Oh, AP style. You’re occasionally confusing but overall OK (not “okay”).

Love it or loathe it, The Associated Press Stylebook is the lingua franca of written journalism. It’s why we say adviser, not advisor; protester, not protestor; and why the Oxford comma remains persona non grata.

Many journalists are so fluent in AP style that we correct numbers in our sleep — digits over nine are safe as numerals even in dreams. And yet, after a decade and a half in various editing chairs, I’ve noticed some recurring, uh, misconceptions.

There are “rules” you think are in AP style that simply aren’t. Here are six of them as we roll into 2026.

And before the indignant replies roll in: Yes, bigger issues exist than quibbling over a sometimes arbitrary set of guidelines. But what a year (erm, decade?) it’s been for journalism. Surely we’ve earned five minutes of affectionate, old-school style-nerdery.

Abbreviations in parentheses after titles

This one is everywhere. And it is not the move.

You know what it looks like: The Federal Communications Commission (FCC). The World Health Organization (WHO). The Supreme Court of the United States (SCOTUS).

It looks official. It feels tidy. It seems like something AP style would recommend.

It doesn’t.

AP style explicitly advises against following an organization’s full name with an abbreviation in parentheses unless the abbreviation will be clear and useful on second reference. And if it won’t be clear, that’s usually a sign you shouldn’t use the abbreviation at all.

In short: If readers need parentheses to remember what something stands for, the acronym probably isn’t doing them any favors.

Yes, some abbreviations — FCC, IRS, FBI — are widely understood and fine to use without explanation. But many others are not. Writing about the Federal Permitting Improvement Steering Council and the National Telecommunications and Information Administration is clunky, sure. Writing about the FPISC and NTIA is worse. At that point, you’re not saving readers time. You’re making them decode alphabet soup.

So, for the love of all copy desks past and present, maybe stop inventing acronyms just to save six characters.

Brackets

One of my first conversations with my current boss involved an exasperated rant about these boxy little symbols. Reporters love brackets. We use them to sneak missing context or clarifying words into quotes.

It’s widespread. And yet nobody seems to remember who taught us to do this.

Here’s the relevant AP style entry on brackets: “They cannot be transmitted over news wires. Use parentheses or recast the material.”

That’s it. No exceptions carved out for journalism school habits.

If a quote needs brackets to make sense, it’s usually a sign that the quote needs context. That context belongs in the sentence around it or in a paraphrase, not jammed into the quote itself. Recast the sentence. Attribute the clarification. Or let the quote stand on its own.

Brackets don’t make writing clearer. They make it look like the reporter is, at best, whispering explanations mid-quote. At worst, it can look like we’re meddling with the source’s intent, even when that’s not what we mean to do. And the AP is politely telling us to stop.

Italics

The stylebook advises against using them. Period.

I still do, though, and you probably can, too. AP style emerged in an era when copy had to move cleanly across wire systems and into publishing tools with limited formatting capabilities. Many of those systems simply couldn’t handle italics reliably. Since wire copy had to be universal, the AP said no go.

Most content management systems today can handle italics just fine. There are still edge cases — captions, mobile push alerts, accessibility tools — where formatting can get weird. But in standard story copy, you’re usually safe using italics sparingly for emphasis.

One gentle plea, though, and this is me speaking as a media news editor: Please don’t italicize newspaper or magazine titles. I don’t know where that habit came from, but AP style is clear on this one. Publication names get caps, not italics.

Em dashes

Some people love them. Some people loathe them. ChatGPT’s deep, emotional attachment to the em dash means we’re about to see a whole lot more of them. So let’s at least use them correctly.

The AP Stylebook allows em dashes in several specific situations (true nerds know that they’re called em dashes because they’re roughly the width of a capital M):

• To signal abrupt change (“The deal looked final — until regulators stepped in.”)
• As one option to set off a series within a phrase (“The committee included editors — print, digital and broadcast — from across the newsroom.”)
• Before attribution to an author or composer in some formats (“The medium is the message.” — Marshall McLuhan)
• After datelines (“WASHINGTON — The White House said Tuesday …”)
• To introduce a list (“The memo outlined three priorities — staffing, budgeting and accountability.”)

Spacing seems to be a polarizing topic. AP style calls for a space on both sides of a dash in all uses. (The lone exception is the start of sports agate summaries, which is a deeply strange carve-out that we will not interrogate today.)

Job titles are not capped

Speaking of nerds, here’s one I have actually debated many times. Because AP style is pretty clear — until it isn’t.

The basic rule is to capitalize formal titles, but only when they appear before a name. Otherwise, lowercase.

So:

• President Donald Trump
• Pope Leo XIV

But:

• The president issued an executive order.
• The pope spoke to a large crowd Tuesday.

Where people — and I am very much included in that — get tripped up is the distinction between a formal title and a job description. AP defines a formal title as one that denotes “scope of authority, professional activity or academic standing.” And the AP’s entry on job descriptions is blunt: “Always lowercase.”

That means:

• Chief Justice John Roberts
• Attorney General Pam Bondi

But:

• astronaut Sally Ride
• poet Maya Angelou
• And, confusingly: White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt

So where’s the line? Here’s the practical test I’ve found works: If the title exists independently of the person holding it, cap it before the name. If it describes what they do, don’t. It’s not perfect, but it will get you through most edits without spiraling.

There will still be edge cases. There always are. You should find some other word nerds and debate them vociferously.

Ellipses

These three little dots sure cause an outsized amount of chaos.

First off, the AP treats an ellipsis like a three-letter word. That means three periods with a space on each side.

Second, don’t lead with it in quotes. This one trips people up all the time. But the AP is explicit: “Do not start or end a direct quote with an ellipsis.”

This is wrong: “… it has become evident to me that I no longer have a strong enough political base …”

This is right: “It has become evident to me that I no longer have a strong enough political base,” Nixon said.

The quote starts where the quote starts. Readers don’t need to be warned that you didn’t include the entire speech.

Also, in AP style, ellipses usually mean deletion, not hesitation. If you’re cutting words from a quote, ellipses are appropriate. If someone trails off mid-thought, generally use a dash instead. I say “generally” because the style guide also says this: “An ellipsis also may be used to indicate a thought that the speaker or writer does not complete. Substitute a dash for this purpose, however, if the context uses ellipses to indicate that words actually spoken or written have been deleted.”

And punctuation still counts. If the sentence before the ellipsis is complete, you keep the period and then add the ellipsis: “I no longer have a strong enough political base. …”

Yes, that looks weird. Yes, that’s correct. Don’t blame me. I didn’t make the rules.

Bonus: ‘Myself’ is not a fancy version of ‘me’

OK, allow me a moment. Because this isn’t an AP style rule. It’s just English.

Somewhere along the way, “myself” became the word people reach for when they’re trying to sound formal, careful or important. The result is sentences like, “Fred and myself went to the store.”

Please, no. I beg you.

“Myself” is a reflexive pronoun. It only works when the subject and the object are the same person.

Yes to: “I embarrassed myself.” “I reminded myself to follow up.”

No to: “Please contact Jennifer or myself with questions.” “The document was sent to Jane and myself.”

If you’re not doing something to yourself, then myself doesn’t belong there.

I only have so much hair left. Don’t make me pull the rest out.