1172. This week, we look at "toponyms" — words named after places — and you'll discover the hidden place names in denim, jeans, sherry, cantaloupe, and more. Then, we break down "principal" versus "principle," with memory tricks so you'll never forget the difference again.
1172. This week, we look at "toponyms" — words named after places — and you'll discover the hidden place names in denim, jeans, sherry, cantaloupe, and more. Then, we break down "principal" versus "principle," with memory tricks so you'll never forget the difference again.
The "toponyms" segment was written by Karen Lunde, a longtime writer and editor turned web designer and marketing mentor. Solo service business owners come to her for websites where beautiful design meets authentic words that actually build connections. Find her at chanterellemarketingstudio.com.
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Grammar Girl here. I’m Mignon Fogarty, and today we’re talking about "toponyms" and then, we’ll figure out when to use the two spellings of the word "principal/principle."
This first segment is by Karen Lunde.
By Karen Lunde
Did you know the last time you pulled on a pair of jeans you were putting on clothing named after a city in the south of France? Denim seems like an American staple. But if you peel back the etymology, it’s actually a linguistic shortcut for the French phrase "serge de Nîmes"—literallly meaning "serge (a sturdy twill fabric) from the city of Nîmes."
The word "denim" is a kind of toponym. At its core, a toponym is any place name. The word comes from Greek. "Topos" means "place." You hear it in words like "topography." And "onoma" means "name," and you hear that in words like "anonymous" and "synonym."
Some toponyms evolve into common nouns, like "denim" did. And when they do, some linguists would argue that they also become eponyms. Those are common nouns derived from proper nouns. Usually, we think of eponyms as common nouns that originated with people. A good example of that is "sandwich," which was named for the Earl of Sandwich.
But for simplicity's sake here, we'll stick with calling these words "toponyms," or maybe even "secret toponyms." They're the kind that are hidden in plain sight — words you probably didn't realize were named for places.
If you're deeply into fashion, you may know that the world of clothing and fabric has spun off (pun intended!) lots of toponyms. So, here are a few of those:
While denim comes from France, the word "jeans" comes from the Italian city of Genoa. The French word for Genoa is Gênes, which is how the sturdy cotton trousers worn by Genoese sailors got their name.
That heavy canvas "duffel bag" you've hauled through the airport is named after the town of Duffel in Belgium, which was famous in the 17th century for producing the thick, coarse woolen cloth used to make the bags.
Whether it’s a sports jersey or the fabric, "jersey" is named after the Isle of Jersey in the English Channel, which was a major hub for knitting and wool exports.
The delicate cotton fabric muslin is often said to be named after Mosul, a city in modern-day Iraq where Europeans first encountered the material.
So, there are plenty of secret toponyms related to textiles. But there are probably even more toponyms in the world of food and drink.
If you're a wine aficionado, you may know that many wine names refer to their place of origin, such as Bordeaux, Burgundy, and Champagne (France), Chianti (Italy), and Rioja (Spain).
Sherry is an English corruption of Jerez, for the Spanish city of Jerez de la Frontera. There's a long and complicated story behind this one, but the T-L-D-R version is that the name may have evolved from the Roman city name "Ceret" after it wound through several politically and diplomatically driven iterations to Xerez, spelled X-E-R-E-Z, and eventually became Jerez, spelled with a J. Along the way, the name for the distinctive fortified white wine from the region was anglicized to "sherry."
And then there's cantaloupe. These melons were first cultivated in Europe at Cantalupo, a former papal country estate near Rome, after seeds were brought over from Armenia. And here's a fun tidbit that has nothing to do with the fruit: "Cantalupo" means "singing wolf" or "howling wolf."
"Tangerine" is also a toponym. This fruit was originally called a "Tangerine orange"—spelled with a capital T in "tangerine"—meaning an "orange from Tangier," the port city in Morocco.
