From ‘cooked’ to ‘skibidi’, here’s a cheat sheet to understand the latest slang used by Malaysian youth and bridge the generational gap.
IN Malaysia, slang is a generational currency – from Makcik’s classic “tak senonoh” to Gen Z’s “cooked” and “sus”, and now Gen Alpha’s bewildering barks of “skibidi” and “six seven” – each generation speaks its own code.
Understanding these expressions is not just about keeping up with the kids; it is about survival. It is about bridging the gap between parents, teachers and younger cousins – so Pakcik and Makcik don’t end up scratching their heads wondering if “rizz” is a new type of biscuit or a secret TikTok handshake.
Here’s a cheat sheet to help:
Gen Z:
- Cooked – mentally exhausted, overwhelmed.
- Sus – suspicious, shady or questionable behaviour.
- Cap/No cap – lying/not lying. “No cap” means truth.
- Flex – showing off, sometimes unnecessarily.
- Cheugy – out of touch, trying too hard to be trendy.
Gen Alpha:
- Skibidi – chaotic, meme-level gibberish with a beat drop.
- Ohio – everything bad or annoying.
- Sigma – aloof or self-important behaviour, often pointless.
- Fanum Tax – taking someone else’s food and pretending it’s official policy.
- Gyatt – confusing or shocking behaviour.
- NPC – non-player character. Boring or predictable people.
- Side eye – judgemental expression.
- Rizz – charm or flirting ability.
- Six seven – pure chaos. Numbers chanted with zero context.
With this guide, Pakcik and Makcik can survive the generational jungle.
Gen Z: Quietly judging and subtly flexing
Before we tackle Gen Alpha, let’s give credit to Gen Z. These teenagers may not scream like a broken modem but they have their own encrypted language. “Cooked”, for example, means mentally fried, overwhelmed or completely done with life. A teenager muttering “I’m so cooked” in the corner while a Gen Alpha skibidies past is the perfect image of generational contrast.
Then there’s “sus”, short for suspicious. Anything odd, weird or out of pattern is instantly sus. That TikTok trend everyone’s sharing? Very sus. And of course, if someone dares to lie – or exaggerate – they’ll hear “cap” or “no cap” attached like a grade on their honesty. “No cap, that nasi lemak is fire,” may be the highest praise while “cap” is a polite way of saying BS (bulls.)
Flexing is another Gen Z staple. Showing off is subtle, deliberate and almost artistic. New AirPods? Flex. Top marks in drama class? Flex. And heaven forbid, someone is cheugy – trying too hard to be trendy – they’ll be judged with quiet but lethal precision. Gen Z is observant, critical and just a little smug. They are the silent referees of chaos.
Gen Alpha: Loud, chaotic, unapologetically confident
And then there’s Gen Alpha – they don’t walk in or creep in; they crash through the door screaming, chanting and making noises that sound like a TikTok algorithm possessed by something unholy.
They didn’t learn slang; they were born with it. Skibidi is the first offender: chaotic, meme-level gibberish with a beat drop. There’s skibidi toilet, skibidi sigma and skibidi bop bop, yes. Nobody knows what it means – not even the children yelling it – but somehow it feels urgent, meaningful and slightly terrifying.
Sigma remains a favourite, reserved for anyone acting aloof or mysteriously important – staring into space in class? Sigma mindset. Not doing homework? Also sigma. Confidence without context is the new trend.
Then there’s rizz. He has rizz, no rizz or zero rizz behaviour. For Gen Alpha, charm is no longer just natural; it’s a measurable skill, graded like exam results. A child with high rizz navigates friendships, flirtations and playground politics with the precision of a corporate strategist. Zero rizz? Disaster.
In Makcik’s day, charm was noticed with a nod or a quiet “mulut manis” from aunties, often followed by urgent warnings to hide daughters. Now it’s a skill – honed, practised and flaunted, often with exaggerated gestures and TikTok tutorials. Watching children negotiate social interactions through rizz is like seeing tiny diplomats at play, except louder, faster and with more shouting. And then there is “six seven”, the ultimate test of Makcik’s patience.
SIX SEVEN. SIX SEVENNNNN – there is no meaning, no context and no storyline. Just shouting, usually near food courts or school corridors, directly into Makcik’s soul.
Numbers that once measured maths or parental counting have now become a chaotic chant. It is a ritual, a performance, a declaration of existence and perhaps a mild rebellion against order itself. Watching Gen Alpha perform six seven is like observing controlled chaos in motion – thrilling, confusing, slightly terrifying and utterly captivating.
The contrast is striking. Gen Z quietly announce they are cooked, point out sus behaviour and occasionally flex while Gen Alpha skibidy through life with zero volume control.
Gen Z judge; Gen Alpha dominate. Gen Z critique; Gen Alpha perform. One whisper in subtle slang, the other scream numbers with zero context. Together, they form a perfect storm of teenage and pre-teen culture. It is chaotic, it is hilarious and it is pure, uncut Malaysian. One day, some smaller human will look at Gen Alpha and declare, “Your slang is cringe”. And Makcik will be there, side-eye locked, foot tapping like she’s waiting for the bus that never comes, muttering, “Aiyo… apa benda ni, anak-anak?”
Now move, step outside and breathe like a human. And lower that volume before you shatter someone’s eardrums, and explain skibidi, rizz and six seven properly – PowerPoint mandatory, slides, diagrams and examples a must – a glossary for Makcik.
And remember, this is not a suggestion; this is survival, this is culture, this is Malaysian life distilled into three little words: loud, confusing and terrifying.
Go. Explain. Make it make sense.
Azura Abas is the associate editor of theSun.
Comments: letters@thesundaily.com
