By Gregory Ng (27S05A), Mary Tu (27S06O) and Ong Tsz Xiang (27S06M)

How did you react to this image? Either the frightful howl of children screaming “SIX SEVEN” manifested in your mind and sent shivers down your spine, or you joined in the hype. Either way, you probably would not have been able to escape the vicious claws (or rather, palms) of the 6 7 trend. And you’re not alone in this.

For the boomers out there, 6 7 is part of the wider phenomenon of “brainrot”: absurd internet trends whose reach extends far beyond our social media feeds and into everyday conversation. Yet, as we find ourselves unable to look at a banana or a strawberry the same ever again, we should challenge ourselves to consider: can this low-effort content offer more than just an assault on our attention spans?

First things first, what is brainrot, and why does brainrot spread… so fast?

To understand why brainrot dominates our feeds, we first have to look at how it spreads. It arrived in relentless waves: it started with the bizarre, ever-evolving sagas of Skibidi Toilet, followed by the loud and intrusive loops of Tralelero Tralala and Tung Tung Tung Sahur. As Joshua Lee (27S06B) describes it, these are essentially memes that have “ascended to the next level”—reaching a “god-tier status” where they become so catchy that people begin to repeat them for no reason at all. As we enter this era of AI fruit slop, where the plot is as low-effort as the visuals, it is ironic that for content so often dismissed as “garbage”, it goes viral so easily.

Clockwise starting from top left: Skibidi Toilet, Tung Tung Tung Sahur, Fruit Love Island and Tralalero Tralala, popular brainrot trends

What sets brainrot apart from older memes is the sheer ease of its replication. The barriers to entry have all but vanished; with AI-assisted tools and simple templates, anyone can remix a viral clip in seconds, creating a cycle where each new vision is slightly more distorted and unhinged than the last. With the goal of most creators to rack up hundreds of views and clicks, these shorts are specifically tailored to catch the eye in the fraction of a second it takes to scroll past an Instagram Reel or a YouTube Short.  

Eventually, this saturation reaches a point where the content escapes the screen and enters our physical lives. For many of us, the first encounter with a trend may not actually be with the videos themselves, but from hearing references to them from our friends—as Jayanty Aniketh (27S05A) notes, he often discovers these trends not just via Instagram Reels, but through “word of mouth” from his peers. He observes that brainrot is not necessarily dying, but constantly evolving; as we progress from Year 1 to Year 6, the “tone of interactions” shift, and the memes adapt to keep up. 

The spread is not limited by geography or language. Zacharias Loy (27S05B), one of the school’s rare male English Language and Linguistics students, points out that because brainrot is often “so simple and so stupid”, it manages to transcend global boundaries. While in Japan, he saw children performing the “6 7” trend in Japanese (roku-shichi), demonstrating how, because brainrot has no inherent meaning, it does not get lost in translation like traditional humour. 

Bombarding us both online and offline, brainrot spreads like wildfire, transforming from a digital trend into a shared social language.

The Resistance: Why Some Fear the Rot

Despite its viral dominance, a growing counter-culture of “anti-rot” has emerged. On the surface, this pushback is framed as a concern for public health—specifically, the erosion of attention spans and an increasing reliance on short-form content for a much needed dopamine boost. Gabriel (27S03G) describes brainrot as content that “really stuns the mind”, noting that because it lacks a clear aim beyond entertainment, beneath the surface, it can feel intellectually hollow. This hyper-stimulation thus makes it difficult for some to partake in more traditional forms of engagement such as reading or critical thinking.

Beneath these valid concerns, however, lies a more complex social tension — the performance of intellectual maturity. For many, distancing oneself from the “rot” serves as a form of virtue signalling. Wang Qiyue (27S05B) observes that because people often associate these trends with “little children and toddlers”, engaging with it runs the risk of being labelled as childish. By criticising the absurdity of Skibidi Toilet or “6 7”, these individuals are often attempting to position themselves as serious and refined.

Jamie (27S05A) compares this to the choice of abstaining from swearing because it is a sign of poor culture or being badly raised. Jamie notes that critics often view brainrot as a sign that one lacks the “intellectual capability to say what they want with proper language”. Paradoxically, Jamie describes this avoidance as a form of “performative intellectualism”, pointing out that one’s abstinence from brainrot can simply be a move to steer clear of the stigma surrounding it, and may be less of a move to actually attempt to engage intellectually with their peers.

Thus, this raises a critical question: is the disdain truly about the quality of the content, or is it simply a way to signal that one remains “above the rot’”?

This tension is further exacerbated by brainrot’s function as a shibboleth—a cultural marker that separates those who are “in” from those left outside. Brainrot is inherently exclusive; it offers a sense of belonging to those who get the joke, yet feels entirely alienating to those who don’t. Its humor is built on layers of irony and niche inside-jokes that require a constant presence online to even begin to decode. (For example, how many of us can actually explain the plot of Fruit Love Island?) Ultimately, while those inside the circle enjoy a shared identity, everyone else faces an impenetrable wall of lore, creating a sharp divide between the initiated and the excluded.

How Chaos Becomes Meaning 

“Brainrot is a way of self-expression of our true innate nature and a way to show people that we are chill people, and that we aren’t too uptight.”

Aniketh

In many ways, brainrot is not fundamentally different from other abstract cultural movements. Much like art or social norms, brainrot only gains value when we collectively decide it has some. On the surface, a toilet with a human head or the dysfunctional  romance between a strawberry and a banana is nonsensical. However, because our generation has assigned them a sense of meaning, they have evolved from “garbage content” into a sophisticated common language.

This shared language functions through what linguists call “covert prestige.” Zacharias explains that while brainrot isn’t a “formal” variety of language, students use it with their peers to build a sense of camaraderie. Similarly Jamie mentioned that by  “brainrot-maxxing”—or cramming as many buzzwords as possible into a single sentence—users are actually participating in a “cultural assimilation” that marks them as part of the community.

It is also most valuable when it is targeted. Aniketh shares that last year, his class even compiled a “brainrot dictionary” to document inside jokes that were unique to their passions and interests. Similarly, as Joshua puts it, “The real brainrot is in our hearts … it’s something you and your friends create”. Thus, what makes brainrot so special is how global memes are localised for each friend group’s context, strengthening the bonds between one another. 

Ultimately, this shared meaning is what makes brainrot such an effective social connector. As Gabriel puts it, “It is very difficult to find similar content that two people enjoy, so when people relate over brainrot, it is a very good icebreaker to forge friendships”. Similarly, Qiyue notes that when meeting someone new, assuming a shared knowledge of these trends can instantly break the ice, as he experienced first-hand on a CCA trip when the age gap between the Y56 and Y14 athletes was bridged by discussing the latest brainrot. Thus, in unfamiliar territory, assuming a shared knowledge of the “rot” can provide an immediate and low-stakes starting point for conversation.

So maybe it’s not the yellowish tint of the AI-generated images that catches our eye, but the familiarity and sense of belonging that they bring to us. Maybe it is not the brainrot itself that we should celebrate, but rather the human ability to find identity in the absurd. And maybe, just maybe, when we look at brainrot, we see more than “garbage content”—we see our own power to create and construct a community out of chaos. 

And yes, we somehow managed to intellectualise brainrot. 

We do not see things as they are, we see them as we are.

Anaïs Nin