Rebekah Willett, UW-Madison
Many adults are breathing a sigh of relief as the 6-7 meme fades away as one of the biggest kid-led global fads of 2025.
In case you missed it, 6-7 is a slang term – spoken aloud as “six seven” – accompanied by an arm gesture mimicking someone weighing something in their hands. It has no real meaning, yet it spawned countless videos and infiltrated schools and homes worldwide. Shouts of “6-7” disrupted classrooms and echoed through sporting events. Think pieces followed.
Most adults responded with mild annoyance and confusion.
But as media scholars who study children’s culture, we didn’t view the meme with exasperation. Instead, we thought back to our own childhoods on three continents – and the secret languages we spoke. Pig Latin. The cool “S” doodled on worksheets. Forming an L-shape with thumb and index finger to insult someone. Remixing hand-clapping games from earlier generations.
6-7 is the latest example of these long-standing practices – and while it may mean little to adults, it reveals much about children’s play, social lives and desire for power.
That longing shows up in classic play like spying on adults or games such as “king of the hill.” A typical school day is tightly structured and adult-directed, leaving children little room for agency. But in moments where they evade adult surveillance children’s culture thrives. In these spaces, they make the rules. And if adults don’t get it, all the better.
As 6-7 went viral, teachers complained that random outbursts interrupted lessons. Some avoided questions that might provoke an answer of “67.” The trend spread beyond schools into sports arenas and restaurants: In-N-Out Burger even banned the number 67 from its ticketing system.
The meaninglessness of 6-7 made it ideal for creating inclusion and exclusion – and for irritating adults trying to decode it. In the U.S., siblings dressed as the numbers 6-7 for Halloween. In Australia, rumors circulated that houses with 6-7 in their address were selling for astronomical prices.
Historians have documented children’s use of secret languages for more than a century, from “back slang” to nonsense phrases like “booyah,” “skibidi” and “talk to the hand.” Children have also long revised and remixed games.
Across the U.S., Australia and South Korea, we’ve seen endless variations of “tag,” featuring Harry Potter dementors, the COVID-19 virus or playground equipment designated as “safe.” Similar games exist globally. In South Korea, “Mugunghwa kkochi pieotseumnida” resembles “Red Light, Green Light,” while “Hwang-ma!” – spotting a rare gold-colored car – mirrors “Punch Buggy” in the U.S. and Australia.
Children also rework rhymes to reflect popular culture. U.K. playgrounds once echoed with “Georgie Best, Superstar,” while clapping games elsewhere folded Elvis Presley and Pepsi into their lyrics.
One reason 6-7 spread so easily was its low barrier to entry. Saying “6-7” and miming the gesture is easy to learn and translate. Deaf children participated through signing, while online spaces accelerated its reach, including on platforms like Roblox.
The strange words and nonsensical play of childhood may seem ridiculous in hindsight. But there’s real value in these hidden worlds. With or without the internet, children will keep transforming language and play to suit their needs – including, inevitably, getting under adults’ skin.
A great deal of attention is paid to digital technology in children’s lives. It’s also worth noticing how children use these tools to connect, create and play in ways that are both inventive and ordinary.
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