Bitch, Please: Etymology

Timeline: A Brief History of a Word That Refused to Heel

Pre 1400

The beginnings: Literal Dog (Old English, pre-1400s)

He: “What a fayre bicce. Hath she taken much vermin this morrow?”

She: “Yeah, that she did.”

He: “For a stout bicce she be nimble than, is she not?”

She: “Aye…she is with puppies…a litter mayhap as many seven in number may be upon us if God grant favor”

He: “Ah! But then will come her sloth…”

She: “If thou meanest she must lie and give feed unto her brood…”

He: “In sooth, in sooth.”

Once upon a time, “bitch” was just a dog. A female dog, specifically. From Old English bicce, possibly from Old Norse bikkjuna. Scholars can’t even agree where it came from.

Translation: men arguing about origins while women are still being compared to livestock. At this stage, “bitch” is zoology. Neutral, harmless, furry.

Post 1400

Enter the Patriarchy, Mediocre White Men Have Something to Say…

In the Chester Mystery Plays, when a mother refuses to hand over her son during the Slaughter of the Innocents, she snaps back:

“Whom callest thou ‘slut’, scabbed bitch?”

Now “bitch” means loud woman, disobedient, resistant, a woman who will not surrender her child to murderous knights in biblical pageants. The word has now pivoted from dog to insult for women.

The female-aligned insult is weaponized. 

1811 The Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue

A: “I see you have Grose’s Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue!”

B: “I have. A most industrious catalog of our nation’s vices.”

A: “I noted something curious, that to name a woman ‘bitch’ is reckoned more provoking than to call her ‘whore.’”

B: “Indeed. For a ‘whore,’ sir, may yet be forgiven provided she be useful. But a ‘bitch’?”

A: “Ah. That is another creature altogether.”

B: “The greater offense is not that she sins…but that she will not submit.”

A: “Precisely. Desire may be purchased. Defiance cannot.”

1800s-1900s

He: Was called a bitch today.

She: How dreadful. Did they mean you were hysterical, venomous, tyrannical?

He: No. They implied that I folded. That I lacked spine.

She: Ah. So you were insufficient.

He: Precisely. And you?

She: A bitch as well. I expressed an opinion. Without apology. Apparently that constitutes aggression.

He: Remarkable elasticity, the word.

She: Elastic? No. Strategic.

He: Either way, someone has violated the quota.

She: Exactly. Power must be distributed correctly and if it isn’t we are reclassified …not as dogs. Dogs may be loyal. As “Bitches” which implies rebellion.

He: The word survives because it polices hierarchy. It punishes women for excess and men for deficiency. What do we do with that?

She: I intend to keep my excess.

He: And I?

She: You might consider acquiring some.

1930s Bitch as a Complaint

By the 1930s, “to bitch” meant to complain. Which is fascinating. Because when women articulate dissatisfaction with inequality, they are “bitching.” Middle English even had bicched meaning “cursed” or “bad.” Chaucer wrote of “bicched bones”, unlucky dice.

Imagine being so powerful, so threatening that your name becomes shorthand for bad luck.

1960s-70s The Redo

In the 1960s–70s Second-wave Feminism welcomes in Jo Freeman and her work, The Bitch Manifesto (1968).

Freeman quotes Simone de Beauvoir, “Man is defined as a human being and woman is defined as a female.” Boom.

The insult gets flipped. Being a bitch becomes a conscious act. It means you understand yourself. You refuse vicarious humanity through a man. It means you behave like a full human, and accept the label patriarchy hurls at you for it. “Bitch is Beautiful.”

THIS IS NOT A REBRAND, IT’S A HOSTILE TAKEOVER.

1980s-Now Pop Culture Appropriation & Modern usage

Suddenly “bitchin’” means rad. Excellent. Sick. Marty McFly throws it around in Back to the Future.

The word that once meant “subordinate female” now means “awesome.”

Meanwhile, in African-American vernacular and queer communities, the term morphs again, sometimes contemptuous, or alternately playful. Language travels. It mutates. It cannot be contained.

Despite reclamation, despite ironic usage, despite “bitchin’” as suburban slang for excellence, the insult’s skeletal structure remains intact. It still hinges on the idea that femininity is degradable and that to assign it to someone may be to diminish them.

Which makes its partial reclamation both radical and unstable.

Conclusion: Bitch began as a term for an animal. It became a leash.

