Imagine starting your New Year with a playful jab at the English language—words that are overused, misused, or just plain exhausting to hear one more time. That's the magic of Lake Superior State University's annual list of banned words, and it's got everyone talking. But here's where it gets controversial: is this tradition celebrating literacy, or is it just a fun way to poke fun at our collective verbal habits? Stick around, and let's dive into why this quirky Michigan institution keeps us coming back for more.
Every New Year's Day, like clockwork, the Upper Peninsula of Michigan unleashes its latest compilation of vocabulary deemed unworthy of our daily chatter. This isn't just any list—it's a heartfelt nod to the beauty of language, the quirks of English, and a university that proudly flies the flags of both the United States and Canada on its campus in Sault Ste. Marie. We're talking about Lake Superior State University, home to about 1,600 students and beloved mascots like Seamore the Sea Duck and Fog Horn the Sailor. Far from a critique of the school itself, this tradition serves as an affectionate tip of the hat to a visionary publicist and his ingenious promotional stunt that's endured for five decades.
In a world where marketing ideas come and go faster than trends on social media, W.T. Rabe's creation—the 'List of Words Banished from the Queen’s English for Mis-Use, Over-Use and General Uselessness'—stands out as a timeless gem. It's been entertaining media outlets and language lovers since 1976, with nominations pouring in from across the globe, including all six inhabited continents. If Antarctica's icy shores have even caught wind of it, that's a testament to Rabe's flair for publicity. To borrow a few terms from the 2026 edition, his legacy has 'gifted' the university with 'massive' recognition, so much so that outlets like the Free Press feel 'incentivized' to cover it year after year. And this is the part most people miss: how a simple list has turned a regional college into a household name, even among those who stumble over pronouncing Sault Ste. Marie or locating Lake Superior on a map.
So, what's on this year's dishonor roll? The committee of dedicated staff at Lake State explains that words like 'gift' and 'incentive' shine as nouns but fall flat when twisted into verbs—think 'gifting' someone a present in a way that grates on the ears. 'Massive,' meanwhile, gets slapped for being flung around too liberally, often exaggerating things that are anything but grand. Then there are the repeat offenders: 'My bad,' a phrase from 1998 that's seen as childish and half-hearted, and 'reach out,' recycled from 1994, which has drifted far from its roots in offering genuine emotional support. Even '6-7,' a vague placeholder that might baffle anyone outside a classroom, earns a spot—though it's more likely to elicit chuckles than groans. Don't forget 'cooked,' meaning overwhelmed, tossed into conversations with reckless abandon, and 'demure,' paired with 'mindful' to describe behaviors that are anything but restrained.
Want to join the fun for 2027? Head over to the university's website at lssu.edu and submit your nominations. It's a great way to reflect on how this list has boosted Lake Superior State University's visibility, proving that a little linguistic mischief can go a long way.
But let's rewind to the man behind it all: Wilmer T. Rabe, better known as Bill, a publicist born in 1921 in Detroit. His life was anything but ordinary. After growing up in the Motor City, he served in the Army during World War II in the Pacific, only to be recalled for duty in Germany in the early 1950s. There, wandering through rural landscapes, he witnessed a traditional spring festival involving the burning of a straw figure—a ritual he later adapted into an annual snowman incineration event at Lake State, complete with sizzling hot dogs for attendees. It was a creative twist that added whimsy to the university's traditions.
Once fully retired from military life, Rabe landed a role as communications director at what is now the University of Detroit Mercy by 1963. His knack for spectacle shone through when he convinced a student to lead a fictional group called the Stamp Out the Beatles Society, or SOBS. This stunt drew media buzz, culminating in a reporter mentioning it at the Beatles' 1964 U.S. press conference. John Lennon's witty comeback—“We have a campaign to stamp out Detroit”—not only sparked laughter but also cemented Rabe's reputation as a publicity genius. And here's where it gets really intriguing: was this harmless fun, or did it set a precedent for viral pranks that blur the line between promotion and mockery? Fast-forward to 1970, when Rabe joined Lake State (then a college) as its director of development, transforming it into the university we know today.
Nestled in the eastern Upper Peninsula, Lake State is a vital hub for education, drawing students from across the St. Marys River, including from Canada. Academically, it faces stiff competition from bigger universities downstate, but its alumni list tells a story: out of 19 notable names on Wikipedia, 12 are hockey players, two are coaches, and one is a figure skater. Yet, in the realm of public awareness, the banned words list gives Lake State a unique edge. The university insists it's all in good fun each January, but there's deeper value here—much like Rabe's other contribution, the annual stone-skipping contest on Mackinac Island. He adored the island so much that he and his wife, Ann, are buried there, with a tombstone reading, 'Life is a grave matter.' It's a poignant reminder of how one person's creativity can leave a lasting legacy.
Circling back to the list, it's a celebration of language that's both lighthearted and thought-provoking. But is banning words truly effective in improving how we communicate, or does it risk stifling creativity? And what about the Beatles episode—harmless publicity stunt or an early example of cancel culture? We'd love to hear your thoughts: Do you agree that overused words like 'perfect' deserve a timeout, or is this just playful elitism? Share your opinions in the comments below, and let's discuss the future of our ever-evolving English language.
Reach Neal Rubin at NARubin@freepress.com.
