Gen Z says the em dash is the ‘coolest punctuation ever'
Gen Z: I am — and I don't say this lightly — so busy.
Boomer: What's with all the dashes? Is Morse code having a moment?
Em dashes are a vibe. One X user calls them the 'coolest punctuation ever' — the Charli XCX of grammar.
Confusing and jarring?
Sassy and smart — they draw attention.
More like a fax machine: clunky, awkward and best left in the last century.
The em dash is everywhere, according to The Washington Post, because it's ChatGPT's favourite punctuation mark.
Is that a new Turing test component: asking if AI prefers dashes or colons?
'We — and ChatGPT — have a soft spot for the em dash,' an OpenAI employee told the Post. A journalist called it 'my emotional support punctuation mark'.
Once used by Emily Dickinson in her poetry; now therapy for chatbots.
Why the winky face?
Is that a joke about my bad eye?
No, I mean the ;
It's actually called a semicolon and it's the 'most elegant and elusive of punctuation marks' to both The Spectator and myself.
So jarring. You know they're used only half as much now as they were in 2000?
Because of your generation's inability to practise decent grammar?
Because the semicolon is old and stuffy. It's a monocle in punctuation form.
Excuse me but I agree with The Spectator: 'Like napkins, black tie and having a glass of champagne before lunch, the semicolon remains a bulwark against civilisational decline.'
Forget mad dictators and ravaging wars. Boomers say the semicolon will save us!
I'm sorry that we value the English language.
But I saw on X some old bloke named Kurt Vonnegut said semicolons 'represent absolutely nothing' and are only used to 'show you went to college'.
I'm not taking literary advice from someone who calls the author of Slaughterhouse-Five 'some old bloke named Kurt'.
Stop being aggy. You're giving hostile punctuator vibes.
Is that the 2025-friendly way of calling someone a grammar Nazi?
It's when you overuse punctuation so your texts look like they're from a thriller.
How can a tiny mark come across as hostile?
Take the Boomer obsession with ellipsis.
Go on…
Exactly what I mean! TikToker Elâ got 527,000 likes on her clip noting everyone over 60 insists on ending texts with '…'
It softens the end of a sentence.
It seems like you're planning something sinister. Eg 'My mum always texts me like 'dad's not home…''
And what's wrong with that?
'It makes it sound like she's buried him in the backyard.'
Ironic from someone who thinks a skull emoji is an appropriate reaction to a joke.
We've spoken about this, it means I'm dying from laughter.
So what should I end my texts with? A full stop?
If you want to be shady, sure.
It's 'shady' to end a clause with good grammar?
Full stops give such sus energy! According to Stylist, if someone uses a full stop 'they're angry and want you to know they're angry, but they're not in the mood for a direct confrontation'.
Or maybe they're just proficient in English?
Put it this way: if my mum texts saying 'I'm not annoyed.' I know to turn up with flowers and a bottle of Whispering Angel.
It's three words and a dot, you're reading too much into it.
No cap, I've had friendships end over a bitchy full stop instead of a kissy face.
I'm not sure what 'no cap' means, but that really does bring things to a full stop.
Your jokes are as cringey as your punctuation habits.
This has got me thinking about the difference between your generation and the semicolon.
Only one has valid use in the 21st century?
Only one is capable of stringing together complex thoughts.
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Waiting is an inevitable part of life. From the slow shuffle at the supermarket checkout to the more profound waiting between a medical test and its result, wait we must. Yet in a society hellbent on speed and efficiency waiting has become the enemy. Historically, the act of waiting had spiritual meaning: waiting for the Messiah or the second coming, waiting for sacred rain, or the return of the Sun God. But in today's world, where time is money and productivity is a virtue, we've developed a pervasive impatience. Waiting raises our anxiety – not just mentally but physiologically, as stress hormones flood our systems. We experience it as a gap to be filled, a void to be plugged. It also heightens our awareness of uncertainty, and uncertainty activates the same neural pathways as pain, fear and threat detection. But while these neurological facts explain our psychological responses to waiting, explanations do not necessarily change these responses. 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Christianity focuses on the redemptive power of suffering through Christ; Sufism sees longing and anguish as paths toward union with the divine; Buddhism teaches us to sit with pain, to observe and detach. Some secular philosophies also mirror these insights. Viktor Frankl, writing from the depths of a concentration camp, emphasised the importance of finding meaning even in suffering. The contemporary rise of death cafes, where people gather to reflect on mortality, speaks to a desire to confront and grapple with the existential unknowns. These cafes offer a space to explore death as a way of enhancing life, inviting us to see waiting not as lost time but as time for becoming – individually, and in resistance to the commodification of time itself. Existential waiting also raises important questions. What are we waiting for? What does it teach us? What are we becoming in the process? But before we can engage with these larger questions, many of us need help simply learning to tolerate the anxiety that waiting provokes. Take Michael*, a high-achieving software developer who came to therapy after experiencing a panic attack prompted by a routine health check. Rational and successful, Michael found himself unravelling in the face of uncertainty as he awaited the results. He described himself as feeling 'out of control' and 'spiralling'. He couldn't sleep. He compulsively checked his email. He imagined worst-case diagnoses. Physically, he experienced heart palpitations, stomach tightness, restlessness and persistent anxiety. Digging deeper, it became clear that Michael's difficulty with waiting was rooted in a familiar psychological pattern. He had grown up in a family that prized achievement and productivity. He had lived a life mapped out by goals – goals that he usually met. 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The therapist is a fictional amalgam of both authors Prof Gill Straker and Dr Jacqui Winship are co-authors of The Talking Cure. Straker also appears on the podcast Three Associating in which relational psychotherapists explore their blind spots
