If you grew up in the 1960s and 70s, these 10 forgotten slang words were part of your everyday language

Every generation thinks it invented cool.

But if you came of age in the 60s or 70s, you spoke a dialect that could turn a bus stop into a scene.

Your words had rhythm.

They weren’t just labels; they were vibes.

I’ve mentioned this before, but language is time travel.

A single word can throw you back into a shag-carpet living room, a diner booth, a garage band practice with a cheap amp and big dreams.

Let’s dust off ten everyday slang words from that era—what they meant then, what they echo now, and why they still matter.

1. Groovy

If there’s a king of 60s vocabulary, it’s this one.

“Groovy” didn’t only mean “good.” It meant something aligned. In the groove. Flowing with the beat—literally, if you were talking about vinyl.

You’d say, “That new Hendrix track is groovy,” and nobody heard “fine” or “nice.” They heard it moves exactly right.
Modern translation: “on point,” “in the pocket,” “vibes.”

“Groovy” rewarded feel over form. Not “Is it correct?” but “Does it move you?” That filter shaped how people evaluated music, art, even friendships. Some words make you judge; this one asked you to feel.

2. Far out

“Far out” wasn’t just approval—it was awe.

Something surprising, mind-expanding, slightly beyond the usual map.

You walk out of 2001: A Space Odyssey in 1968? “Far out.”

Hear your friend’s weird jazz record that sounds like the moon invented a trumpet? “Far out.”

Modern translation: “wild,” “next-level,” “mind-blowing.”

I grew up reading old music mags. The first time I played a Sun Ra record at a used-vinyl shop in Echo Park, the clerk—gray ponytail, denim vest—smiled at those opening notes and whispered, “Far out.” Time folded. The word still worked because the feeling still does.

3. Right on

This was agreement with a little fist pump built in.
Not quite a cheer, not only “yes.” It was solidarity. You’re saying, “I’m with you—and you’re onto something good.”

If a friend said, “Let’s march on Saturday,” the response wasn’t “OK.” It was “Right on.”

If someone argued a point that needed saying, “Right on.”

Modern translation: “facts,” “preach,” “say less.”

“Right on” carried ethics in its pocket. It was about aligning around values, not just opinions. In a decade of movements, it became shorthand for shared courage.

4. Outta sight

“Out of sight” is technically a visual phrase, but in the 60s/70s it meant a delight you could almost taste.
Something so good it escapes the usual scale.

The band’s encore? Outta sight.

Your cousin’s new Mustang? Outta sight.

Modern translation: “insane,” “fire,” “so good it’s stupid” (if you’re talking to Gen Z).

Outta sight” didn’t nitpick. It wasn’t the language of reviews; it was the language of reactions. Some things deserve analysis. Others deserve a grin and those two syllables.

5. Bummer

If the era had a sigh, this was it.

“Bummer” captured disappointment without drama. It was empathy in a single shrug.

Missed your bus? Bummer.

Rain on a picnic? Bummer.

Friend fails a test after studying all week? “Man… bummer.”

Modern translation: “rough,” “that sucks,” “rip.”

My mom—practical, cheerful—used “bummer” as a family-pressure release valve. Plans fell through, she’d inhale, say “bummer,” and pivot: pancakes for dinner, card game at the kitchen table, new plan.

The word kept us from spiraling. It named the loss but didn’t let the loss run the house.

6. Dig

This one deserves a trophy for economy.
“Dig” means “understand,” but with flavor. Not just “I get it”—“I feel it, too.”

“Do you dig what I’m saying?” wasn’t condescending. It was an invitation.
“I dig that” meant appreciation with a touch of shared rhythm.

Modern translation: “I feel you,” “I’m into it,” “I get the vibe.”

As a former music blogger, I still use it. Music isn’t processed with spreadsheets; it’s absorbed. “Do you dig it?” is the right question for any art trying to be lived, not analyzed to death.

