You won't believe where the word "dude" actually came from

Have you ever stopped to wonder where our everyday words actually come from? You might be surprised to learn that dude started as a way to poke fun at men who were too fastidious about their outfits. Or that we owe the word hello to Thomas Edison, who thought it was a much better choice than Alexander Graham Bell’s suggestion, "ahoy" for telephone calls. Even the word OK is the lone survivor of an 1830s game of misspelled phrases. Let's explore the hidden stories behind the words we think we know so well.

Picture New York City in the early 1880s. Back then, dude was used to describe a "fastidious man," essentially a guy obsessed with his clothes and appearance. Some researchers believe it was actually a shortened version of "Yankee Doodle," referring to the character in the famous patriotic song. It was also used to make fun of people following the "aesthetic" fashion craze of the 1880s.

In the late 1800s, a dude was any Easterner who showed up looking a little too clean in the Western region of the US. From this, we get the term dude ranch, which was first recorded around 1921 to describe ranches that hosted these city-dwelling tourists for pay. It wasn't until the mid-1960s, in African-American jargon, that dude began to lose its negative edge and became a way to refer to any male.

While it feels like it’s been around forever, hello is actually a relatively young word. Its first known appearance dates back to 1826, in a Connecticut newspaper. Linguists believe it grew out of words like "hallo" or "hollo," which were used as loud calls to get a ferryman’s attention across a river or to urge hunting dogs forward.

It’s often said that Alexander Graham Bell, the inventor of the telephone, wanted people to answer the telephone with "ahoy!", but American inventor Thomas Edison pushed for "hello" as a clearer option. His version caught on, and soon telephone operators were known as "hello girls," helping turn the word into the everyday greeting we still use today.

Have you ever stopped to wonder where the word OK comes from? It first appeared in 1839 as the unique survivor of US slang. During this time, it was a common joke to use abbreviations for phrases based on deliberate misspellings. For example, people would use "N.C." for "enough said" as if it were spelled "nuff ced," or "K.Y." for "no use" as if it were "know yuse." And "OK" was used for "oll korrect".

This term was later popularized during the 1840 presidential election by the "OK Club," supporters of Martin "Old Kinderhook" Van Buren, and stuck because it provided a practical way to authorize documents. In 1919, Woodrow Wilson used the spelling "okeh" under the mistaken belief that it came from a Choctaw word meaning "it is so," though there was no historical evidence to support this. That version was eventually replaced by the modern spelling "okay" appeared in 1929.

The word jazz first appeared in American English around 1912, and it actually started as baseball slang rather than a musical term. In those early days, sports writers in California used it to describe something "lively" or "energetic," which is a meaning we still carry today when we say we want to "jazz something up." It likely grew out of the 1860s slang word jasm, which meant energy, vitality, or spirit, or from even an older word, gism, which carried a similar meaning in the mid-1800s.

The term was first applied to a new style of music in Chicago in 1915, specifically referring to Tom Brown’s all-white band from New Orleans. By 1918, the word also began to mean "unnecessary talk" or "rubbish," and the famous phrase "all that jazz," meaning "et cetera," was eventually recorded around 1939.

The origin of this word is not clear, but what is certain is that in the late 1700s, a quiz wasn't a test; it was a person. It was slang for someone who acted or dressed differently from the rest. By the 1840s, this grew into a common schoolboy prank where students would play jokes at the expense of someone they considered a quiz. Eventually, the meaning shifted toward the idea of a "puzzling question" designed to make someone look a bit foolish.

Around 1852, the word was used to describe a brief examination of a student. These early quizzes were usually oral and were designed to be a "thorough review" of lectures. By 1853, medical schools even had "quiz classes," where a system of close questioning was used to help students become familiar with their subjects in a way they couldn't get anywhere else.

Where does the word dog come from? The answer is still a mystery. The word docga is traced in some English as a reference to a powerful breed of canine, but the roots of the term have not been found yet.

