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That trendy suffix is telling us to maximize everything.
Should we all be “funmaxxing?” asks Dazed magazine. No—“fibermaxxing,” argues The New York Times. Proteinmaxxing, says the health guru. Harvardmaxxing, insists the Ivy Leaguer.
Your dog isn’t eating dinner, he’s kibblemaxxing. And you aren’t having fun—you’re jestermaxxing.
Enter the internet’s new fave suffix. “Maxxing”—tacked onto just about any noun—means optimizing a specific aspect of life to the extreme (hence, maxxing). Like much of Gen Z slang (see: NPC, sidequest), it’s loosely linked to gaming subculture, and more direct—though complicated—ties to the incel depths of the internet. But stripped down, it’s simple: Take something ordinary, push it to its theatrical limit.
Thought you were reading a magazine right now? Wrong—you’re RMaxxing.
The appeal is obvious. It makes habits feel tactical, intentional—even a little competitive. And it casts a wide net.
At its most harmless, it’s kitschy—soupmaxxing, LinkedInmaxxing, or whatever niche you’re obsessing over. At its most serious, it veers into real-world strategy with significant impact (the Pentagon recently announced they are “lethalitymaxxing” and “homelandmaxxing”).
Or, in more extreme online corners, “looksmaxxing,” where users chase physical “optimization” by literally—and regularly—hitting their cheekbones with hammers to change the shape of their faces.
Still, the reason it sticks is less sinister than it sounds. At its core, it’s unserious and easy to parody. Slap it onto any offline behavior, and suddenly it feels elevated—like you’re not just doing the thing, you’re doing it with purpose. Purposemaxxing, if you will.
Sure, getting your fill of fiber and protein isn’t exactly a bad idea. So if maxxing is what it takes to build better habits—or at least trick yourself into them—we’re not mad at it. Just maybe put the hammers down.
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