Which Dictionary Entries Solve A Tricky Risque Crossword Clue?

Sometimes a crossword throws a sly, risqué clue that rewards a calm, methodical approach. I tend to run through a mental checklist of compact dictionary entries that setters favor: 'racy' (4), 'lewd' (4), 'blue' (4), 'bawdy' (5), 'ribald' (6), 'smutty' (6), 'risque' (6 without the accent), and longer choices like 'salacious' (9) or 'prurient' (8). Those entries appear with clear usage notes in standard dictionaries, which helps me choose the right tone for the grid.

If the clue is cryptic I look for indicator words that point to definition versus wordplay; sometimes the surface reads risqué but the definition is perfectly innocent, leading me to words with double meanings listed in the dictionary. Regional preference also matters: British puzzles love 'blue' and 'bawdy', whereas American puzzles might favor 'racy' or 'lewd'. I always check inflected forms too — is the grid asking for a noun or an adjective? — and consult the dictionary for variant spellings or archaic forms like 'bawdry'. That little habit of matching connotation, part of speech, and regional usage almost always narrows the field to the right entry, and I enjoy the quiet satisfaction when the crosses confirm the fit.

I get a kick out of those clues that blush a little — the ones that nudge you toward something saucy but hide behind a pun or a deceptive definition. When I tackle a risqué clue, my first instinct is to think of the most neutral, dictionary-friendly synonyms that setters like to use: 'racy' (4), 'bawdy' (5), 'lewd' (4), 'ribald' (6), 'smutty' (6), and 'salacious' (9). Those are the usual suspects because they cover a range of registers from light and playful to explicitly prurient. A quick flick through a Merriam-Webster or Collins entry will show subtle labels — ‘dated,’ ‘offensive,’ ‘informal’ — that help me decide which one fits the grid and the tone of the puzzle.

Sometimes the trickiness comes from orthography or foreign words. For example, 'risqué' appears in crosswords without the accent as 'risque' (6), and knowing that saves me a lot of head-scratching when crossings seem to demand an English spelling. British setters might prefer 'blue' (4) for a risqué sense — it’s surprisingly common in UK puzzles — whereas American puzzles more often go for 'racy' or 'lewd.' Then there are curveballs like 'bawd' (4) as a noun, or the archaic 'bawdry' (6) which shows up if the puzzle loves its historical vocabulary. Dictionary entries often include those forms and historical notes, so I always check the full entry rather than just the first line.

I also keep an eye out for tone and secondary meanings listed in the dictionary. 'Ribald' implies coarse or irreverent humor, 'salacious' leans toward sexual arousal or lasciviousness, and 'prurient' signals unhealthy interest — they’re not interchangeable even if a setter writes a vague clue. For cryptic clues, the surface can be flirtatious while the wordplay is dead literal, so entries like 'smut' (noun) vs 'smutty' (adj) matter for tense and part of speech. In short, when a clue feels cheeky I comb synonyms, check variant spellings, and read the usage labels in the dictionary; that little ritual usually turns the cheeky clue into a satisfying aha. I still grin when a sly little 'blue' or 'bawdy' slips into the grid though — feels like the puzzle winking back at me.