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Slang is designer language—a verbal fashion statement that conveys as much about a speaker as his appearance. For young people, slang is a piece of shared culture, a form of social identification that varies from school to school and group to group. Slang is hip, like the newest music or fashion trends. And like these things, slang is easy to try out, but a challenge to fully embrace. In the wrong hands, slang is as awkward as a 60-year-old in low-slung baggy jeans.

The role of slang in English hasn't changed much over time. It marks you as in the know for a particular sub-culture, from the Jazz/Beat culture of the 1950s, to Hippies in the 60s, to today's hip-hop heads and board-sport enthusiasts. Whether you referred to something as "stale" in the 80s or "played out" in the 90s (both terms mean passé, as in clothing, music or slang), using the slang suggests you have the discernment to know.

What has changed are the words themselves and the rate we cycle through them. All but the most durable slang enters and exits the youth lexicon in the space of a year or two. Words in heavy teen circulation just two years ago—like "jiggy" or "the bomb"—are now heard much less, if at all. Slang doesn't fade because some kind of slang council retires it, but because, like most pop cultural phenomena, the excitement of slang resides in its newness. Slang becomes worn with age, losing its original vitality the more times it is used (and the more people it is used by). When that newness wears off, we move on.

For marketers, it is slang's of-the-moment essence that makes it attractive for reaching trend-conscious young people. Companies see slang as a vehicle for showing they know what's up. Accordingly, companies use the cadence and vocabulary of youth speech to sell everything from soft drinks to jeans to cars.

But in commercial hands, slang is a double-edged sword. Using the words is one thing, sounding cool is another. Slang is more than just words, it's how they're put together, who says them and when and in what context they are used. To do it right requires close familiarity with the culture from which the slang emerges, one that can only come from being part of it. As a result, slangy messages that come from outside authentically youthful sources tend to sound out of touch and alienate the very people they are trying to reach.

In the competitive, fast-changing world of hip-hop (not just music but fashion, sports and even skateboarding), slang is basic to the culture. The lingo is the style. Staying current in the hip-hop business requires knowing, and even expanding on, the newest slang. The most successful companies in hip-hop emerge from the world they sell, having participated in the creation of the language. This orientation ensures these companies get the lingo correct and that the products they offer will make sense with the words. Examples range from "Phat Farm" and "Da Kine" (clothing companies) to "Sewing Up Cuts," (a DJ gear slogan) to innumerable slang album and song titles (Wu-Tang's "CREAM," Dr. Dre's "The Chronic" and Project Pat's "Layin Da Smack Down"). When used properly, slang give these brands and products a fresh and exciting aura that persuades consumers to check it out.

But vocab isn't everything. Record labels and apparel brands that use slang heavily are often all slang and no substance, relying on the appearance of street authenticity rather than a engaging product or creative idea. And some of the most creative artists and entrepreneurs in hip-hop don't use slang at all to name or market their products (the rapper Mos Def and apparel-maker Triple5Soul are just two examples).

Slang can be used to sell more than rap albums and logoized jerseys. Budweiser's infectious "Wassup" campaign took a bit of popular fraternity slang (itself coopted from hip-hop slang: "I say wassup to my peeps in O-town") and turned it into a buzzword that reverberated (for better or worse) for well over a year. The ads showed a group of 20-somethings phoning each other in and around an apartment complex shouting "Wasssuuup," until someone answers, "just watching the game, havin' a Bud." What made the spots so effective was that they stayed remarkably true to the sound and context of the slang's common usage. But slang's short shelf life becomes even shorter when used in a major advertising campaign, a lesson that Budweiser's marketers apparently understand. Follow-up ads by Budweiser show a geeky wanna-be obnoxiously muttering "Wassup" to irritated partygoers before eventually being thrown out.

But is using slang to sell to kids even necessary? Imagery, tone and how models or actors are used can be just as persuasive. Mountain Dew, the ultimate purveyor of youthful attitude, relates with the young through blasts of extreme sports imagery, and more subtly through situations that parallel those in kids lives (asking someone out, searching for spare change), but without slang. Mountain Dew makes a connection without attaching itself to fleeting attributes of youth culture that may date the brand or make it seem forced or misleading.

Other big consumer brands have not internalized this lesson. One of the riskiest marketing applications of slang occurs when adult brands modify their image to attract young consumers, as carmaker Buick did in 2001. In an attempt to alter the fact that the average Buick buyer is 62 years old, Buick adopted the slogan, "It's All Good," a relatively straightforward slang phrase meaning, "don't worry about it; everything's fine." Buick's General Manager for Marketing believed the new slogan would not alienate older buyers because, he claimed, the message made sense whether or not you understood the slang connotation. But nervousness on the part of dealers and a continued sales slide doomed the slogan less than a year after it was introduced. Buick sales dropped 4% overall during the campaign. While a combination of factors likely contributed to the decline, it is obvious the slogan did not spark youth interest as Buick had hoped.

"It's All Good" was a big risk, and not just because the oldsters might not get it. The term had it's origins in hip-hop and R&B, became mainstream by the mid-1990s and has been declining in use ever since. Buick's brand managers acknowledged their slogan might upset older buyers, but the real danger was its effect on younger ones. By the time youth-speak reaches the ears of adults, even those who pride themselves on staying current, it will undoubtedly be waning in use among trendsetters. Car buyers in their early twenties encountering the slogan were likely to recognize it for what it was, a clueless old brand struggling pathetically to seem young.

And that's the problem with slang marketing: it is so often misunderstood by corporations and marketing professionals who think presenting the right image is all it takes to pique the interest of young buyers. If the product isn't compelling to young people, selling it with hip slang isn't going to help. And as in the case of Buick, it may even add insult to injury.

It all comes down to authenticity. You either have the knowledge and credibility to market with slang or you don't. If you don't, slang will hit would-be consumers' ears with a dull thud. Despite marketers best efforts, slang alone cannot make a brand or product "all good." More often, it will make it seem "played out."