop.  The doilies in their familiar modern form seem first to have been so described in 1714 although it may be they’d been on sale for many years. 

Doilyed-up: Lindsay Lohan in doily-themed top over pink bikini, Mykonos, Greece, August 2014.

Addison is remembered for many reasons, one of which was his once widely performed play Cato (1712) which, based on the final days of Marcus Porcius Cato Uticensis (known variously in history as “Cato the Younger” & “Cato of Utica”), a conservative Roman senator in the late Republic who died by his own hand, explored issues such as the conflict between individual liberty and the powers of the state.  The work suited the zeitgeist of pre-revolution America and many of its lines became phrases the revolutionaries would make famous in the War of Independence (1775-1783).  Cato enjoyed a macabre coda when Budgell, beset with problems, took his own life by throwing himself into the Thames, his suicide note reading: “What Cato did, and Addison approved, cannot be wrong.”

Because plates come in different shapes, so do doilies and there’s no inherent limitation in design although at some point, a construction ceases to be a doily and becomes a tablecloth.

Visually, doilies are strikingly similar to the head-coverings used in a number of Jewish traditions which some Christian women wear in accordance with scriptural dictate:

1 Corinthians 11:1-13: King James Version (KJV 1611)

1 Be ye followers of me, even as I also am of Christ.

2 Now I praise you, brethren, that ye remember me in all things, and keep the ordinances, as I delivered them to you.

3 But I would have you know, that the head of every man is Christ; and the head of the woman is the man; and the head of Christ is God.

4 Every man praying or prophesying, having his head covered, dishonoureth his head.

5 But every woman that prayeth or prophesieth with her head uncovered dishonoureth her head: for that is even all one as if she were shaven.

6 For if the woman be not covered, let her also be shorn: but if it be a shame for a woman to be shorn or shaven, let her be covered.

7 For a man indeed ought not to cover his head, forasmuch as he is the image and glory of God: but the woman is the glory of the man.

8 For the man is not of the woman: but the woman of the man.

9 Neither was the man created for the woman; but the woman for the man.

10 For this cause ought the woman to have power on her head because of the angels.

11 Nevertheless neither is the man without the woman, neither the woman without the man, in the Lord.

12 For as the woman is of the man, even so is the man also by the woman; but all things of God.

13 Judge in yourselves: is it comely that a woman pray unto God uncovered?

It’s not one of biblical passages much approved by feminists and nor do they like 1 Corinthians 14:34–35: As in all the churches of the saints, women should be silent in the churches.  For they are not permitted to speak, but should be subordinate, as the law also says.  If there is anything they desire to know, let them ask their husbands at home.  For it is shameful for a woman to speak in church.

Designer colors are also available and because doilies are a popular thing with hobbyists, the available spectrum is close to limitless and some are variegated.

The origin of the surname Doily was Anglo-Norman, from d'Œuilly (Ouilly), the name of several places in Calvados in the Normandy region, from Old French oeil (eye) and Doiley, Doilie, Doyly & Doyley were all Englishized forms of d'Ouilly and its French variants.  In England, apart from the noted draper, the best known was Richard D'Oyly Carte (1844–1901), the theatrical impresario who for years produced the collaborative works of WS Gilbert (1836-1911) & composer Arthur Sullivan (1842-1900) which came to be known as “Savoy operas”, the name derived from Carte’s Savoy Theatre in which many were first performed.  The D’Oyly part of his name was a forename (he was christened Richard D’Oyly Carte) which he used because his father, Richard Carte (1808-1891), was already well-known in the theatrical business and “Dick Carte” presumably wasn’t thought appropriate but “D’Oyly Carte” anyway became cockney rhyming slang for “fart” and in informal use it was later joined by “doily dyke” a synonym of “lipstick lesbian”, the alliterative terms used to contrast a feminine lesbian with those not (described variously as "bull dykes", "butch lesbians", "heavy-duty lesbians" etc).  Except within certain sub-sets of the LGBTQQIAAOP community, both are now proscribed as microaggressions.  The rhyming slang may still be used.

"Japanese car doilies" (more correctly antimacassars & side-curtains) in Toyota Century V12s.

Apparently as culturally obligatory in Tokyo taxis as white gloves used to be for the drivers (though many still follow the tradition), the inevitably white partial seat covers are often referred to as “Japanese seat doilies” but technically, when used to protect the surfaces of chairs, they are antimacassars, the construct being anti- (from the Ancient Greek ἀντι- (anti-) (against, hostile to, contrasting with the norm, opposite of, reverse (also "like, reminiscent of")) +‎ macassar (an oil from the ylang ylang tree and once used to style the hair, the original sources of which were the jungles of the Dutch East Indies (modern-day Indonesia), the product shipped from the port of Macassar.