7. Bread

Money has a thousand nicknames; “bread” is pure poetry.

Bread is basic, daily, shared. You break it together. You earn it. You pass the basket.

“I need to make some bread.”

“That gig will bring in decent bread.”

Modern translation: “bag,” “coin,” “cash.”

The 60s and 70s carried both idealism and rent. “Bread” let you talk about money without sounding like money was your only metric.

It acknowledged necessity without worshipping it.

8. Split

To leave. To bounce. To make tracks. No drama, just motion.

“It’s late—we should split.”

“He split after the second set.”

Modern translation: “dip,” “bounce,” “I’m out.”

I love how tidy it is. “Split” respects the scene by exiting cleanly. No long apologies, no over-explaining. Socially skilled people still talk like this—clear, light footprint, on to the next.

9. Foxy

Compliment with swagger.

In the 70s, “foxy” meant attractive in a magnetic, slightly mischievous way—confident eyes, easy carriage, a sense of play. It wasn’t only about looks; it was about charge.

“He’s foxy.” “She’s foxy.”

Said right, it felt fun, almost musical.

Modern translation: “fine,” “hot,” “a whole problem” (if your niece is on TikTok).

Slang ages, and context matters. “Foxy” worked in rooms where everyone understood the game. It also reminds me that the best compliments point to spark, not body parts.

10. Square

Every era needs its foil.

“Square” meant conventional, rigid, allergic to improvisation. It was less about age and more about energy.

“That club’s cool; the other spot is square.”

“He’s square about curfews but loose about everything else.”

Modern translation: “basic,” “stiff,” occasionally “boomer” (used lazily).

Here’s the twist: in a world that constantly demands novelty, being “square” about the right things—ethics, consent, paying people on time—isn’t an insult. It’s a compliment in disguise. Keep your groove; keep your spine, too.

Why these words still slap (even if they live in a time capsule)

Language isn’t just decoration. It’s a control panel for attention.
These words did three things well:

1. They privileged feel over form.
   “Groovy,” “dig,” “outta sight”—all about sensing, not scoring. They teach you to ask, What does this do to me? That’s a healthy question for music, film, even careers.

2. They were social grease.
   “Right on,” “bummer,” “split.” Efficient, low-friction, humane. Short words that soften edges and keep groups moving. If your team’s meetings drag, pull language from this list.

3. They democratized cool.
   None of these required a degree. They came from scenes—street corners, record stores, student groups, garages. You didn’t need permission to use them. You just needed to show up.

If you want to bring a little 60s/70s energy back (without sounding like a costume)

I’m not saying walk into a Zoom and shout “Outta sight!” (Unless your team is into bit humor. In which case… please record.)

But you can steal the function of these words even if you update the form.

• Swap sterile praise for felt praise. Instead of “good job,” try “that landed” or “that hit.” Same intent as “groovy.”

• Use solidarity words. When someone says something brave, answer with a “right on” equivalent: “I’m with you on that,” “facts,” “say more.”

• Keep empathy simple. When bad news drops, you don’t need a TED Talk. “Bummer” works as “that’s rough—want to vent or want solutions?”

• Exit clean. “I’ve got to split at five” is now “I’m jumping at five.” The clarity is what matters.

• Ask for feeling, not just data. “Do you dig this direction?” beats “Do we have consensus?” 60s wording; 2020s leadership.

The bottom line

If you grew up in the 60s and 70s, you once carried a pocketful of words that made ordinary life feel like a soundtrack.

“Groovy,” “far out,” “right on,” “outta sight,” “bummer,” “dig,” “bread,” “split,” “foxy,” “square.”

You don’t need to resurrect them verbatim to keep what they gave you.

Keep the feel-first mindset. Keep the solidarity. Keep the quick empathy and the clean exits. Keep the play.

Language changes.

But the human stuff—connection, rhythm, shared meaning—doesn’t.

And if a “right on” slips out at the perfect moment? Don’t fight it.

Some grooves are timeless.