It has replaced the terms hound, related to the German word hund, and cur, related to the German word korren, for growling. However, by the 16th century, the word dog was adopted in many continental countries: French dogue, Danish dogge, and German Dogge. What is more, in Spanish, they use the word perro for dog, and it also has an unknown origin. Were these terms first used as slang or nicknames?

Back in the mid-1200s, the word boy didn’t mean a child at all; it was used for a "servant," "commoner," or even a "troublemaker." By around 1300, it could also mean a "rascal" or "young criminal," and only by the mid-1300s to 1400 did it start to be used for a male child.

Although there are a few theories, its exact origin is still unknown. Some link it to Old French and Latin words related to servants. Linguist Anatoly Liberman even suggests it may come from a mix of a sound for an evil spirit and a baby word for brother. In places like Ireland, Cornwall, and the American West, boy could simply mean man. From around 1600, it was also used for enslaved or servant men, no matter their age.

We are used to seeing the term bad as the direct antithesis of good. But has it always been like that? The answer is negative. The direct opposite of good was originally evil until the 1700s, and bad was used less frequently.

It also has no other language relations. It is believed to be from the Old English derogatory term baeddel and its diminutive baedling, meaning "effeminate man, hermaphrodite, predrast," which are probably related to baedan, meaning "to defile."

Another word in the ‘origin unknown’ category is big. The word was first registered in the 13th century in writings from northern England and the North Midlands, with a sense of "powerful; strong." It is believed to have roots in a Scandinavian source, where the term bugge means "great man" in Norwegian dialect_._

Big started to be part of the English daily vocabulary in the 1400s, meaning "of great size," "full-grown, grown up," or "important, influential, powerful". In the 1500s, the sense of "haughty, inflated with pride" was added, and by 1913, it was also used to mean "generous."

Around the 1300s, the word girl (spelled gyrle) meant "a child or young person," and it could refer to both boys and girls, although it was used more often for females. Its exact origin is unknown, but the Oxford English Dictionary suggests it may come from a lost Old English word (gyrele). This possible root is linked to similar words in Germany, Norway, and Sweden, all meaning "small child."

Over time, the meaning changed. By the late 1300s, girl began to mean specifically a female child. By the mid-1400s, it was also used for a young unmarried woman. In the 1640s, it could mean "sweetheart," and by 1826, old girl was used for women of any age.

Beloved lyrics

"For what is a man?": Some of the wisest lyric lines ever written

Paul Anka was terrified when he sat down to write the lyrics for a song that Frank Sinatra would be singing. Jokingly, he started with a dramatic, "And now, the end is near…" The rest is history. Who are the people who pen the words that others will spend decades repeating? How did they come up with words so precise and true that listeners would compare them with those of great philosophers? Here are 10 of people’s favorite lyrics of all time, decoded.

"For what is a man? What has he got? If not himself, then he has naught." The melody of "My Way" wasn't originally American. It began as a French song called Comme d'habitude, a number about a couple stuck in a stale marriage. Paul Anka heard it on the radio while in France and bought the rights on the spot, before he had any use for it.

That use arrived at a dinner in Miami, when Sinatra told him, almost in passing, that he was quitting the business. Anka flew home, sat down at a typewriter, and spent one night writing lyrics as if Sinatra himself were speaking them. Sinatra recorded it in two takes and later called it his "national anthem," and many agreed; Anka had written the exact words one wants to belt while closing an episode of their life.

In "Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)," John Lennon wrote: "Life is what happens to you while you are busy making other plans." But the phrase originated with American writer and cartoonist Allen Saunders, who published it in a 1957 issue of Reader's Digest ("Life is what happens to us while we are making other plans").

The line outlived everything else about the song, repeated at graduations and eulogies for decades since. Lennon was murdered shortly after the album's release, which means the song now carries a weight of hindsight neither he nor his listeners could have intended at the time.

"How many roads must a man walk down before you call him a man?" A young Bob Dylan wrote "Blowin' in the Wind" in 1962. He later claimed he wrote the entire song in about ten minutes at the Gaslight Cafe in Greenwich Village, borrowing its melody from the old spiritual "No More Auction Block." He was twenty-one, barely a year into his New York career, and insisted at the time it wasn't a protest song at all.

