w00t! Online word named "Word of the year" by dictionary.

Julia.
He turned round, and for a second almost failed to recognize her. What
he had actually expected was to see her naked. But she was not naked. The
transformation that had happened was much more surprising than that. She
had painted her face.
She must have slipped into some shop in the proletarian quarters and
bought herself a complete set of make-up materials. Her lips were deeply
reddened, her cheeks rouged, her nose powdered; there was even a touch of
something under the eyes to make them brighter. It was not very skilfully
done, but Winston's standards in such matters were not high. He had never
before seen or imagined a woman of the Party with cosmetics on her face.
The improvement in her appearance was startling. With just a few dabs of
colour in the right places she had become not only very much prettier, but,
above all, far more feminine. Her short hair and boyish overalls merely
added to the effect. As he took her in his arms a wave of synthetic violets
flooded his nostrils. He remembered the half-darkness of a basement
kitchen, and a woman's cavernous mouth. It was the very same scent that she
had used; but at the moment it did not seem to matter.
'Scent too!' he said.
'Yes, dear, scent too. And do you know what I'm going to do next? I'm
going to get hold of a real woman's frock from somewhere and wear it
instead of these bloody trousers. I'll wear silk stockings and high-heeled
shoes! In this room I'm going to be a woman, not