How Digital Culture Transforms Youth Slang

A longtime writing teacher and parent observes that while slang remains vibrant among youth, its evolution has accelerated due to digital culture. Social media and AI have diluted the power of new expressions by making them instantly mainstream, stripping away the exclusivity that once signaled belonging. The author notes a shift from conversational slang to environmental slang absorbed through memes and short-form video.

Despite this, there is a resurgence of informal language in the post-pandemic era, though much of it is criticized as 'brain rot'—a term named the OED's Word of the Year in 2024. This content is often stagnant and AI-generated, contrasting with the playful, improvisational nature of traditional slang. The author suggests that adults' fascination with youth slang stems from a longing for creativity lost to corporate jargon. To counter the homogenization of language, the author advocates for inventing personal slang at home, fostering cross-generational connection and genuine creative expression.

The landscape of youth language has shifted from face-to-face invention to passive absorption. The author, a parent and educator with a Ph.D. in English, observes that her children use terms like 'bruh,' 'slay,' 'chat,' and 'aura,' but mostly they observe rather than create. Slang has become environmental rather than conversational, absorbed through TikToks, YouTube shorts, and memes rather than invented in real-time interaction.

When the author asked her children, "What's slanging?" hoping for a tutorial, the response was a report on classroom discipline: "Our teacher threatened yellow slips if anyone reacts again to six-seven." This exchange highlights how current slang is often observed rather than actively participated in. The author contrasts this with her own childhood, where peers claimed to invent words like 'cheesy' and shared phrases like 'grody to the max' and 'take a chill pill,' fostering a sense of co-creating meaning.

While slang is very much alive, its quality is debated. The author's 7th grader describes most modern slang as 'brain rot.' This term was named the Word of the Year by the Oxford English Dictionary in 2024. It refers to the assumed mental decline resulting from consuming meaningless, cheaply produced online content that sticks in the mind like an earworm.

Unlike the playful, improvisational slang formed through interaction, 'brain rot' feels stagnant. It is often generated or amplified by AI-driven content mills. The author notes that examples of this slang provided by her children were unrecognizable as legible words. This represents a drift into goofy and vapid territory, distinct from the neologisms of five years ago (such as 'social distancing' or 'doomscrolling') which carried the weight of a dark and frightening time.

There is a paradox in the current boom of slang: the very tools that amplify it also dilute its power. When slang becomes instantly legible to everyone through social media and Gen Z dictionary videos, it stops performing its traditional social function. Slang was designed to signal belonging, intimacy, and a challenge to authority. Instant legibility destroys this exclusivity.

The author admits to a desire to be 'in the know,' a curiosity monetized by the internet. However, this fascination may reveal a deeper longing for the creativity lost to corporate jargon and productivity-speak. Workplaces are full of terms like 'circling back,' 'pivoting,' and 'drilling down.' As communication shifts to asynchronous exchanges or AI-assisted drafting, linguistic playfulness offers a necessary counterweight to a culture that values efficiency over expressiveness.

To reclaim linguistic creativity, the author suggests turning down the volume on ambient jargon and cultivating family lingo. Creating personal slang fosters cross-generational play and keeps families laughing and in sync. The household has developed its own lexicon, including alter egos, jingles, and made-up phrases.

Examples of this private language include phrases like "What the bingo, ignus?" or "Darbitron, where's my warder barder?" When a phrase sticks, it creates joy in tracking its evolution. When the author's son claimed to invent "hallee-you-la," the delight was in the discovery. In a world where language is increasingly pushed at users, inventing one's own language remains one of the last places where creativity feels genuinely shared.