Maxxing: When Enough Is Never Enough (#772)
The Word of the Year for 2026
Every year, dictionaries select a word that supposedly captures the spirit of the times.
Sometimes the choice is amusing.
Sometimes it is puzzling.
Occasionally, it reveals something rather profound about the society in which we live.
For 2026, Dictionary.com has chosen maxxing.
At first glance, it seems an odd choice. It is not particularly elegant.
It has an unnecessary extra x.
And it sounds rather like something invented by teenagers who have spent too much time on their phones.
Which, as it turns out, is not far from the truth.
But beneath this peculiar word lies a fascinating commentary on modern life.
We live in an age when almost everything must be optimized.
We are encouraged to maximize our productivity, appearance, health, wealth, happiness, longevity, and professional success.
Apparently, simply being good at something is no longer enough.
We must be maxxing.
What Does Maxxing Mean?
The word derives from maximize, meaning to make something as great or extensive as possible.
Its contemporary usage emerged from online gaming culture and internet communities, where people discussed strategies for optimizing performance or physical appearance.
One of the earliest popular expressions was looksmaxxing, referring to efforts to improve physical attractiveness.
From there, the terminology spread rapidly.
Today, we have:
Looksmaxxing: Maximizing physical attractiveness.
Gymmaxxing: Optimizing exercise and physical fitness.
Sleepmaxxing: Pursuing the perfect night's sleep.
Proteinmaxxing: Maximizing protein consumption.
Moneymaxxing: Optimizing financial success.
Careermaxxing: Pursuing maximum professional advancement.
Longevitymaxxing: Attempting to extend lifespan through increasingly elaborate health interventions.
There is even cozymaxxing, which apparently involves maximizing comfort and relaxation.
Imagine that - we have reached a point where relaxing has become another activity requiring optimization.
And perhaps that is precisely the problem.
The Culture of More
The popularity of maxxing reflects something much larger than a linguistic fashion.
It reflects a society increasingly preoccupied with the belief that more is necessarily better.
More productivity.
More efficiency.
More wealth.
More qualifications.
More followers.
More years of life.
More everything.
Technology has accelerated this obsession.
Smartwatches measure our sleep, steps, heart rate, and physical activity.
Apps monitor our productivity.
Artificial intelligence promises to help us accomplish more in less time.
We can now quantify aspects of our lives that previous generations simply experienced.
And once something can be measured, there is an almost irresistible temptation to improve the measurement.
But there is an important distinction between measuring something and understanding its value.
A person who sleeps eight hours according to a smartwatch has not necessarily enjoyed a more restorative night than someone who slept seven hours without monitoring anything.
A person who walks 10,000 steps has not necessarily experienced more pleasure than someone who wandered slowly through a garden.
And a person who produces twice as much work has not necessarily contributed twice as much to society.
What can be measured is not always what matters most.
When Improvement Becomes Obsession
There is nothing inherently wrong with trying to improve ourselves.
Indeed, much of human progress depends upon the desire to do better.
Scientific discovery, medical advances, education, and technological innovation all reflect our refusal to accept that things cannot be improved.
But there is a difference between improvement and perfectionism.
Improvement recognizes that something can be made better.
Perfectionism assumes that anything less than the maximum is inadequate.
The distinction is important.
Consider looksmaxxing.
There is nothing objectionable about wanting to look healthy or attractive.
But when appearance becomes a relentless competition against digitally enhanced images and unrealistic ideals, self-improvement can become self-punishment.
Similarly, healthmaxxing may begin with sensible exercise and nutrition but evolve into an obsessive preoccupation with biomarkers, supplements, dietary restrictions, and the avoidance of every conceivable risk.
The pursuit of health can become so consuming that it interferes with the enjoyment of being healthy.
And what about longevitymaxxing?
Living longer is certainly desirable.
But surely the quality of those years matters more than simply accumulating additional birthdays.
The objective should not be to maximize the number of years we live, but to make the years we have worth living.
Maxxing in Education
The concept has particular relevance to education.
Universities increasingly measure success through numbers.
Student enrollment.
Graduation rates.
Research funding.
Publications.
Rankings.
Philanthropic contributions.
Institutional growth.
These measurements have legitimate purposes.
They help institutions evaluate performance and allocate resources.
But what happens when maximizing the measurements becomes more important than fulfilling the educational mission?
Consider professional education.
Is a veterinary school necessarily better because it enrolls more students?
Does producing more graduates automatically mean producing better veterinarians?
Does increasing research revenue guarantee more meaningful scientific discovery?
And does attracting larger philanthropic gifts necessarily strengthen the academic institution?
Not necessarily.
In veterinary education, I have frequently questioned the emphasis on producing graduates who are immediately job-ready rather than developing professionals equipped for a lifetime of learning, critical thinking, and independent judgment.
The distinction is fundamental.
A university can maximize the number of graduates without maximizing the quality of their education.
A university can maximize efficiency while diminishing mentorship.
A university can maximize institutional revenue while compromising the values that distinguish a university from a commercial enterprise.