An attempt to make a women heel. To communicate to them that they were valued most, only when obedient. Along the way, women leaned into something crucial: Dogs can bite.

The insult is proof of impact.

In a patriarchal society any woman insisting on her full humanity can be labeled a bitch. Don’t heel.

Legendary Ladies Tea

No One Spilled Any Tea

When I first saw the photograph, it made me ridiculously happy.

I can’t even put my finger on why but I know I wanted to know everything about this moment in time, I had a million questions, none of which would get any answers. Maybe my sheer joy was looking at what rebellion looks like, acknowledging that it could be just women sitting in a room, sharing a drink, knowing they’d changed so much for music, and for women.

These six absolute legends: Debbie Harry, Viv Albertine, Siouxsie Sioux, Chrissie Hynde, Poly Styrene, and Pauline Black, sitting side by side in a London hotel room. Drinking tea… Somehow no one, in interview history, asked these women to share more about this significant moment. Or if they did get asked questions, was the answer always, “It was fine.” That doesn’t seem possible.

These weren’t just women in bands. These were women who rewired a movement that supposedly belonged to angry men with guitars.

For a moment, these incredibly talented women were all in the same room, I want the footnotes. Someone had the good fortune to take pictures, that’s all I can find out, the photographers name. I’m frustrated.

It’s not teen angst unless it’s from the Aunis region in France, when you’re fifty, it’s sparkling frustration.

I was around sixteen when I found Siouxsie. Or maybe she found me.

Dark hair, dark eyes, a voice that sounded like it came from some deeper atmospheric layer of the earth. I loved all of it, the mystery, the authority, the way she radiated witchy confidence in her dark weirdness. I needed that example.

You can feel weird and dark and alone so easily as a teenager, but when light comes in through the cracks like that, you feel it.

I blasted her voice through the pathetic speakers of my 1975 VW Bug and sang along like I was somehow a part of it.

Pauline Black occupied the other end of the spectrum for me. Her voice was sunshine. Playful but razor sharp, woven perfectly through the music. The kind of sound lifts you up and gets you dancing in your seat. The more I learned about her, the more intensely she became a beacon of strength, feminism, anti-racism, just an outspoken and brilliant human. The Selektor’s music was the soundtrack to days out with friends, talking too much about too many things.

Everyone knew Heart of Glass. Everyone knew Blondie meant Debbie Harry.

And somewhere in my early rummaging through record crates, back when record stores were still plentiful, I grabbed the first Pretenders album and wore the grooves out.

Then came the punk and sass of X-Ray Spex and The Slits. Poly Styrene with that voice that sounded like no one else on earth, brightly colored outfits like an angry easter egg screaming about identity. Viv Albertine kicked the doors off and helped change what punk, and guitar playing itself, could look and sound like. She rejected traditional rock virtuosity in favor of jagged, experimental rhythms that fused punk with reggae, dub, and raw improvisation.

Sure, I can find interviews with all of them.

I can tell you about parts of their lives that made headlines, and probably a few parts they wish hadn’t.

But for all the cultural gravity of that photograph, almost nothing exists about the moment itself. One very lucky photographer, Michael Putland, just happened to be in the right London hotel but I can’t tell you one iota about what actually happened in that room that day. Who talked the most. Who was awkward or funny. Who was shy. Who lit the first cigarette. Nothing.

Six women who helped reshape punk, sitting together in the same room, I have so many questions…

I know this, Debbie Harry invited them. She later said, “I really wanted to get together with all the punk females for an afternoon of celebration. It’s a great memory.” Then she laughed and added that if she tried to recreate it today, it wouldn’t fit in a hotel room. “I would need a hall.” She’s not wrong.

These pioneering women paved the way, most are still performing, they are bad bitches. Writer Marcey Rizzetta’s take on the newest phase of bitchdom explores the evolution from Basic Bitch to Bad Bitch. Per Rizzetta’s definition that’s a woman who knows exactly who she is and refuses to negotiate that fact. A woman who isn’t performing for approval, softening herself for other’s comfort or shrinking to make the room easier for anyone else. Its everything that gives me chills when I look at the photo, women being authentically themselves. You can find wonderful interviews with each of these ladies, they’re smart and savy and worth reading about even if I never found out how this tea went. May there be a future Ladies Tea and for the love of punk history, may we know more about it!