Adam Aleksic has been thinking about seggs. Not sex, but seggs — a substitute term that took off a few years ago among those trying to dodge content-moderation restrictions on TikTok. Influencers shared stories from their “seggs lives” and spoke about the importance of “seggs education.”
Lots of similarly inventive workarounds have emerged to discuss sensitive or suggestive topics online. This phenomenon is called algospeak, and it has yielded terms like “cornucopia” for homophobia and “unalive,” a euphemism for suicide that has made its way into middle schoolers’ offline vocabulary.
These words roll off the tongue for Mr. Aleksic, a 24-year-old linguist and content creator who posts as Etymology Nerd on social media. Others may find them slightly bewildering. But, as he argues in a new book, “Algospeak: How Social Media Is Transforming the Future of Language,” these distinctly 21st-century coinages are worthy of consideration by anyone interested in the forces that mold our shifting lexicon.
“The more I looked into it, the more I realized that algorithms are really affecting every aspect of modern language change,” Mr. Aleksic said in a recent interview, padding around the Manhattan apartment he shares with a roommate and wearing socks stitched with tiny dolphins.
Even those who steer clear of social media are not exempt. If you have encountered Oxford University Press’s 2024 word of the year, “brain rot” (the “supposed deterioration of a person’s mental or intellectual state,” thanks to a fire hose of digital content), you, too, have had a brush with social media’s ability to incubate slang and catapult it into the offline world.
Mr. Aleksic has been dissecting slang associated with Gen Z on social media since 2023. In wobbly, breathless videos that are usually about a minute long, he uses his undergraduate degree in linguistics from Harvard to explain the spread of terms including “lowkey” and “gyat.” (If you must know, the latter is a synonym for butt.)
The videos are more rigorous than their informal quality might suggest. Each one takes four or five hours to compose, he said. He scripts every word, and combs Google Scholar for relevant papers from academic journals that he can cite in screenshots.
He appears to be fashioning himself as Bill Nye for Gen Z language enthusiasts. In the process, he has become a go-to voice for journalists and anyone older than 30 who might want to understand why “Skibidi Toilet,” the nonsensical name of a YouTube series, has wormed its way into Gen Alpha’s vocabulary.
What he wants now is to be taken seriously outside of those circles. “I want to balance being a ‘ha-ha funny’ TikToker with academic credibility,” he said. “It’s a little hard to strike that balance when you are talking about ‘Skibidi Toilet’ on the internet.”
‘Rizz’: A Case Study
Mr. Aleksic settled in his living room, under the apparent surveillance of several stick-on googly eyes left over from his most recent birthday party. To the left of the entrance was a makeshift ball pit filled with orbs that resembled enormous plastic Dippin’ Dots. (He installed it as a bit, but has come to appreciate its ability to foster conversation.)
In person, he is animated but not frenetic, a click or three less intense than he appears in his videos. He is happy to lean into the persona of a fast-talking know-it-all if it means engaging people who wouldn’t otherwise spare a thought for etymology.
He started speeding up his cadence when he realized that brisk videos tended to get more views. “I’ll retake a video if I don’t think I spoke fast enough,” he said.
Just as Mr. Aleksic changed the way he spoke in response to algorithmic pressure, language, too, can be bent by users seeking an audience on social media.
Take “rizz,” which means something along the lines of “charisma.” According to Mr. Aleksic, the word was popularized by the Twitch streamer Kai Cenat, whose young fans picked up the term. So did the robust ecosystem of people online who make fun of Mr. Cenat’s every move. Soon, the word had been flagged by TikTok’s recommendation algorithm as a trending topic that it could highlight to keep viewers engaged. Influencers — including Mr. Aleksic — who wanted their posts to be pushed to more viewers now had an incentive to join in.
This process slingshots trendy coinages into the broader consciousness. But it also yanks terms from their original context faster than ever before, he said. Words with origins in African American English or ballroom culture, for instance, are often mislabeled as “Gen Z slang” or “internet slang.”
Mr. Aleksic tackles that well-documented phenomenon in a chapter titled “It’s Giving Appropriation.” Other sections of the book, which is being released by Knopf on Tuesday, spend time with subcultures that play an outsize role in modern language generation, including K-pop fans, who boosted the term “delulu,” and incels, or involuntary celibates, who popularized the term “sigma.”
