Dictionary.com has chosen “67” as its Word of the Year, anointing a viral numeric chant that brings fresh resonance and sociopolitical gravity to the word — even if it isn’t technically a word — one that captures how internet-born language in 2025 is changing language both inside and outside online spaces. The pick highlights a time when shared soundbites and in-jokes make the jump from short-form video feeds to IRL conversations and group chats, serving less as vocabulary and more as social glue.
Unlike straightforward winners with clean-cut definitions, “67” is an interjection — a burst of sound you holler more than you make sense of. To Dictionary.com’s lexicographers, it’s framed as a cultural phenomenon supported by common usage, not as an orderly part of speech. As the site’s head lexicographer, Steve Johnson, has observed, what counts is the signal it sends: a short, infectious shout that conveys hype, irony, or irrepressible chaotic glee depending on context.
The choice will split purists from pragmatists. But it also tells us something about how, in 2025, language circulates not primarily via print and policy but through clips and comments and copy-paste culture.
Why a numeric chant won the throne as Word of the Year
“67” spread as contemporary slang often does — memetic audio, comedic repetition, and an infinite number of remixes on TikTok and YouTube Shorts. And by design, the meaning of the chant is loose. In application, it’s a celebratory whoop, or punchline, or playful taunt — the sonic counterpart to a reaction GIF.
Lexicographers are increasingly keeping tabs not just on printed citations but also on transcribed audio, captions, comment threads, and search queries to quantify use at scale. Once a form has been invoked millions of times in public settings and embraced across age groups and geographies, it can be difficult to write off as fringe internet slang.
That usage-first lens is crucial. Of course, selections for Words of the Year are descriptive, not prescriptive: they merely track how people are already speaking. A number chant did that work — loudly — in 2025.
Numbers have served as words before in mainstream English
In English, a long tradition of numerical shorthand has become part of the mainstream lexicon. “420” is shorthand for cannabis culture; “101” is a designation for an introduction; “404,” an absence or error; “86,” a verb dating back decades, serves as slang for to get rid of, throw away, or reject. Some of these coded meanings, often developed during the pager era or in leetspeak — language using various combinations of numerals representing letters — reflect how digits can be imbued with emotion and identity.
And limits of spelling extend beyond numbers. Oxford anointed the Face With Tears of Joy emoji as its 2015 Word of the Year, in part because it recognized early on that symbols and other non-alphabetic forms can do some word-like things in digital discourse. Viewed in that light, “67” is less an outlier than a natural progression.
When they do, however, the forms stick because studying them solves a communicative problem: they pack meaning tightly, indicate tone quickly, or communicate in-group membership. “67” meets all three criteria — short, descriptive, and instantly identifiable.
How Word of the Year selections are made by dictionaries
Dictionary programs usually balance a combination of factors: spikes in frequency, how widely they are used, staying power over months and years, and relevance to the cultural conversation. They dig through corpora, track platform trends, and collect editorial evidence from news, entertainment, and social channels. The idea is not to name the “best” word or phrase but rather the one that tells the story most clearly about this year’s communication habits.
Other groups end up with different stories, however. Authenticity was the word of 2023, according to Merriam-Webster, because our thirst for what is “authentic” has never been so acute. Oxford Languages chose “rizz,” nailing charisma-as-currency. Collins called out “AI,” an indication of rapid technological advancement. Set against those options, “67” can be thought of as the emotional tempo of an extremely online era, in which virality and community signaling set the tone for how people talk.
What critics and supporters see in choosing a shouted number
Critics say a figure whose meaning is blurry trades depth for novelty. Supporters, however, counter that interjections are valid linguistic workhorses, the grease in conversation. Consider “yo,” “ugh,” or “sheesh” — none has weighty dictionary definitions, yet all serve essential pragmatic functions: they mark stance (the speaker’s take on a situation), set tone, and help bond groups.
From a research perspective, the ascendancy of “67” is an exercise in participatory language-making. “Throwaway chant becomes communal ritual, a linguistic unit you can slot in before or after a sentence, deploy as a free-standing reaction shot,” she writes in her book’s introduction. It is meant to be a bit of an ontological blank: it allows speakers to map their own vibe onto a universal sound.
How to use “67” without missing the moment or the tone
Think of “67” as a hype button. In conversation, it lands like a cheer ahead of a reveal or after a victory: “67, we somehow pulled this off.” In text, it often comes in all-caps or with elongated vowels that indicate volume. It’s light, ironic, and clearly unserious — perfect for group chats, streams, and social captions; inappropriate for formal emails.
Will it last? Memes rarely age evenly. But Word of the Year is not a lifetime achievement award; it’s a snapshot. In a year of accelerated loops and collective audio input, a two-syllable figure hollered into the feed is, improbably, what English came to look or sound like — and that’s exactly what the record needs to show.
