At some point in the past year—no one can pinpoint exactly when—America’s youth collectively decided to communicate exclusively in inside jokes that adults are neither meant nor allowed to understand. Chief among them: the inexplicable, omnipresent phrase “6–7.”
If you don’t have teenagers, congratulations. You probably still speak English. The rest of us? We’re just out here trying to decode why two random numbers create an atmosphere reminiscent of a frat party.
What does it mean?
Absolutely nobody knows.
And that’s the point.
We have asked.
We have begged.
We have Googled things we will never un-Google.
And the kids? They just smirk. Because nothing delights a teenager more than a joke with no punchline, no explanation, and no connection to anything happening in the room.
It is, apparently, comedy.
Teens are treating “6–7” like it’s the new “fetch,” except this time it actually is happening. They say it at school. In group chats. While playing sports. At the dinner table. At church youth group. I’m convinced someone yelled it during the national anthem at a basketball game.
Ask them what it means, and you get the same response you’d get if you asked for the launch codes:
A shrug.
A grin.
A whispered “you’re too old.”
Perfect. Love that for us.
Meanwhile, parents everywhere are standing in kitchen doorways like confused Victorian ghosts, wondering if this is a secret code, a cult password, or the modern equivalent of Pig Latin. We’re out here deciphering hieroglyphics while the kids are congratulating each other for saying two numbers in ascending order.
And don’t even THINK about trying to use it back at them.
Say “6–7” to a teen, and they stare at you with the same expression you use the same expression you use when your mom texts “Is this TikTak?”
“Stop. You’re ruining it,” they say, which is hilarious because there is nothing to ruin. There is no joke. The joke is that there is no joke.
Teenagers have invented an inside joke about not having an inside joke.
In all honesty- I’m impressed. It’s the most diabolical form of comedy they’ve come up with since “Deez Nuts.”
So here we are, in the era of “6–7,” a phrase so meaningless, so context-free, so stupidly funny to them that it has fully replaced normal human conversation.
Maybe someday the kids will reveal its meaning.
Maybe it’s an elaborate social experiment.
Maybe it’s an accident.
Maybe they forgot why they say it, too.
Maybe it doesn’t matter.
Until then, we’ll continue wandering around our homes while teenagers shout “6–7!!!” at the refrigerator, at their siblings, at TikTok, at the dog, and occasionally at thin air—because apparently the real punchline is us trying to understand it.
But whatever. Fine. Let them have their mystery.
Because when they’re adults someday, their kids will shout, “88–13!” and they’ll have absolutely no idea why either.