And a university can maximize administrative authority while minimizing meaningful participation in shared governance.
Perhaps we should be asking a different question.
Not how much can we maximize, but what are we trying to achieve, and why?
The Corporate World Has Been Maxxing for Decades
Although the word is new, the philosophy is not.
Corporations have pursued maximum efficiency, productivity, market share, and shareholder returns for generations.
The language may have changed, but the underlying objective remains familiar.
We now see similar pressures throughout veterinary medicine.
Corporate consolidation promises economies of scale, improved efficiency, and expanded access to capital.
Some of these benefits are real.
But maximizing financial performance does not necessarily maximize patient welfare, client satisfaction, professional independence, or employee well-being.
Indeed, these objectives may sometimes conflict.
A veterinary practice is not simply a business designed to maximize revenue.
It is also a professional institution with ethical responsibilities to animals, clients, employees, and the wider community.
The challenge is not to reject efficiency or profitability.
The challenge is to recognize that neither should become the sole measure of success.
Maximizing profit and maximizing professional value are not necessarily the same thing.
The Paradox of Happinessmaxxing
Perhaps the most revealing application of the term would be happinessmaxxing.
Can happiness be maximized?
Certainly, we can make choices that contribute to a satisfying life.
Friendships, meaningful work, physical activity, intellectual curiosity, family relationships, and engagement with nature all contribute to well-being.
But happiness is not a commodity that can be accumulated indefinitely.
Nor is it a competition.
Some of life's most rewarding experiences are unplanned, inefficient, and entirely unproductive.
Watching a bird.
Walking through a forest.
Sharing a leisurely meal.
Reading a book without checking the time.
Enjoying a conversation that accomplishes absolutely nothing.
These experiences may not maximize anything measurable.
Yet they often provide the memories we treasure most.
There is a certain irony in a culture that encourages people to optimize their leisure time.
If relaxation becomes another performance target, have we not defeated its purpose?
Perhaps We Need Less Maxxing and More Mellorism
There is an interesting philosophical contrast between maxxing and mellorism.
Mellorism is the belief that the world is imperfect but can be made better through intentional human effort, action, and cooperation.
At first glance, the two philosophies might appear similar.
Both embrace improvement.
Both reject complacency.
Both recognize the possibility of change.
But there is an important difference.
Maxxing emphasizes maximizing an outcome.
Mellorism emphasizes making things better.
One asks, How much more can I achieve?
The other asks, What meaningful improvement can I make?
Maxxing can encourage competition, comparison, and the relentless pursuit of an ever-receding ideal.
Mellorism offers a more measured philosophy: progress without requiring perfection.
Mellorism recognizes that improvement need not be unlimited to be worthwhile.
A small improvement in animal welfare matters.
A better educational experience for one student matters.
A more transparent university decision matters.
A kinder interaction between colleagues matters.
None of these achievements requires maximizing everything.
They simply require people who care enough to make something better.
And perhaps that is a healthier ambition.
The Wisdom of Knowing When Enough Is Enough
As we grow older, our understanding of success often changes.
Early in life, achievement may be measured through examinations, qualifications, promotions, income, and recognition.
There is a natural desire to accomplish more.
But experience teaches us that some of the most important things in life resist measurement.
Friendship.
Trust.
Integrity.
Curiosity.
Kindness.
A sense of purpose.
There is no maximum score for any of these qualities.
Nor is there a finish line.
I have spent much of my professional life in an environment that rewards achievement.
Academic medicine encourages us to publish more, teach more, discover more, and accomplish more.
Much of that ambition is constructive.
But looking back, I suspect that the most meaningful contributions are not necessarily those that can be counted.
They are:
The students whose lives we influenced.
The colleagues we encouraged.
The animals whose suffering we relieved.
The ideas we challenged.
And the occasions when we chose to do what was right rather than what was expedient.
None of these requires maxxing.
They require judgment, commitment, and an appreciation of what matters.
A Word That Defines Our Times
Dictionary.com's selection of maxxing as its 2026 Word of the Year is more revealing than it might initially appear.
It captures the optimism of a society convinced that almost everything can be improved.
But it also exposes our anxiety that whatever we achieve may never be enough.
We can always be:
Fitter.
Richer.
More productive.
More attractive.
More successful.
More efficient.
And perhaps that endless pursuit explains why so many people feel exhausted despite living in an age of extraordinary technological convenience.
The irony is that the pursuit of maximum performance may prevent us from appreciating the value of ordinary experience.
Perhaps we need a new expression:
Enoughmaxxing.
The art of recognizing when we have enough.
Enough money.
Enough possessions.
Enough achievements.
Enough productivity.
Enough pressure to become someone other than ourselves.
Of course, turning contentment into another optimization strategy would be wonderfully absurd.
But it might also teach us something.
A successful life is not necessarily one in which everything has been maximized.
A successful life may be one in which we have learned what is worth improving, what is worth preserving, and when to be satisfied.
And that, I suspect, is a lesson worth learning.
Even if we never manage to maxx it.
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