“If you are
in company with men of learning, though they happen to discourse of arts and
sciences out of your compass, yet you will gather more advantage by listening
to them, than from all the nonsense and frippery of your own sex . . . .”
Swift’s point
is debatable but you can understand my impression of frippery. The OED outlines
a splendid history of the word. It starts in France, of course, and beginning in
the sixteenth century the word in English means “old clothes; cast-off
garments.” This mutates into “finery in
dress, esp. tawdry finery.” That
sounds like “shabby-genteel,” a quality I find admirable, like any attempt to honestly
bolster one’s sagging self-respect. By the
nineteenth century, frippery could be
applied to “a showily-dressed person” or “articles of small value; trifles.”
Swift’s usage is closest to this meaning: “empty display, esp. in speech or literary composition; showy talk; ostentation.”
That’s pretty much what I had in mind. In modern demotic American English,
bullshit.
English is
remarkable in the way it takes a word and clones it promiscuously. Here are
subsequent usages: “a place where cast-off clothes are sold,” “a stand or horse
for dresses, etc.; a wardrobe,” “trade or traffic in cast-off clothes,” “tawdry
style; frivolity.” The Dictionary’s final entry is an
adjective, “fripperied over,” meaning “showily tricked out.”
English gives
us enormous freedom of expression, while demanding that we treat it with respect.
We can articulate almost anything, if we work at it. How exhilarating it is to
play with words while communicating with others. It’s almost like making music.
Anthony Burgess, a composer and great lexical performer, writes in Language Made Plain (Thomas Y. Crowell,
1965):
“[L]anguage
survives everything—corruption, misuse, ignorance, ineptitude. Linking man to
man in the dark, it brought man out of the dark. It is the human glory which
antecedes all others. It merits not only our homage but our constant and
intelligent study.”
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