The discussion of modern generations is often relegated to negativity. “iPad kids,” “screenagers” and “brainrotted idiots” have become common descriptions of today’s screen-addicted youth. The term brainrot in particular has come to define much of the media consumed by this younger generation. Media bursting with mentions of nonsensical gibberish such as “skibidi” and “67.”
But what is “67?” What is “skibidi?” To ask is to misunderstand. “67” means “67.” “Skibidi” means “skibidi.” Their beauty lies precisely in their lack of meaning, the paradox that they exist only to exist, as absurd symbols looping endlessly back on themselves.
Many have taken to critiquing the movement, calling brainrot “low value internet content.” Some schools have banned the term “67,” even notable right-wing influencer Ben Shapiro has taken to critiquing the phenomenon’s stated negative impact on the youth.
Despite that, the term brainrot itself was coined and reclaimed by those who have been “rotted.” People who reclaimed the term in a show of self-aware pride. The meaninglessness of brainrot is the point. The explicit lack of meaning creates a shared code in which anyone can participate.
If serious culture is about knowledge, brainrot is about reveling in and appreciating the nonsense. In a world where every moment is optimized, graded and critiqued, there is something incredibly radical about embracing nonsense. Just as the youth of the summer of 1967 rebelled against the expectations of conformity and achievement central to the time through the embrace of art and community, 21st-century youth rebels against a culture that thrives on discipline by using the term “67.” It’s a rejection of the claim that everything has to mean something. It’s a rejection of conformity.
Looking closer, it becomes clear that brainrot generates new forms of connection. Online subcultures remix viral videos of Adrian explaining his friend group, watching the bob at the back of class and Tim Cheese discussing the brutal killing of John Pork. People across the world participate in the collective knowledge that brainrot is stupid. Yet in the shared absurdity, real meaning emerges.
Even in day-to-day interaction, brainrot generates connections. Whenever I meet someone new and hear a serious figure say “67,” whether it be “we’ll have 6 or 7 days to work on our project” or “you have 67 tardies this semester,” I will immediately find connection in hysterical laughter.
On the other hand, brainrot is one of the few cultural phenomena that reflects our times. It mirrors the speed, as well as the fragmentation and absurdity of the world. We live in an era where a reality television star can be president, the world’s wealthiest man spends nights posting cringeworthy memes on his own social media platform and robotic artificial intelligence is steadily taking over every facet of our daily life. In that sense, brainrot isn’t so far removed; it’s a parody anyone can resonate with.
Despite brainrot’s parallels to the ridiculousness of contemporary society, it contrasts it in one important way: while much of the modern world is dominated by cruelty and cynicism, brainrot is anything but cruel.
Brainrot’s absurdity is democratic; anyone can join, contribute and understand it by simply repeating the words. It is the very thing critics fear: its lack of meaning is what makes it beautiful.
So yes, “67” is meaningless. “Skibidi” is nonsense. But in their refusal to mean anything, they mean everything. They are proof that humans will always find each other laughing at the nonsense until it becomes the loudest sound of our generation.