In the 1300s, little dried grapes used in cooking and baking were known as "raisins of Corinth," named after the Greek city where they were grown. In Anglo-French, this was "reisin de Corauntz." As the word moved into English, speakers heard the "s" sound at the end of "Corauntz" and assumed it was plural. To create a singular noun, they lopped off the "s," giving us the word "currant." Decades later, the name jumped from the dried grape to the unrelated red and black berries we grow in gardens today, simply because they looked like those tiny Greek raisins.
And then we have toponyms that don't describe physical objects, but rather behaviors or ideas. These are the "deep cover" words!
Have you ever gone for a "meander?" You’re actually imitating a river. The term derives from the Büyük Menderes River in present-day Turkey, which was known to the Greeks as "Maiandros" or "Maeander." The Greeks began using the river’s name as a verb for anything that wandered aimlessly, and thousands of years later, we still use it to describe a slow walk or a rambling speech.
If your house is in a state of bedlam, you’re referencing a very specific building in London. "Bedlam" is a contraction of the Hospital of Saint Mary of Bethlehem. This hospital became a notorious asylum for the mentally ill. Over time, "Bethlehem" became "Bethlem," then "Bedlam," and eventually, the name of the institution became a generic word for chaos and uproar.
And for the equestrian nerds out there, consider the canter. When a horse moves at this pace, it’s short for a "Canterbury gallop" or "Canterbury pace." This refers to the moderate speed at which pilgrims would ride while traveling to the shrine of Thomas Becket in Canterbury. They weren't racing, but they had a long way to go, so they settled into a steady, rhythmic pace.
And while we're on the topic of toponyms, there are a few false toponyms lurking in our lexicon, too.
The most famous "seems like a toponym but isn't" (or at least isn't correct) might just be "turkey." This bird is native to North America, so why is it named after a country in the Middle East? Well, when Europeans first saw the bird, they confused it with a type of guinea fowl that was imported to Europe by Turkish merchants. They started calling it a "Turkey-cock," and the name stuck.
Then there's the Panama hat. If you buy a genuine one, you’ll find it was actually made in Ecuador. They gained the name "Panama hats" in the 19th century because Panama was the international trade hub where they were sold to travelers and gold-seekers.
The cute little Guinea pig is not from Guinea at all; they're native to the Andes in South America, and the "Guinea" part of their name is a mystery. The OED speculates that it could be because the fuzzballs resemble the young of the Guinea Hog, but some linguists believe it’s a shipping error: ships returning from the Americas often stopped in Guinea, leading people to believe the arriving animals originated there. Still others suggest the animals were simply sold for the price of one guinea (a gold coin), but that one's been pretty well debunked.
Toponyms remind us that words don't just appear out of thin air—they're carried along trade routes, brought home by sailors, and born out of the chaos of history. So, the next time you use a common word that feels a bit foreign, try looking it up. You might just find a hidden destination tucked inside the syllables.
That segment was written by Karen Lunde, a longtime writer and editor turned web designer and marketing mentor. Solo service business owners come to her for websites where beautiful design meets authentic words that actually build connections. Find her at chanterellemarketingstudio.com.
by Mignon Fogarty
Have you ever stared at the word "principal/principle" and thought, "Wait, which spelling do I need here?" Well, a listener named Sarah had the same question when she was looking at job titles. So today, we're going to sort out the difference.
The old grade-school memory trick you may have learned — "the principal is your pal" — is a good starting point because the spelling that ends in "pal," P-A-L, came first, but it only gets you so far because it turns out that spelling has a lot of other meanings too.
The Latin root, which it shares with the other spelling, has the idea of something that is first, important, or original. So a principal isn't just the leader of a school; it's a word for any important person. The lead actor in a movie or play can be called the principal, for example. A CEO could be called a principal, and I've heard people who work in politics call the politician they work for the principal. For example, you might hear someone say, "We’re traveling with the principal tomorrow on the private jet," or explain that the chief of staff’s primary job is to protect the principal’s time.