Fifty years of “continuity with change”: 1967 Toyota Century V8 (left) and 2017 Toyota Century V12 (right).

Produced over three generations (1967-1996; 1997-2017 & since 2018), the Toyota Century is the company’s flagship in the Japanese domestic market (JDM).  Although the Lexus marque was invented to rectify the perception of a “prestige deficit” in the RoW (rest of the world), models from the range were introduced in the home market only in 2005 and the Century has maintained its position at the top of the Toyota tree.  The first generation used a number of Toyota V8 engines which grew in capacity to reach an untypically large (for the JDM) 4.0 litres (245 cubic inch) but the most admired were the 1997-2017 cars (a few hundred of 9500-odd built exported) which used a 5.0 litre (305 cubic inch) V12 unique to the Century.  For political reasons, the factory under-rated the power output of the V12 but it was anyway designed and tuned for smoothness and silence, achieving both to an extent few have matched.  Like the memorable “suicide door” Lincolns of the 1960s, the Century’s external appearance changed little and although there were updates, it needed a trained eye to tell one from another and the 2023 cars still maintain a distinct resemblance to the 1967 original although for various reasons, since 2018 there’s been a reversion to eight-cylinder engines, a 5.0 litre version of the Lexus V8 fitted, augmented with electric motors.  Offered with a choice of leather or cloth interior trim, “Japanese seat doilies” are regularly seen in the Century.

2006 Toyota Century Royal (left) and the 2019 Toyota Century four-door cabriolet built for the Japanese Imperial Household (right).  

The Japanese Imperial Household in 2006 requested Toyota provide a fleet of cars for the royal family and four limousines and one hearse were constructed.  Based on the second generation Century (G50), the range was known as the Century Royal and received the special designation G51.  Following traditional English coach-building practice, the rear compartment was trimmed in a wool cloth while the front used leather and an unusual touch was the fitting of internal granite steps.  The factory released a number of details about the construction but were predictably vague about the “security measures” noting only they were an "integral" part of the design and it’s believed these included Kevlar & metal internal skins (as protection from gunfire or explosive devices) plus a multi-laminate, bullet-proof glass.  Another Century was added to the royal mews in 2019, this time a one-off four-door cabriolet parade car (both Toyota and the palace preferred "convertible").  Although of late heads of state have tended to avoid open-top motoring, while there’s a long Japanese tradition of assassinating politicians, during the last few hundred years emperors have been safe (the rumors about the death in 1912 dismissed by most historians) so the palace presumably thought this a calculated risk.  All the same, it’s doubtful a prime-minister will be invited to sit alongside while percolating through city streets, their faith in Japanese marksmanship unlikely to be as high as their belief His Majesty won't be the target.  It’s believed the ceremonial fleet of the royal mews is now made exclusively by Toyota, ending the use of foreign manufactured cars such as the Mercedes-Benz 770Ks (W07, 1930-1938) and a Rolls-Royce Corniche (1990), the latter the previous open-top parade vehicle.  When in use, the royal cars do not display number plates but are instead adorned with a gold-plated, stylized chrysanthemum, the symbol an allusion to the Chrysanthemum Throne (皇位, kōi (imperial seat)), the throne of the Emperor of Japan.  As far as is known, the cars in the royal mews are not fitted with “Japanese seat doilies”.

Deodand

Deodand (pronounced dee-uh-dand)

(1) In English law (prior to 1846), an animal or a personal chattel (the scope later extended) that, having been the immediate, accidental cause of the death of a human being, was forfeited to the Crown to be sold with the money gained applied originally to pious uses.

(2) In English law (prior to 1846), A fine paid to the Crown, equal to the value of a deodand, paid by the owner of the object and subsequently applied originally to pious uses.

1520–1530: From the late thirteenth century Anglo-French deodande, from the Medieval Latin deōdandum (a thing) to be given to God, the construct being the Classical Latin deō (to God (dative singular of deus (god)) + dand(um) to be given (neuter gerund of “dare to give”) from the primitive Indo-European root do- (to give).  Deus was from the primitive Indo-European root dyeu- (to shine and (in derivatives” “sky, heaven, god”).  Deodand is a noun; the noun plural is deodands.