The song never answers its questions, but keeps asking them. First published in the folk magazine Broadside in May 1962, it became the unofficial anthem of the civil rights and antiwar movements once Peter, Paul and Mary's cover shot to number two on the charts in 1963.

"... is equal to the love you make." This is the last song the four Beatles ever recorded together, and Paul McCartney built it deliberately as a farewell. He gave Ringo Starr his only drum solo in the band's history, a fight McCartney had to win through what he called "gentle persuasion," since Starr detested solos on principle.

For the closing line, McCartney said he'd been thinking about Shakespeare, who often ended a scene with a rhyming couplet so the audience would know it was truly over. Even John Lennon, who generally disliked the Abbey Road medley and rarely praised his old partner's work by 1980, admitted the closing thought was "a very cosmic, philosophical line."

"... but it’s better than drinking alone." "Piano Man", by Billy Joel, narrates a song in which the character is real. Joel wrote it about the six months he spent playing piano under the fake name "Bill Martin" at a Los Angeles lounge called The Executive Room. Even the waitress "practicing politics" was Elizabeth Weber, the woman who'd soon become his wife.

Joel wrote it while hiding out from a record label he was desperate to escape after his debut album flopped. It became a bittersweet anthem that many people love singing with others; it seems like, as the song suggests, singing sorrows together at the bar is better than feeling them at home.

The whole song "Both Sides Now," by Joni Mitchell, is often quoted as a deeply philosophical observation of life. It concludes that some mysteries of life are as unknowable as the clouds, or love, despite accumulating experience.

When she wrote it, Mitchell had recently given up a daughter for adoption after being left by the child's father. She was twenty-three, mid-flight, after a passage in Saul Bellow's novel Henderson the Rain King described its narrator looking down at clouds from an airplane, something human eyes had only been able to do for a few decades. Judy Collins released it first in 1967 and won a Grammy for it; Mitchell's own version didn't appear until her 1969 album Clouds.

Kris Kristofferson’s song, "Me and Bobby McGee", contains one of people’s favorite quotes from song lyrics. Its title came from producer Fred Foster, who suggested Kristofferson write a song about his colleague's secretary, Barbara "Bobbie" McKee.

Its most quoted idea about freedom and loss was inspired, Kristofferson later said, by the final scene of Fellini's La Strada, in which a man realizes too late what he threw away. Roger Miller released it first, but it was Janis Joplin's posthumous 1971 recording, finished mere days before her death, that turned it into a number one hit and an accidental epitaph.

"... and I'm getting older too." Nicks says she wrote "Landslide" in about five minutes, sitting in a rented house in Aspen while her partner and musical collaborator, Lindsey Buckingham, was on tour rehearsing with the Everly Brothers. The song's real subject isn't romance, but the vertigo of watching time pass. She was twenty-seven, broke, working as a waitress and a cleaner, and their duo album had just been dropped by its label.

Looking at the snow on the Rockies, she found herself deciding whether to keep chasing music at all. Three months later, Mick Fleetwood heard Buckingham's guitar work on a demo and invited the pair into Fleetwood Mac, which changed their lives. The song has now aged into an anthem for anyone facing a hinge point in their own life.

"You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometime you'll find you get what you need." Mick Jagger sketched this one alone on an acoustic guitar, calling it "one of those bedroom songs." It closed 1969's Let It Bleed just as the decade's peace-and-love optimism was cracking.

The song is upbeat and simple, and unexpectedly insists on an idea of acceptance or surrender that has more to do with Stoic philosophy than with pop rock optimism. But the listeners liked it, and many quote it often.

"...that's how the light gets in." Leonard Cohen worked on "Anthem" for roughly a decade, discarding draft after draft, before it finally appeared on his 1992 album The Future. He wasn't a man given to explaining his own lyrics, having spent years training as an ordained Zen Buddhist monk and generally preferring silence to self-analysis.

But "Anthem" has the clearest statement of a philosophy he'd circled his entire career: that brokenness can give way to grace. It has since been invoked by human rights activists, quoted at protests, and performed at civic ceremonies.