But beyond being a noun, our principal, who's the pal, can also be an adjective, where it still draws on that "important" or "main" meaning. For example, if something is the "principal" reason, it's the main reason. If someone is the "principal" investigator on a study, that person is the lead researcher.
And still leaning on that "important" or "main" meaning, "principal" with a "pal" at the end is also the main or non-interest part of a loan. When you're paying down your principal (hopefully), that's the P-A-L word too.
So many meanings for our pal! In Scottish law, it's an original document that's not a copy; and in seismology, it's the most intense earthquake of a group. The adjective meanings go on and on.
Fortunately, the other P-L-E spelling is simpler.
It came to English just a bit later than the other spelling, and in modern use, aside from some rare edge cases, it is only a noun. It refers to a fundamental law, rule, tenet, doctrine, and so on, as in "She's a woman of principle" or "It's against my principles."
Here's how to keep the two spellings straight.
First, use the coincidence that the word "rule" and the kind of principle that refers to a rule (or a law or belief) both end in L-E. That's its only meaning.
And then every other kind of principal ends in "pal." It's true that's the spelling when it refers to your metaphorical pals like the principal of your school or the head honcho at work, but it's also true of all the other meanings, like naming the main part of a loan or describing the principal investigator on a research project.
And it's also the answer to Sarah's question about job titles. Any job title that refers to the principal, such as the principal architect or principal broker, is going to be the P-A-L spelling.
Thanks for the question.
Harper, Douglas. "Etymology of principal." Online Etymology Dictionary. https://www.etymonline.com/word/principal. (accessed March 22, 2026)
Harper, Douglas. "Etymology of principle." Online Etymology Dictionary. https://www.etymonline.com/word/principle. (accessed March 22, 2026)
Merriam-Webster. "Principle vs. Principal: Usage Guide." Merriam-Webster. https://www.merriam-webster.com/grammar/principal-vs-principle-usage. (accessed March 22, 2026)
Fogarty, Mignon. Grammar Girl's Quick and Dirty Tips for Better Writing. New York: St. Martin's Press, 2008.
Garner, Bryan A. Garner's Modern English Usage. 5th ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 2022.
"Principal." Oxford English Dictionary. https://www.oed.com/dictionary/principal_adj. (accessed March 22, 2026)
"Principle." Oxford English Dictionary. https://www.oed.com/dictionary/principle_n. (accessed March 22, 2026)
"'Principal' or 'Principle.'" Grammar Girl Quick and Dirty Tips, episode 519, June 2, 2016. https://www.quickanddirtytips.com/qdtarchive/principal-or-principle/. (accessed March 22, 2026)
Finally, I have a familect from Maggie.
Hey, this is Maggie from Vancouver, Washington, and one of my family likes is “snitching.” And it's a word my mom made up that we now use in mostly the context of cooking or baking, and it basically means to sample a bit of whatever we are making. So, like, I might snitch cookie dough or even snitch a cookie when it's, like, fresh out of the oven. And I'd only ever heard that in that context until I was a little bit older and I heard it being like, "Oh, someone snitched on me!" I was like, "What? Someone is tasting me?" And then I realized that snitch also meant to tell on someone. Just thought I'd share that. Love your show.
Thanks, Maggie. I snitched a cookie fresh out of the oven from my husband just the other day.
If you want to share the story of a word you use with your family or friends that's just an insider thing nobody else would know — your familect — you can send it to me through Speakpipe at speakpipe.com/grammagirl, or you can call the voicemail line at 83-321-4-GIRL. Both of those are in the show description, and be sure to call from a nice quiet place like a closet or a parked car so we can hear your fabulous story!
Grammar Girl is a Quick and Dirty Tips podcast. Thanks to Morgan Christianson; Rebekah Sebastian; Holly Hutchings, Dan Feierabend; Maram Elnagheeb; and Nat Hoopes, who just released a 6-song EP called Adult Contemporary by The Bedroomer and Hudson Freeman.
I'm Mignon Fogarty, better known as Grammar Girl.
That's all. Thanks for listening.