Picture this: As the clock strikes midnight on New Year's Eve, a humble university tucked away in Michigan's rugged Upper Peninsula unleashes its annual hit list, not of villains or outlaws, but of everyday words that have worn out their welcome in our speech. It's a quirky tradition that sparks smiles, debates, and even a touch of outrage – but could it actually be reshaping how we communicate in the digital age? Dive in, and you'll see why this seemingly lighthearted ritual has endured for half a century, celebrating literacy and the beauty of the English language from a place most folks struggle to find on a map: Lake Superior State University.
But here's where it gets controversial: Is this playful purge a harmless nod to wordplay, or does it subtly dictate what we should say, potentially stifling creativity? Let's unpack this together.
Every January 1st, LSSU – home to about 1,600 students, a sea duck mascot named Seamore, and a sailor called Fog Horn – releases its 'List of Words Banished from the Queen’s English for Mis-Use, Over-Use and General Uselessness.' Far from criticizing the school or its spirited community, this annual event pays homage to a brilliant promotional stunt born in 1976. Created by the late W.T. Rabe, a clever publicist whose real name was Bill (and who wouldn't opt for that shorthand in a world of initials?), this list has its roots in a simple idea: highlight language gone awry to encourage clearer, more thoughtful expression. In an era where trends in media and communication come and go like fleeting viral memes, Rabe's creation has lasted 50 years, drawing nominations from all corners of the globe – yes, even from the icy reaches of Antarctica, which just goes to show how far its fame has spread.
To understand why it's so enduring, think of it as a global scavenger hunt for linguistic pet peeves. People from bustling cities on six continents submit suggestions, inspired by coverage in newspapers, radio shows, TV segments, and, of course, the ever-expanding online world. It's gifted the university a level of recognition that's nothing short of massive, prompting outlets like the Free Press to keep the tradition alive year after year. And this is the part most people miss: The list isn't just about banning; it's a reminder that language evolves, and sometimes, we need gentle nudges to speak with intention.
For 2026, the committee – a group of dedicated staffers – has targeted words that have been overused or misused in ways that grate on the ears. Take 'gift' and 'incentive,' for instance. They're perfectly fine as nouns – think of a thoughtful gift or a job incentive – but when twisted into verbs like 'gifting' someone a favor or 'incentivizing' behavior, they sound awkward and forced, like trying to make everyday actions feel more corporate than they really are. Then there's 'massive,' a word tossed around so liberally that it dilutes its impact, often describing things that are merely big or important rather than truly enormous. Returning offenders include 'My bad,' a casual apology from 1998 that comes across as immature and insincere, as if shrugging off responsibility without real remorse.
'Reach out' is another recycled entry, originally banned in 1994 when it began drifting from its roots in emotional support to a vague way of saying 'contact me.' And don't get us started on '6-7,' which might puzzle beginners – it's a slangy way of saying something is just okay or mediocre, like a lukewarm coffee on a scale from 1 to 10. Most of us find it more amusing than annoying, perhaps because it reminds us of childhood report cards. Wrapping up the list are 'cooked' (meaning overwhelmed, used way too often in stressful contexts) and 'demure,' frequently paired with 'mindful' even when describing someone who's far from calm or modest – imagine calling a boisterous debate 'demure and mindful,' and you'll see the irony.
If you're itching to join the fun and nominate a word for 2027, head over to LSSU's website at lssu.edu to fill out their simple form. It's a great way to reflect on how language shapes our world, and who knows – your suggestion might just make the cut, boosting recognition for a university that's often overshadowed by bigger institutions. Located in the eastern Upper Peninsula, near the stunning St. Marys River where Canadian and American flags flutter side by side, LSSU draws students from across borders. Academically, it's a gem for those seeking a close-knit community, though it faces stiff competition from larger schools downstate. Interestingly, of its notable alumni, many shine in hockey – players, coaches, and even a figure skater – proving that while it may not top academic rankings everywhere, it's a powerhouse in winter sports passion.
Yet, the banned words list is its claim to fame, a tradition Rabe himself would have loved. Born in 1921 in Detroit, he grew up during the Roaring Twenties, served in the Army during World War II in the Pacific, and later in Germany, where he witnessed vibrant cultural rituals like the burning of straw figures to herald spring. Back home, he channeled that creativity into fun events, such as the university's annual snowman torching complete with hot dogs – a playful twist on global traditions. By 1963, he was directing communications at what became the University of Detroit Mercy, where he hatched a publicity masterstroke: convincing a student to lead the 'Stamp Out the Beatles Society.' The stunt went viral in its day, even prompting John Lennon to quip at a 1964 press conference, 'We have a campaign to stamp out Detroit.' It was pure genius, earning Rabe his publicist stripes and landing the band some free buzz.
When he moved to LSSU seven years later – back when it was still a college – he brought that flair for promotion, ensuring the school stood out. It's all in good fun, the university insists each year, but there's real value here: fostering awareness of how words can lose meaning through overuse, much like Rabe's other legacy, the stone-skipping contest on Mackinac Island, where he and his wife Ann are buried. Their gravestone reads, 'Life is a grave matter' – a witty epitaph that circles back to the list's core with words like 'perfect' and 'full stop,' urging us to pause and think before we speak.
And this is where the controversy really heats up: Critics might argue that policing language stifles expression, turning a fun list into a prescriptive rulebook. But proponents say it's a gentle way to evolve our vocabulary, preventing clichés from dominating conversations. What do you think – does banning overused words improve communication, or is it an outdated gimmick in our emoji-filled chats? Have any of these phrases slipped into your daily lingo, and if so, do you feel the urge to 'reach out' for alternatives? Share your thoughts in the comments; I'd love to hear if you're team ban or team embrace the buzzwords!
