Have you heard the word “awesome” lately? It’s in our films, newsfeeds, and songs; it’s on our t-shirts, menus, and products. “Awesome sells” must rival “sex sells”—it shows up all over the marketplace, from the new Wendy’s S’Awesome Sauce and TV commercials for Crest toothpaste, Xfinity, and Wienerschnitzel to gift cards, all-purpose cleaners, and wet wipes. (For a collection of examples, see my “anthropology of awesome” Instagram account @onbeingawesome.) “Awesome” even shows up on Ann Coulter’s 2016 book In Trump We Trust, which is subtitled (ironically) “E Pluribus Awesome!”. At a time when conflict between the political left and right is intractable, both sides want to project the thought that our unity is not assured unless we are “awesome” together.

“Awesome” is clearly not being used in its traditional sense to mean awe-inspiring, or to summarize standard dictionary definitions, inspiring a feeling of reverence or respect, often combined with wonder, fear, or apprehension. Something seems awesome in the traditional sense when it makes us feel that the universe is so vast compared to our short lives and little selves—and it’s all just so wonderful, amazing, or overwhelming. We gasp in awe at a silver, dark starry sky, a stunning work of art, or a breathtaking scientific theory.

But we don’t want to be moved to awe by every beat we bump and every taco we taste, even though we are perfectly willing to say that some taco or tune is awesome. Eddie Izzard jokes, “I saw an advert for Awesome Hotdogs, only $2.99! If they were awesome you’d be going, “I cannot…breathe…for the…way the sausage…is held by the bun…it’s speaking to me! …” When we aspire to be awesome we aren’t hoping to remind every person we meet that they are barely a blip on the universe’s infinite radar screen.