Imagine kicking off the new year with a quirky tradition that not only celebrates the beauty of language but also playfully pokes fun at the words we overuse. That's exactly what Lake Superior State University in Michigan's Upper Peninsula does every January with its annual list of banned words—a fun yet thought-provoking exercise that's captured imaginations worldwide. But here's where it gets controversial: is this harmless fun, or does it subtly dictate how we should speak? Let's dive into the story behind this beloved ritual and uncover why it might just be the perfect way to reflect on our everyday chatter.
Every New Year's Day, like clockwork, the University releases its 'List of Words Banished from the Queen’s English for Mis-Use, Over-Use and General Uselessness.' This isn't just a random list; it's a tribute to the art of writing, the quirks of the English language, and the unique charm of an institution nestled in a part of Michigan that shares borders with Ontario, Canada. We're talking about Lake Superior State University, affectionately known as Lake State, home to about 1,600 students and mascots like Seamore the Sea Duck and Fog Horn the Sailor. Far from being a criticism of the school or its spirited community, this tradition pays homage to a clever publicist whose idea has stood the test of time in an age where trends come and go faster than a viral TikTok.
To put it in terms with a nod to the 2026 list: it's absolutely perfect. Full stop. In a world where promotional ideas are often fleeting, Wilmer T. Rabe's creation has endured for 50 years, drawing nominations from all corners of the globe—even the most remote continents. If word has reached Antarctica, that's a testament to Rabe's genius. In fact, to borrow a few terms from this year's list, he 'gifted' the university with a 'massive' triumph, inspiring outlets like the Detroit Free Press to keep the story alive year after year.
Now, let's break down the rest of the 2026 dishonor roll, and for beginners who might not be familiar, this list isn't about censorship—it's about highlighting words that have lost their punch through overuse or misuse. For instance, 'gift' and 'incentive' are fine as nouns (like a thoughtful gift or a job incentive), but they grate when turned into verbs, such as 'gifting' a reward or 'incentivizing' behavior. 'Massive' gets called out because it's slapped on everything from a tiny victory to a huge disaster, diluting its meaning.
Repeating offenders include 'My bad,' a casual phrase from 1998 that's seen as childish and lacking sincerity—think of it as the linguistic equivalent of a half-hearted apology at a kids' soccer game. 'Reach out,' recycled from 1994, has drifted far from its roots in emotional support; now it's just a generic way to say 'contact,' even for mundane emails. And then there's '6-7,' which might puzzle you—it's shorthand for something that's not quite defined, amusing more than annoying to most folks outside elementary schools.
Other entries? 'Cooked,' as in overwhelmed, is used so often it's practically burned into our vocabulary. 'Demure,' often paired with 'mindful,' gets flagged because it's applied even to situations that are anything but subtle or thoughtful—like describing a fiercely competitive athlete as 'demurely mindful.' And this is the part most people miss: the list encourages us to think critically about how words evolve and sometimes lose their edge. For example, imagine calling a small coffee shop 'massive' just because it's popular—does that really capture its true scale?
Curious about joining the fun? You can nominate a word for the 2027 list by visiting the university's website at lssu.edu. It's a great way to reflect on the language we use daily, and it's boosted Lake Superior State University's recognition far and wide—many people know the school now, even if they can't quite pronounce 'Sault Ste. Marie' or pinpoint it on a map, let alone locate the majestic Lake Superior itself.
But to truly appreciate this tradition, we need to rewind to its creator. Wilmer T. Rabe, better known as Bill (and who wouldn't prefer that over the full name?), was born in 1921 in Detroit. He served in the Army during World War II in the Pacific and later in Germany, where he was inspired by cultural rituals—like the burning of straw figures to herald spring. He brought that spirit back home, turning it into the university's annual snowman-burning event, complete with grilled hot dogs for good measure.
After his military days, Rabe became the communications director at what is now the University of Detroit Mercy in 1963. There, he orchestrated one of his most famous pranks: convincing a student to lead a pretend group called the Stamp Out the Beatles Society. The stunt went viral (in pre-internet terms), catching the attention of the media. At a 1964 press conference, John Lennon quipped, 'We have a campaign to stamp out Detroit,' giving Rabe's career a legendary boost.
Seven years later, Rabe moved to Lake Superior State University, then still a college in the eastern Upper Peninsula—a rugged, scenic region that's a hub for outdoor enthusiasts and cross-border connections with Canada. The school flies both American and Canadian flags, reflecting its diverse student body from across the St. Marys River. Academically, it faces stiff competition from bigger universities downstate, but its alumni shine in hockey: out of 19 notable grads listed on Wikipedia, 12 are players, two are coaches, and one is a figure skater.
Yet, the university's real star power comes from this banned words list. It's all in good fun, as they emphasize each January, but there's deeper value here—much like Rabe's love for Mackinac Island, where he introduced an annual stone-skipping contest and is now buried alongside his wife, Ann. Their gravestone reads, 'Life is a grave matter,' a witty reminder to take things seriously but not too seriously.
Which brings us back to the 2026 list: perfect, full stop. But here's the controversy that might divide readers: some see this as a playful nudge toward better communication, while others argue it's just elitist gatekeeping—why should a committee decide what's 'useless' in our evolving language? Does banning words like 'demure' really make us more mindful, or is it stifling creativity? And this is where I want to hear from you: Do you think lists like this are a fun tradition or an outdated relic? Have you ever used a 'banned' word and felt guilty? Share your thoughts in the comments—agree, disagree, or offer your own word nominations. Let's keep the conversation going!
Reach Neal Rubin at NARubin@freepress.com.
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