That the doctrine of deodand was a medieval legal relic (the earliest recorded instances of use in England dating from the eleventh century) is not that remarkable because in that it was one of a number; what’s remarkable is it remained part of the common law until the mid-1800s.  The concept was first well documented in thirteenth century legal texts and historians have concluded this “semi-codification” reflected the earlier religious tradition which held an object which caused a death was “tainted” and should be removed from profane use.  In that, it inherited older notion from Roman civil law of noxae deditio (literally “surrender for the wrongdoing” and in English law written usually as “noxal surrender”), the construct being noxae (harm, injury, wrongdoing) + deditio (surrender, giving up).  Noxae deditio was a legal mechanism (in response to what would now be called a writ) with which the owner of an animal or slave (The Romans really did make a distinction) could avoid liability for delicts (wrongs) committed by them by surrendering the animal or slave to the injured party as an alternative to paying damages.  Intriguingly, at certain times, the doctrine was extended to sons (though apparently not daughters) in circumstances where an action was brought against a paterfamilias (the head of a household), on the basis he was held to be responsible for the son’s acts.  Literally, the son could be “handed over”, either until they attained statutory adulthood or for a specified period, depending on the damages assessed.  A similar idea was the Old English wergeld, from the Proto-West Germanic werageld, the construct being wer (man) +‎ ġield (payment).  It was a form of compensation paid by a transgressor to a victim, or (as “blood money) to the victim's family if the victim were dead (the quantum decided by social rank).  The concept is familiar in many societies and is sometimes formalized in Islamic systems using the Sharia Law where the victim’s family can be involved in determining not only how much blood money should be paid but also whether there should be a payment as an alternative to a death sentence.

What evolved in English common law was the rule under which, if a person was killed by an animal, vehicle, tool or other inanimate object, that object was declared a “deodand” to be forfeited to the Crown.  Reflecting the theological basis for this, notionally the surrender was “to God”, but quickly the standard practice became to appraise the value of the beast or object and levy a fine in that sum.  Although the documentary evidence is patchy, it appears originally the forfeited property (or cash from the fine) was devoted to pious uses such as alms (ie charity for the poor) or (as was the usual trend when a revenue stream was identified) ecclesiastical purposes such as building churches or stained glass windows.  Later (another trend being squabbles between church & state), deodans became a source of consolidated royal revenue.  The rationale was partly religious (atonement), partly superstitious (removing the dangerous object), and partly fiscal (Crown revenue).

The school bus scene: In Mean Girls (2004), had Regina George (Rachel McAdams (b 1978)) been killed by the school bus, the vehicle would have been declared a deodand and forfeited to the state although the usual practice was for its value to be assessed and an order for a payment in that sum to be served on the owner.

It was a simple concept but because there was much variation in the circumstances in which a deodand could be declared, the case law reveals inconsistencies in the verdicts.  Were someone to be killed by being run over by a horse-drawn cart, depending on this and that, the deodand might be found to be the cart and horse, the cart or horse alone or even just the particular wheel which crushed the unfortunate deceased.  One of the reasons for the variance is that in many instances the matter was determined not by a judge or magistrate working from precedent but (at coroners’ inquests) by juries which would both define the deodand and assess its value.  Given that, on what appear to be similar facts (a sailor who drowned after being struck by a mast), the deodand might be found to be the whole vessel or merely the mast.  In such cases, the issue was which object (or part of an object) should be held to be the “guilty instrument” and that was a process not simple to define, things made more difficult still by the opinions of jury members being so diverse and prone to be influenced by the identity of both the victim(s) and the owner of the object(s).

Aftermath of the explosion of a locomotive’s steam boiler.  If reduced to scrap by the event in which someone died, the jury could assess the value of the object in its "pre-event" condition.

By the eighteenth century, deodands had become largely devices of reference in that actual confiscation of objects was rare with an assessment of their monetary value to set the fine to be paid the standard practice.  Lawyers, politicians and (especially) those in commerce were critical of the system as irrational and even then there were traces of what would evolve as the modern notions of negligence and responsibility; critiques of deodand came both from what would now be described as “the right” and “the left”.  Those who owned the objects which became lethal instruments argued it was unfair they be punished so severely for what were, however tragic, “mere accidents”, pointing out the system discouraged industrial enterprise while those advocating for victims pointed out it was the state which gained the proceeds of the fines while victims’ families (many of which had lost their sole breadwinner) gained nothing.  What finally brought about the end of deodand was it being overtaken by the industrial age in which deaths came routinely to occur in clusters.  It was the multiple fatalities in marine and train accidents (infamously the Hull Tragedy (1838) and the Sonning Cutting Disaster (1840)) which attracted press coverage and public debate; in each case a “certificate of deodand” was attached to the machinery and, given the cavalier attitude of railway operators towards safety, it was hardly surprising coroners’ juries had little hesitation in declaring a locomotive and its rolling-stock a deodand.  That was obviously an expensive threat to capitalism and the lobbying by these vested interest resulted in parliament abolishing deodands by the Deodands Act 1846 (9 & 10 Vict. c.62).

Tallahassee Democrat, 13 October 1991.

The Daytona Yellow 1969 Chevrolet Corvette ZL1 coupé is the rarest and most valuable C3 Corvette (1968-1982) made, the “other ZL1” a Monaco Orange Roadster having a less pure pedigree (although at auction in January 2023 it realized US$3.14 million.  The yellow ZL1 last changed hands in October 1991 when it was sold in a government forfeiture auction for US$300,000 (then a lot of money) after being seized by the DEA (Drug Enforcement Agency).

