What is ‘the huzz?’ I’m too old for this
By MADISON SEEMAN — meseeman@ucdavis.edu
There comes a time in everyone’s life when they must realize their generation is no longer the baby of the family. For so long, Generation Z reigned supreme; We made the slang no one else understood and ruled apps like TikTok uncontested. But those days are over.
Now, paying taxes is starting to make sense, an early bedtime sounds more appealing and, worst of all, I don’t understand the slang anymore. Generation Alpha has stolen our youth, and we’ve been forced to grow up.
We’re becoming what we feared most — those millennials who can’t stop talking about how confusing the words “slay” and “lit” are. We’re becoming the next generation baffled by the youths, the kids these days. In our confusion, we’re becoming the cliche, the next phase of an endless generational cycle. They always say maturity is a good thing, but if maturity turns me into a millennial, maybe life isn’t worth it anymore.
However much we may hate it, getting older and aging out of your subscription to understanding the monthly batch of new slang happens to everyone. For me, it was at 20 years old.
I woke up one day and, when I looked in the mirror, I almost did the millennial pause. I felt myself maturing in the worst possible way, shedding the elasticity of my brain that was able to accommodate the mental gymnastics of new phrases like “the huzz” and “fine shyt.” Where I used to say “lit” — way too much for someone who had never been intoxicated — I now just say “awesome.” Or “slay,” which at least makes me feel younger.
The other day, my 17-year-old brother told me I was “geeked” during an argument over the phone. I had never heard that word used like that in my life, so I insulted his new dye job (it’s scary blonde!). After I won that argument, I couldn’t quite work up the courage to ask what it meant, and at this rate, I’m never going to know.
That’s not the only word: “Chopped,” “Clapped,” “the huzz.” And don’t even get me started on the acronyms. In conversations with my brother and from flashes on social media, these words are cropping up at alarming rates.
I’m sorry to say, I may just be rizz-less. My brother told me I’m losing “aura points.” I know I’m not the first to lament getting older, but I thought I had at least until I graduated college.
What was the turning point, the first trend I was late to? I blame the griddy. I’d never heard of it until I stumbled upon a video of Harry Styles “doing the griddy,” with 101.9K likes, and realized I’d fallen so far out of the loop I was behind even Harry Styles. I still haven’t been able to learn the move, but that may be more a side effect of my coordination than my age or maturity.
It’s not the fact that I’m not chronically online, because I totally am. But instead of tweets about Timothée Chalamet’s top clapped moments and skibidi toilet, my social media timelines are talking about yearning for sleepy time and listening to NPR. I’m officially out of the loop, tripping straight into “those darn kids” cliches at an alarming rate — repeating phrases I used to roll my eyes at.
I’m not completely irredeemable. I got in just before the cut on “rizz” and “opp,” and I think “slay” may permanently be a part of my vocabulary. I can still confuse my parents with talk about “crashing out” and “locking in.” Gen Z may have been usurped from our place on the throne of youth, but there’s proof I was young once.
Sometimes, I find myself staring out of the window during class, missing the days of “Merry Litmas” and “big mood.” Am I crazy for thinking our slang is better? I feel confident in saying that “skibidi toilet” would probably confuse me just as much if I was in the target age demographic.
Maybe I’m just a bitter 20-something struggling to let go of my childhood. Maybe maturing is a good thing and not understanding slang is healthy. Maybe I’m just hopelessly rizz-less. All I know is — I’m too old for this.
Written by: Madison Seeman – meseeman@ucdavis.edu
Disclaimer: (This article is humor and/or satire, and its content is purely fictional. The story and the names of “sources” are fictionalized.)
