By Yulia Tulegenova, artist and literary critic

Language has always been a mirror, reflecting the anxieties and aspirations of its time. But the latest additions to the Cambridge Dictionary feel less like a reflection and more like a fever chart. Words like ‘skibidi’, ‘delulu’, and ‘tradwife’ have been formally recognised, confirming what many of us have sensed: the frenetic, often baffling, logic of internet culture is no longer a niche concern. It is now the furnace where the English language is being forged.

These new entries are not merely amusing linguistic curiosities. They are cultural seismographs, registering the tremors of a society grappling with digital saturation, a dissolving consensus on reality, and profound economic unease. Looked at together, they tell a story of a culture pulled in violently opposing directions - towards hyper-chaotic absurdity on one hand, and a rigid, romanticised order on the other.

The Theatre of Absurdity

At the chaotic end of the spectrum sits ‘skibidi’. Born from the viral YouTube series Skibidi Toilet - a surreal animated battle between singing human-headed toilets and figures with cameras for heads - the word itself is almost defiantly meaningless.The dictionary defines it as a term that can mean “‘cool’ or ‘bad’, or can be used with no real meaning as a joke.” This ambiguity is precisely the point. It is a linguistic blank slate onto which Generation Alpha, the first cohort to grow up entirely immersed in the algorithmic slipstream, projects its own fluctuating reality.

Older observers often dismiss this as "brain rot," a symptom of minds starved of meaning and fed a diet of hyper-chaotic, low-quality online content. The term itself, interestingly, is not new; Henry David Thoreau used it in the 19th century to critique society's preference for simple ideas over complex ones. Today, it describes the perceived cognitive decay from overconsumption of trivial online media. The cacophonous, endlessly looping world of Skibidi Toilet is seen as the apex of this trend, creating a generation fluent in irony but, as the writer Lee Escobedo notes, "starved for meaning."

Yet, to dismiss ‘skibidi’ as mere nonsense is to miss its function. In a world of overwhelming information and fractured narratives, this deliberate absurdity can be a form of playful rebellion. It is a rejection of the pressure to make sense of a world that often feels nonsensical. Like the Dadaists of the early 20th century responding to the trauma of war with deliberate irrationality, the language of ‘skibidi’ offers a strange kind of solace. It creates an in-group shorthand, a private joke shared by millions, utterly baffling to those outside its cultural orbit.

The Search for an Antidote

If ‘skibidi’ represents an embrace of chaos, the concurrent rise of the ‘tradwife’ signifies a desperate retreat from it. Short for ‘traditional wife’, the term describes women who use social media to promote a lifestyle centred on submission to their husbands and a return to rigid, often 1950s-inspired, gender roles. This is not simply about a personal choice to focus on homemaking; it is an aesthetic and ideological project, meticulously curated for platforms like Instagram and TikTok.

The tradwife phenomenon can be read as a direct reaction to the perceived instability of modern life. In a world of endless choice and fluid identities, the tradwife ethos offers a pre-written script, a promise of security in exchange for autonomy. Psychologically, it taps into a deep-seated yearning for order and predictability in an era of profound social and economic uncertainty. However, critics point to the movement’s darker undercurrents, noting its problematic romanticisation of an era when women lacked fundamental economic and personal freedoms, and its frequent alignment with alt-right and white supremacist ideologies. The filtered, sun-drenched aesthetic of a tradwife’s kitchen often masks a deeply conservative, and sometimes radical, political project.

Paired with the tradwife is another word of the year: ‘delulu’. A shortening of ‘delusional’, its meaning has undergone a fascinating transformation. Originating in K-pop fan communities as a derogatory term for fans who believed they could have a real relationship with their idols, ‘delulu’ has been reclaimed by Gen Z as a tool for survival. The viral mantra, “delulu is the solulu” (delusion is the solution), reframes delusion as a form of radical self-belief - a conscious choice to adopt a mindset beyond the limitations of current reality to manifest one’s goals. It is the younger, more whimsical cousin of "fake it 'til you make it," adapted for an age where reality itself feels increasingly negotiable.

While seemingly opposite, both the tradwife and the delulu girl are engaged in a similar project: constructing an alternative reality to cope with the pressures of the present one. The tradwife seeks it in a mythical past, while the delulu girl manifests it in a hopeful future. Both, in their own way, are a vote of no confidence in the world as it is.

The New Realities of Work

This sense of disquiet is not confined to our cultural and personal lives. It has bled deeply into our professional worlds, as evidenced by two other new dictionary entries: ‘mouse jiggler’ and ‘work spouse’.

A ‘mouse jiggler’ is a piece of software or a physical device that creates small, constant movements of a mouse cursor to trick employee monitoring software - often called ‘bossware’ or ‘tattleware’ - into believing a person is actively working. The existence of such a device is a stark indictment of modern corporate life. It speaks to a post-pandemic work culture riddled with paranoia, where productivity is measured not by output but by the crude metric of digital presence. The mouse jiggler is a tool of quiet rebellion, a tiny act of defiance against a culture of surveillance and the anxiety of performative work. It is a symptom of broken trust between employers and employees, a silent battle being waged on millions of desktops.

In this environment of alienation and pressure, the ‘work spouse’ has emerged. This term describes a deep, platonic friendship with a colleague, characterised by a level of trust, support, and emotional intimacy that mimics a marriage. As people spend more of their lives at work, these relationships provide a vital support system for navigating the unique stresses and politics of the office. The work spouse is the person who understands the context without explanation, offering a safe harbour in a potentially high-stakes environment. Of course, the phenomenon also highlights the increasing blur between our professional and personal spheres, as the bonds forged under workplace pressure become some of the most significant in our lives.

The Architects of the Arena

Hovering above all these linguistic shifts is the ‘broligarchy’. A portmanteau of ‘bro’ and ‘oligarchy’, the term refers to the small, immensely powerful cadre of men, typically in the technology sector, who shape our digital world. This is the class that builds the platforms where tradwives find their audience, where Skibidi Toilet goes viral, and where delulu becomes the solulu. They design the systems that necessitate the mouse jiggler.

The term itself carries a distinct connotation of toxic masculinity, blending immense wealth and political influence with the cultural markers of the ‘tech bro’. While the word has existed in niche circles for over a decade, its entry into the mainstream lexicon signals a growing public awareness and criticism of this concentrated power. The broligarchy writes the code for our new reality, and the words we are now adding to our dictionaries are, in a sense, the user feedback.

Language is not merely descriptive; it is diagnostic. The words that gain traction and demand entry into our dictionaries are the ones that fill a void, giving a name to a shared feeling or a new reality. The cohort of 2025 - skibidi, tradwife, delulu, mouse jiggler, broligarchy - paints a portrait of a society unmoored. It is a culture vibrating with the chaotic energy of digital absurdity while simultaneously grasping for the rigid certainty of tradition. It is a workforce navigating new forms of intimacy and resistance under the watch of a powerful few. Perhaps the most striking thing is that these are the words we need now, the tools we have fashioned to make sense of it all.