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CULTURE

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Young people love it, and adults are in tangles. Its evolution from an inside joke to an outside one is nearly complete.

The ‘six-seven’ viral trend among people is a kind of vocal stim, writes the author, a soothing, repetitive activity akin to ‘cracking your knuckles or sucking your teeth. We do it because it feels good; it’s especially useful when little else does.’ Blackboard by Darapti, CC by 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons. Collage by The Tyee.

Harrison Mooney TodayThe Tyee

Harrison Mooney is an associate editor at The Tyee. He is an award-winning author and journalist from Abbotsford, B.C., who recently won the Rakuten Kobo Emerging Writer Prize for his memoir, Invisible Boy.

The youth of the world have decided that saying “six-seven” is funny.

The rest of the world — the adults — are at sixes and sevens about it. That means we’re confused, kids, and not for no reason. Back in our day, six was terrified of seven. It ate nine.

Nowadays, the setup is the punchline. But for why? Hard to say.

At first, the grown-ups thought it was the latest evolution of the number we made sexy: 69. (Nice.) It almost makes sense. They’re quite similar memes: loaded numbers that one would be wise not to utter in earshot of immature people. As far as I know, though, this one is not a synonym or slang term for inverted congress.

There’s a popular single where Skrilla, the drill rapper, says the phrase twice. What’s he talking about? It’s an ad lib. Some say it’s a reference to 67th Street in Philadelphia, where Skrilla got started. Or maybe Chicago. Or maybe Vancouver. A lot of cities have a 67th.

Others have said it’s in reference to police signal 10-67, the brevity code for reporting a death. There’s some sense to this, especially appearing in a song called “Doot Doot,” which is onomatopoeia for a gunshot.

Skrilla himself says the phrase has no meaning. Whatever the case, it’s been used as the soundtrack for several hype videos starring NBA standout Lamelo Ball, the highlight reel pass-happy point guard for the Charlotte Hornets, who happens to be listed at — get this — exactly 6 foot 7 inches. Uncanny.

Except that it’s literally the average height for NBA players this season. Harrison Barnes is 6’7”. So is Scottie Barnes. If there’s a Barnes at the three, there’s a good chance he’s roughly 6’7”.

That said, the basketball link to the six-seven trend is legit.

In a viral YouTube video of a local basketball game, the camera finds a young man in the audience who knows what to do: “Six-seven!” he shouts, and the guys around him shout it too.

Raw footage of a now-viral ‘six-seven’ moment. Does it explain anything? No. But it has 4.2 million views. Video via budgetz on YouTube.

At press time, this short clip had 4.2 million views.

Not that it matters, but South Park is part of this too, and I’m sure the youth are laughing at me for forgetting to mention the actual actual origin. However you explain it, six-seven is viral now, which means it doesn’t have to mean a thing.

For over a month, it’s been spreading like the baby talk in Pontypool. You truly can’t escape it, and even avoid saying something that might be mistaken for it.

It’s over for you, teachers

It used to be routine to teach students to count, one to 10. Nowadays, teachers can’t do that without the whole class doubling over in laughter. Skip directly to eight after five, or it’s over for you.

Granted, if you do, that’s funny too. It’s hard to get around this particular trend. You can’t even sneak by with something like: six and seven. The kids are not fooled by superfluous articles. You said both parts. They heard you.

You don’t even have to say this one out loud. As the video shows, there’s a relevant gesture: in lieu of the words, you just juggle invisible balls. The gesture means six-seven too, and it’s useful, especially after the phrase has been banned by your school.

If the juggling gesture is banned too, don’t fret: there’s a backup. My seven-year-old daughter showed it to me. Make a six with your left hand (like the “A-OK” symbol) and a seven (like “loser,” except upside-down) with the right.

That’s ka-blamo. You’re back in the game, like a boss.

And if lowkey six-seven substitutes get banned too, it will only make things worse.

There are at least 67 more ways to rebel, to allude to the meme, or to trip over six-seven, walking around. Get 67 per cent on an exam? You didn’t fail. You made a funny. What’s the time? 6:35? That’s hilarious. Who does this clock think he is? Richard Pryor? The magic of six-seven is the fact that it’s in sequence. You don’t even have to go out of your way.

‘It feels good; it’s especially useful when little else does’

I’m reminded of a woman I once dated who insisted that she was being haunted by the number 34. Lately, I’m seeing it everywhere, she said. It seemed a bit ridiculous to me, seeing as four follows three, as a rule. But she was right. She was haunted. As we travelled Kitsilano’s West 4th Avenue, she spotted a road sign with the street abbreviation: W4.

“Oh my God,” she said, spotting her numerological stalker. “W is just three on its side.”

The signs are everywhere, especially once they’ve gone viral inside your own mind.

That’s what’s really going on here. It’s not from the rappers or basketball players. It’s because it’s simply fun to say, like baba booey, or fiddle dee dee, or that shit is bananas.

The essence of six-seven is its value as a vocal stim, the repetitive behaviour closely associated with autism, sensory processing disorder or the one I have: ADHD.

But actually, everybody does this stuff. Cracking your knuckles or sucking your teeth. We do it because it feels good; it’s especially useful when little else does.

In other words, there’s dopamine in this expression, gold in them thar hills, and so long as the olds disapprove, it remains.

There’s a kid on my son’s soccer team especially susceptible to earworms like this. He’ll arrive on the pitch and scream something like, “Yozwers and bowsers!” And then his mom will shout at him, exasperated: “For the love of God, stop saying ‘Yowzers and bowsers!’”

Why would he, though? Not only does it rhyme, which makes it extra fun to say, but the nonsense phrase drives his mom crazy.

Last week, of course, he couldn’t help himself from shouting out “six-seven!” every six or seven minutes.

But this time, before he was scolded, the rest of the kids started shouting “six-seven” as well, like a bunch of young Spartaci, and he was crowned king of soccer.

Honestly, good for him. Neurodivergence is rarely this popular. So long as this goes on, his self-regulation sounds have an acceptable outlet. In my day, these outbursts got you sent to the principal’s office. But this week, they win you a bunch of new friends.

Next week will be different. These viral terms never live long. Take it from a Black man who has watched white conservatives terrorize words like “badonkadonk,” “woke,” “dope,” or “phat.”

And now that the grown-ups are writing explainers, the wonder of these words is on its last legs. If you’re reading this, it’s probably too late. The evolution of six-seven from an inside joke (yay!) to an outside joke (boo!) is nearly complete.

But don’t cry for six-seven. This isn’t gen alpha’s first vaguely inexplicable meme.

Remember Skibidi Toilet, and the moral panic, cultural explainers and hot takes that sprung up as grown-ups attempted to process what young folks were saying? This is that.

If Skibidi was gen alpha’s first meme, six-seven is second. In no time, they’ll have moved on to some other phrase, likely starting with the letter “S,” that will only make sense if you’re on Twitch, or TikTok, or Roblox, or something else I haven’t heard of, on account of being washed.

But is six-seven funny? Absolutely. After all, what’s funnier than 24? 25.

Who can argue with that? It’s at least one more funny.

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