It started with a number. Two, actually. Six and seven. My nieces said it like a chant, a reflex, a call and response that I could not decode. “Six seven,” they’d say, palms up, moving their hands in a small rhythmic gesture that looked part prayer, part shrug. And everyone around them laughed.
When I asked what it meant, they said it didn’t mean anything. Which, of course, meant everything.
From Foreign Words to Teen Slang
On my podcast, Fifty Words for Snow, my co-host Emily and I usually explore words from other languages— Japanese, Icelandic, Yiddish—words that open a window into how other cultures think. But in one episode, we decided to turn our microphon…
It started with a number. Two, actually. Six and seven. My nieces said it like a chant, a reflex, a call and response that I could not decode. “Six seven,” they’d say, palms up, moving their hands in a small rhythmic gesture that looked part prayer, part shrug. And everyone around them laughed.
When I asked what it meant, they said it didn’t mean anything. Which, of course, meant everything.
From Foreign Words to Teen Slang
On my podcast, Fifty Words for Snow, my co-host Emily and I usually explore words from other languages— Japanese, Icelandic, Yiddish—words that open a window into how other cultures think. But in one episode, we decided to turn our microphones toward the next generation. We invited my nieces, Addie and Ava, along with Emily’s teenage son, Ollie, to teach us the latest slang.
They talked about brain rot, touch grass, and bombastic side eye. But the one that stayed with me was 6-7. It wasn’t even a word, just two numbers and a gesture, a kind of linguistic handshake that said: I’m in.
When I pressed them for meaning, they laughed. One said it came from a rap lyric about a basketball player’s height. Another said it came from a TikTok meme. But no one could tell me definitively what it meant. They just said, “It’s a thing. Everyone’s doing it.”
Belonging Without Meaning
I realized then that the meaning didn’t matter. What mattered was the participation. To say “6-7” was to prove you were part of the joke, part of the moment. You weren’t explaining it; you were embodying it.
When I was their age, slang had definitions. Rad meant good. Bogus meant bad. Even whatever could be explained. But 6-7 operates differently. It isn’t about meaning; it’s about belonging. It’s a gesture of inclusion that doubles as a barrier. You either get it or you don’t.
When I tried to use it myself, my nieces smiled politely, the way you might smile at a dog wearing sunglasses. I was trying too hard, and they knew it. But there was something tender about their tolerance. They didn’t mock me for wanting in. They just let me hover near the edge of their circle, observing the way language shapes identity in real time.
A Shared Joke in a Fragmented World
I keep thinking about how strange and beautiful it is that two numbers can create a sense of belonging. They’re arbitrary, empty of context, but filled with recognition. Saying 6-7 doesn’t signal intellect or irony or rebellion. It signals connection. It’s a way of saying, “I’ve seen what you’ve seen. I was there.”
Every generation has its code words, its inside jokes that bewilder the adults. What’s different now is the speed. A phrase like 6-7 can circle the globe in days, burn bright for a few weeks, and vanish. But while it lasts, it creates an invisible community, a flash mob of meaninglessness that somehow means everything.
It’s tempting to dismiss it as nonsense, another symptom of the internet’s short attention span. But I think something deeper is happening. Language has always been a living organism, and the young are its most restless inventors. They’re not just playing with words; they’re testing the boundaries of sense itself, asking what happens when communication becomes pure signal.
When I look back on our episode, I remember my nieces explaining 6-7 and my co-host Emily saying, “It’s just an inside joke.” And it was. But it was also a lesson in how belonging works. You don’t need to understand everything to be part of something. Sometimes, you just need to say the numbers and trust that someone will answer back.
Six seven.