My husband gets “sir.” I get “sweetie.” A field guide to the condescension nobody admits is condescension.

Pet names from strangers aren’t sweet. They’re a reminder that you’ve been clocked as old.

I’m in line at a coffee place in downtown Austin. It’s packed, despite it being 10 a.m. on a Tuesday. The speakers blare a song I don’t know but don’t want to be caught Shazamming. While the tattooed woman at the register takes orders and chats up customers, I look around and wonder if I’m the oldest person here. Then it’s my turn. 

The barista calls me “sweetie.”

I am definitely the oldest person here.

“Sweetie.” “Honey.” “Dear.” Words that are most likely meant well. But when they’re said to me by someone younger, they don’t feel like terms of endearment. They feel like a bitch-slap of condescension. 

Nobody else in line that day was called “sweetie.” Just my 58-year-old self. It made me feel like I wasn’t a humor writer grabbing a latte before a meeting, but an elderly woman who scraped together two bits and escaped the nursing home in search of a snazzy lime rickey at the soda shop. Just because I didn’t order whatever a blue coconut matcha latte is doesn’t mean I’m decrepit. Neither does the fact that some of the vintage clothing in the place was probably originally worn by my high school classmates. Okay, maybe that last one a little bit.

The Inside Doesn’t Match the Outside

Of course I know being called “hon” is a ridiculous thing to get upset about considering everything else there is to be upset about in 2026. But it bothers me for one simple reason: it “others” me. Makes me feel less than. It’s concrete proof that what I feel like on the inside doesn’t match what I look like on the outside. Yes, I have gray hair and wrinkles, but I don’t routinely think I’m that different from everyone else. So when I’m in a bar feeling good, enjoying the ambiance and the music, laughing with my friends, and a 20-something hands me my drink order and says, “Here you go, dear”? It stings. I’ve been clocked as a Golden Girl out on the town blowing my Social Security check on Cosmos and happy hour apps. 

Non-Threatening and Adorable

I asked my 58-year-old husband if he’s ever been called “honey” or “sweetie” and he looked at me like I was nuts. “No, I only get called ‘sir’,” he said. Of course he does. The condescension is almost always directed at women over 40. Like we’re now somehow non-threatening and adorable and should be treated like cats. Of course, I also get called by sir’s counterpart, “ma’am”, quite often, but I don’t even notice that anymore because it’s been happening for so long. I’ve lived in Texas for three decades. I’ve been whammed with “ma’am” since 1999.

I wondered if my female friends are also livid about the oldie titles, but Melisa, 57, told me, “It only bothers me if we’re already in a contentious conversation, or if they say it super sarcastically for some reason.” To which I replied, “Oh, okay, got it, sweetheart.”

Vikki, 57, is sometimes called “dear” by a younger Somali co-worker, but she thinks it’s sweet and also probably cultural. My friends Liz, 54, and Lisa, 62, are on my side, though. Liz has never corrected young women for calling her “sweetie,” but has definitely told young men to knock it off. Lisa said, “If I’m old enough to be your mother, you don’t get to call me ‘hon’ or ‘sweetie.’ If this goes down from a Trader Joe’s employee, you will for sure not get to hear about my ‘weekend plans.’ I find it condescending and it makes me self-conscious.” 

That’s it exactly. The words themselves may be harmless, but they’re also weirdly intimate, and most people don’t know me well enough to call me “hon.”

The Official Hon Policy

A partial list of who can call me “hon”:

• My mom
• My dad
• My husband
• People older than me
• Southern nurses if I’m in an accident
• Flo from Alice 
• A mammogram tech when I’m in the boob press, but not after
• Anyone at all if I happen to be wearing a beekeeper’s outfit

 

Who can’t call me “hon”: 

• A mechanic after he’s told me my car needs $5,000 of work
• People who didn’t watch Friends during its original airing on Must See TV

 

When I was younger, I called older women by their first name, if I knew it, or by “Mrs.” and their last name. I don’t remember using “ma’am” much, and “sweetie” never. I asked my friend Johanna, 50, if she ever used “ma’am” and she joked, “Only when they were about to be hit by a bus. Then I whispered it.” 

The solution is to just get over it (not happening), or tell the next person who calls me “hon” I don’t care for it. But that goes against my non-confrontational nature around people who handle my food and drink. It’s easier to just quietly fume and push the 10% tip button on the iPad. I could take a more passive-aggressive approach and call younger people a special term, too. Like “Thanks for the latte, youngblood!” or “Where’s the dressing room, little man?” Worth a try.

Or better yet, why don’t we all just stay on equal footing and keep the pet names out of it entirely? Thanks, hon.