The Act however was part of a reform process and the early initiatives included the statutes which would by the mid twentieth century evolve into modern negligence and compensation law, the most significant of the early steps being the Fatal Accidents Act 1846 (Lord Campbell’s Act) which for the first time codified the idea of the “wrongful death claim” and permitted families to sue on this basis.  Although now largely forgotten, the 1846 act was a significant marker of the transition of English law from a medieval, semi-religious system of atonement to a modern, rationalized law of tort, product liability and compensation.

Echoes do however remain in certain legal doctrines of forfeiture (such as state seizures of the proceeds of crime) and the US practice of civil asset forfeiture does, at least in a philosophical sense, sometimes treat property as “guilty”.  The US law provides for property (cars, boats, money etc) connected with the commission of a crime to be seized by the state even if the owner, personally, wasn’t “guilty”; it’s a modern interpretation of the medieval view the object itself bore responsibility.  What this means is the legal rationale is structurally similar to what once was the religious justification: What once was “given to God” as expiation as atonement for sin translates now into deterrence as an expression of public policy (removing dangerous tools or preventing criminals from profiting).  As a kind of “legal fiction”, under both regimes the object is treated as if it possesses some kind of independent agency.  Intriguingly, as an administrative convenience, that idea survived in Admiralty Law under which vessels can in suits be “personified”, thus cases like “The SS <ship name> v. Cargo”, the model for civil asset forfeiture procedures in which the object is the defendant (such as “United States v. One 1969 Chevrolet Corvette”).

Building from Biblical tradition, the idea of independent agency had a curious history in the legal systems of Christendom and in Europe from the Middle Ages through the early modern period, animals could be put on trial (in both secular courts and ecclesiastical courts) for murder.  These trials followed legal procedures similar to those in which a human was the accused although, obviously, cross-examination was somewhat truncated.  The most commonly tried animals were pigs, simply because it wasn’t uncommon for them freely to roam in urban areas and attacks on babies and infants were frequent.  In Normandy in 1386, a sow was dressed in human clothing and publicly executed for killing a child while at Châlons in 1499, a sow and her six piglets were tried; the sow was executed for killing a man, while the piglets were acquitted due to “lack of evidence.”  Nor were the defendants exclusively porcine, bulls and horses occasionally executed for killing people and in ecclesiastical courts there are many records of rodents and insects being charged with damaging crops.  Presumably because every day of the week rodents and insects were killed just for “being guilty of being rodents and insects”, ceremonial executions wouldn’t have had much symbolic value so the usual result handed down was excommunication(!) or a demand (from God, as it were) the creatures vacate the fields in which they were consuming the crops.

Perpetually hungry weevils enjoying lunch in a granary.

Sometimes the ecclesiastical courts could be imaginative.  In the Italian region of Tyrol in 1713, the priests ordered the hungry weevils to leave the vineyards where they were such a plague but in compensation granted their occupation of a barren piece of land as an alternative habitat.  The reaction of the insects to the ruling would have been rather as King Cnut (better known as Canute, circa 990–1035; King of England 1016-1035) would have predicted but despite that, there’s no record of the weevils being held in contempt of court.  Regrettably, there's no generally accepted collective noun for weevils but weevilage (a portmanteau word, the blend being weevil + (vill)age) seems more compelling than Adelognatha (the scientific term referring to a group of Curculionidae (a family of weevils) characterized by a specific anatomical feature).  There was at least some theological basis for the ecclesiastical courts claiming entomological jurisdiction because in scripture it was written beasts are God’s creatures like all others and over them God granted dominion to man (Genesis 1:26-28 (King James Version of the Bible (KJV, 1611)):

26 And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.

27 So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them.

28 And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth.

Bovine trial in progress, rendered as a line drawing by Vovsoft.

The principle was animals could be held accountable for causing harm and this was taken especially seriously when the harm caused was something like that of a crime a human might commit (like murder) and in the secular courts, if the victim was someone of some importance, the proceedings could involve defense lawyers, witnesses, and formal sentencing.  In the ecclesiastical courts, it was more symbolic or ritualistic: insects and rodents might be “summoned” but of course they never turned up so excommunication or other curses were invoked.  By the eighteenth century, the thinkers of the Enlightenment had prevailed and the idea of animals as moral agents was so ridiculed the practice of charging them was almost wholly abandoned although in certain circumstances an owner could be held liable for the damage they caused.  There was though the odd, rural holdout.  In Normandy in 1845 a sow was executed for killing a child (in the legal archives listed as the last “classic pig trial” (the last in the US held in New Hampshire in 1819)) and in Switzerland in 1906 a dog was sentenced to death for a similar offence (this believed to be Europe’s last “animal trial”).