So apparently, the Cambridge Dictionary has officially added the word skibidi. Yes, you read that right. Skibidi. A term I first heard from my son’s classmates, where I assumed it was just the latest fidget-spinner-type craze or some new plastic gizmo that would end up under my couch cushions. But no. Turns out it’s… well, everything and nothing.

Depending on who you ask, skibidi is a meme, a dance, a beat, a catchphrase, a vibe, or just the verbal equivalent of shrugging your shoulders and throwing up jazz hands. Sometimes it means cool, sometimes it means cringe. Sometimes it’s an insult, sometimes it’s a compliment. Which is to say: the dictionary editors must be popping Advil by the fistful.

Dictionaries these days are in an existential crisis. They used to spend years deliberating whether selfie or email was legit enough to ink on the page. Now they’re forced to chase TikTok trends and Roblox memes before the kids move on to the next nonsensical sound. By the time skibidi gets added, the same kids who invented it are already on to yelling “rizzed-up gyatt” or whatever fresh chaos the internet birthed this morning.

I almost feel bad for lexicographers. Imagine training your whole life to be a gatekeeper of the English language, a guardian of meaning, a scholar of nuance  and then one day you’re typing in: “Skibidi: a term popularized by viral internet memes. May mean literally anything depending on context.” Poor Shakespeare is rolling in his grave, whispering, “Skibidi my what now?”

But here’s the thing: language has always been a little absurd. We’ve always stumbled into nonsense words that somehow stick. Shakespeare himself made up half the words we revere today. Maybe skibidi is just our era’s contribution to the glorious mess of human expression. A reminder that words don’t have to make sense to make meaning.

So yes, the sun will rise tomorrow, the dogs will bark for kisses, and the dictionary will continue to expand like a teenager’s slang-riddled backpack. And maybe in twenty years, skibidi will sound quaint and old-fashioned, like “groovy” or “rad.” Until then, I’m just grateful I’ve got my son to translate, because honestly? My brain can only handle so much linguistic chaos before I need a nap.