Trending slang words we should know

By Herman M. Lagon

Let us begin with a confession: once, while trying to decode what my students meant when they said something was “mid,” I found myself scrolling through Facebook with a furrowed brow and a browser history full of Urban Dictionary tabs. Somewhere between “cap,” “no cap,” and “cringe,” I realized I was no longer just teaching language—I was chasing it. Welcome to the evolving playground of Gen Z and Gen Alpha slang, where words move faster than lesson plans and meanings change before the bell rings.

If you are an educator, a call center team lead, or a tito trying to survive group chats without being ghosted, keeping up with these terms is more than curiosity. It is cultural literacy. Language, after all, is where belonging begins.

Take “sigma.” No, not the Greek letter or the trauma-inducing symbol from statistics class. In today’s slang, “sigma” points to quiet confidence—the kind that does not need applause to be effective. It fits the colleague who stays steady while others spiral, or the student who keeps working calmly while panic spreads. Sigma energy. In contrast, there is “skibidi,” a word that sounds playful but often means nonsense or something awkwardly pointless. In our terms, it is that meeting that could have been an email. Skibidi.

What fascinates me about modern slang is how absurdity often carries insight. “Delulu,” short for delusional, is used humorously—someone believing they still have a chance with an ex who has already blocked them everywhere. Yet beneath the joke is something familiar: coping. Hope stretched thin. A bit of emotional self-defense. Do we not all carry some delulu when we believe deadlines will magically move or traffic will suddenly ease?

Slang also mirrors how digital life shapes relationships. Consider “parasocial,” a term Cambridge Dictionary notes has moved from academic circles into everyday speech. It describes one-sided emotional bonds with online personalities—YouTubers, influencers, even AI-generated voices. In classrooms and homes, this matters. Students may feel deeply connected to people who do not know they exist, while feeling distant from those physically present. That shift deserves attention, not mockery.

Then there are words born directly from the algorithm. Merriam-Webster’s 2025 pick, “slop,” refers to low-quality content—often AI-generated—that floods timelines with noise but little substance. If you have ever scrolled endlessly and felt oddly tired without learning anything, you have felt slop at work. Oxford’s “rage bait” fits neatly here too: content designed not to inform, but to provoke anger for clicks. These are not just slang terms; they are warnings about the media diet shaping young minds.

Closely related is the phrase “brain rot,” a blunt but strangely accurate way young people describe what happens after too much mindless scrolling. It is not a medical term, of course, but a feeling—mental fog, shortened attention, the sense that hours passed and nothing meaningful stayed. When students joke about having “brain rot,” they are often being more self-aware than we give them credit for. They know when content is consuming them more than it is nourishing them.

Some terms simply refuse to disappear. “Ghosting,” the sudden disappearance from conversation, remains painfully relevant. “FOMO,” the fear of missing out, still fuels anxiety in curated online lives. “Cringe” continues to police social behavior, while “squad” and “hangry” soften daily experiences with humor. These words persist because they name shared feelings—loneliness, pressure, hunger, belonging.

Others signal emerging conversations. “Agentic,” often linked to agentic AI, speaks to technology that acts independently—raising quiet questions about control, responsibility, and trust. “Broligarchy,” a mashup of “bro” and “oligarchy,” keeps popping up in political talk to name a familiar frustration—power circles that feel closed, comfortable, and untouchable. These words are not throwaway slang; they are shortcuts to real debates young people are already having.

Of course, slang remains playful. “Rizz” still refers to charm, “pookie” to affection, and yes, “gyat” still earns awkward laughs for its very specific admiration. But even humor has structure. When students say something is “mid,” they are not being cruel; they are being precise. Not terrible. Not amazing. Just… mid. Sometimes, they take it further and say something is a “6/7” (a spark that connects people before it’s defined)—not a failure, not excellence either, but decent enough to pass without applause. Language giving room for nuance.

Filipinos, in particular, have always used humor as social glue. Words like “goofy” echo our comfort with self-deprecation. “Slay” has moved beyond runways and pop culture to celebrate effort and excellence—when a teacher delivers a clear lecture or a student finally gets it right. If someone says your presentation “slayed,” accept it. That is praise.

What all this tells us is simple: slang is not linguistic decay. It is adaptation. British linguist David Crystal reminds us that language evolves fastest where creativity meets community. In our country, with millions are online daily, TikTok and group chats have become the new plazas. Slang is the handshake, the signal that says, “You are part of this.”

We do not need to sound like our students to hear them. “Good vibes” often means they feel at ease, and “cringe” usually points to discomfort, not attitude. Listening matters.

So the next time you hear “delulu,” “parasocial,” or even “slop” in the hallway, resist the urge to dismiss it. Ask what it means. Ask why it matters. Because language does not just describe culture—it reveals where attention, anxiety, humor, and hope are quietly gathering.

And whether we like it or not, the language is moving—sometimes messy, sometimes funny, sometimes uncomfortably accurate. Bet?

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a ”student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.