Words have always traveled from insular communities into wider usage: Mr. Aleksic likes the example of “OK,” which was Boston newspaper slang in the 19th century that spread with the help of Martin Van Buren’s re-election campaign. (His nickname in full, “Old Kinderhook,” was a bit of a mouthful.)
But “delulu” and “rizz” didn’t need the eighth president’s help to travel across the country — they had the internet. And TikTok’s powerful algorithm is more efficient at getting the word out than Old Kinderhook’s most overachieving press secretary.
Today, the cycle of word generation has been turbocharged to the point that some of its output hardly makes sense. Nowhere is that more evident than in a chapter titled “Sticking Out Your Gyat for the Rizzler,” a chaotic mélange of slang that is hilarious to middle schoolers precisely because it is so illegible to adults. Words and phrases don’t need to be understood to go viral — they just have to be funny enough to retain our attention.
Mr. Aleksic argues that “algospeak” is no longer as simple as swapping sex for “seggs”; it is a linguistic ecosystem in which words rocket from the margins to the mainstream in a matter of days, and sometimes fade just as fast. When influencers modify their vocabulary and speech patterns for maximum visibility, those patterns are reinforced among their audiences.
Does that have to be a bad thing? Moments of linguistic upheaval, like the proliferation of “netspeak” in the early 2000s, are not always as scary as they seem, the linguist David Crystal argued in his 2001 book “Language and the Internet.” Rather, they can allow for bursts of creativity.
“The internet is Homo loquens at its best,” Professor Crystal told The New York Times in 2001. “It shows language expanding richly in all sorts of directions.”
An Etymology Nerd Is Born
It is easy to imagine that Mr. Aleksic might be the son of linguistics professors, or perhaps a descendant of the creator of Scrabble. In reality, he is the child of two atmospheric research scientists at the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation. His mother works in air-pollution modeling, he said, and his father is “an expert in cloud physics, or something.”
Mr. Aleksic grew up in Albany, N.Y., and got interested in linguistics as a freshman in high school after reading “The Etymologicon” by Mark Forsyth. He started his own blog about word origins — etymologynerd.com — which broke down one word a day, including, early on, sophomore (which shares Greek roots with “sophisticated” and “moron”).
In college, he helped found the Harvard Undergraduate Linguistics Society and majored in linguistics and government. During his final semester on campus, he began posting linguistics videos on TikTok at the suggestion of a friend. The strategy earned him millions of views as well as some critics, who gather in Reddit forums to pick apart his facts or his delivery. “I like fun facts about etymology,” one wrote. “I don’t like having them shouted at me.”
Mr. Aleksic doesn’t mind those complaints. He said he works hard to keep viewers’ attention, for example, jumping between camera angles roughly every eight seconds. He longed for a forum in which he could discuss his ideas at length, and last January, he began refining an idea for a book about algorithms and language.
That’s an ambitious goal for a recent college graduate without an advanced degree or decades of research experience, the kinds of qualifications that abound in the linguistics publishing crowd. But youth has its upsides when it comes to the world of internet slang, said Gretchen McCulloch, the author of “Because Internet: Understanding the New Rules of Language.”
“The tricky thing with internet linguistics is that the point at which you’re the most qualified to speak about it from personal experience is also the point at which you have the least, sort of, academic credibility,” Ms. McCulloch said in an interview.
She, too, is fascinated by how short-form video is affecting language, though she wonders which changes will be permanent and which will fade with time. Take the way that influencers often begin their videos with superlatives like “The most interesting thing about …” Will those hyperbolic phrases bleed into other forms of communication, or will they lose their potency with overuse? There is a whole graveyard full of internet-speak — “on fleek,” you will be missed — that has fallen out of fashion.
While Mr. Aleksic wades through these big questions, he is also making time for really small ones. He is hoping to make a video about urinal conversations, which have been the subject of more academic papers than you might think. While we spoke, he pulled up his email inbox to scan through the questions that had come in from his followers. (He gets about 10 a day.)
“Somebody emailed me about the word ‘thank’ versus ‘thanks,’” he said, scrolling through a message. “You know, that’s kind of interesting.”
Callie Holtermann reports on style and pop culture for The Times.
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