Every year, we learn that new words have entered our dictionaries. Such announcements have long had one primary purpose: to make older people feel older—and it works.

Why? Because language dates us.

For those of us born toward the end of World War II, we were soon privileged to be introduced to terms like groovy, chill pill, beatnik, brainwashing, fast food, and radar. We knew they weren’t just slang because Webster’s told us so. In 1978, we received further validation when Scrabble added groovy, beatnik, hippie, and fanboy to their official dictionary. Finally, our words were going to be counted for points! YES!

Of course, we’ve tried to stay egalitarian over the decades. We understand that every generation originates or appropriates its own vocabulary, leaving the rest of us mildly clueless. Here are a few current examples:

• Stan: An overly obsessive fan.
• Ship: Short for relationship, used as a verb meaning to support a hoped-for romantic pairing.
• Rizz: Short for charisma (for the spelling-impaired).

• Six-seven: Connotes casual agreement or a middle-ground balance.

   

For those curious about how vocabulary has shifted over the last eight decades, the following list won’t tell you when you were born, but it might pinpoint your emotional peak era.

Notable Words Added to the Dictionary (1950s–2020s)

• 1950s: Beatnik, Brainwashing, Fast food, Radar (transitioned from a military acronym to a standard noun)
• 1960s: Hippie, Software, Biodegradable, Glitch
• 1970s: Walkman, Microprocessor, Workaholic, Eco-friendly
• 1980s: Internet, Download, Channel surf, Shopaholic
• 1990s: Blog, Spam (junk email), WiFi, Binge-watch
• 2000s: Unfriend, Podcast, Selfie, App
• 2010s–2020s: Dumpster fire, Ghosting, Bingeable, Doomscrolling, Influencer

The Screen Door Effect

And now, the bad news. Unstated as it may be, most people assume that once a word enters the dictionary, it stays there forever—like heaven: once you get in, you’re in for eternity.

Unfortunately, I am the bearer of linguistic reality. The doors to the dictionary are screen doors. Lexicographers quietly toss words out when they fall out of flavor. Ouch!

Here are a few examples of discarded words, along with their frequency counts across 3.4 billion words in our database:

• Snollygoster (Frequency: 0)

  Meaning: A shrewd, unprincipled person, especially a politician.

  Context: Dropped from Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary due to lack of use, though occasionally revived when political discourse gets particularly messy.

• Hodad (Frequency: 3)

  Meaning: A non-surfer or poseur who hangs out at beaches pretending to be part of surf culture.

  Context: Removed as 1960s beach culture slang faded from memory.

• Frutescent (Frequency: 0)

  Meaning: Having the appearance or habits of a shrub; becoming shrublike.

  Context: Cut due to near-zero usage in modern botanical or conversational contexts.

• Vitamin G (Frequency: 0)

  Meaning: The original designation for Riboflavin (Vitamin B2).

  Context: Obsolete since scientific reclassifications in the 1930s.

• Charabanc (Frequency: 23)

  Meaning: An early 20th-century open-topped motor coach used for sightseeing.

  Context: Removed by Collins Dictionary alongside terms like aerodrome.

• Sternforemost (Frequency: 4)

  Meaning: Moving back-end first; with the stern in advance.

   

A Call to Linguistic Action

I suspect the principal way to get a word back into the dictionary is surprisingly simple: use it. If we reintroduce these abandoned gems into active vocabulary, dictionary editors will be forced to unbury them.

If you are short on hobbies, make this your personal cause. Sprinkle these retired words into your emails, conversations, and speeches, and encourage your friends to do the same. Think of it as our "barbarians at the gate" moment for language!

In fact, if you care to write us a note employing these or other forgotten terms, we will gladly publish the best submissions.

An Example of Revival in Action:

The annual retreat of the Coastal Botanical Society was meant to be a quiet excursion, but peace vanished the moment Lord Archibald—a self-proclaimed savior of the town, though everyone knew him to be a conniving snollygoster—boarded the charabanc. He took the best seat at the front, loudly holding forth on his grand visions for urban development while paying no mind to the scenery.

Among the passengers was young Toby, a certified hodad who had only come along to impress the local surf crowd, despite never having touched a surfboard in his life. He sat in silence, nervously clutching a bottle of dark stout—his preferred source of liquid vitamin G—hoping it might grant him enough courage to face the coastal winds.

As the vehicle rattled along the narrow seaside road, the landscape shifted. The once lush green woods gave way to a ragged line of frutescent thickets, their shrub-like, woody branches clinging stubbornly to the sandy cliffs.

Archibald stood up to deliver an impromptu speech, wildly gesturing out the window at the scrubland. However, as the bus lurched sharply around a coastal bend, his booming voice turned into a sudden shriek. He lost his footing completely, tumbling backward down the narrow aisle and crashing sternforemost into a pile of wicker picnic baskets at the rear of the coach—leaving the remaining passengers in a state of quiet, satisfied amusement.

We look forward to hearing from you! You can post comments on the story or send us your screeds directly at bmckinney@rarebookhub.com