4 Reasons I Can’t Stand Being Called Ma’am—Even Though I’m Middle-Aged

Can we please retire this cringey terminology?

I’m 48 years old and there’s nothing I hate more than being called “ma’am.” Am I a thoroughly adult woman? Yes. Is the ma’am-ing well-intentioned? Probably. I don’t expect to get called “miss” at my age, so is there a more suitable term of greeting I’d appreciate instead? Nope. But every time I hear that word uttered in my direction, I want to scream and flee… immediately after punching the clueless offender in the mouth. “What makes you think I’m a ma’am?!” I envision shrieking to the poor barista who was most likely just trying to be polite.

So why exactly does ma’am prompt a mini existential crisis every time I hear it? Let me count the ways…

It Makes Me Seem Older Than I Feel

Plain and simple, it makes me feel older than I want to be—older than I am. There’s nothing wrong with aging; aging is good, right? It means we’re still alive! Yet, for women, aging is something we’re supposed to buck against at every turn, and not for noble reasons. We’re expected to “reject” getting older because of its effect on our appearance; we’re expected to remain taut and unwrinkled for as long as humanly possible. Ugh. I’m certainly not above caring about my looks. I have a skincare routine I’m invested in, and I take mild interventions toward keeping my face looking “youthful,” whatever that means. (Laser treatments to help keep my skin as non-droopy as possible has been my go-to splurge as of late.) 

All of this is to say that, although I try to keep my skincare game strong, I’m well aware of how old I am. I don’t miss many aspects of youth, and I certainly don’t want to be perceived as a kid or even a young adult. But my age is something I grapple with regularly. I don’t need to be perpetually reminded by Uber drivers, wait staff, and receptionists that I am a middle-aged woman. I simply don’t feel 48; in my mind I’m still hovering somewhere in my early 30s. So every time someone calls me ma’am, it feels like they are calling out my age, sending an unwelcome reminder of how my reality and fantasy are at odds with each other. 

It Can Sound Rude

While I acknowledge that people often use the word ma’am as a term of respect, there are times when it reads as curt and dismissive, like someone is trying to shut you up or close a proverbial door in your face. I’m thinking of those awkward interactions with your cell phone service provider, the cable guy, or a telemarketer. Often, when these folks are ma’aming me, it’s because I’ve done or said something that inconvenienced them, so they’re trying to shut me up.  I often wonder, would they treat a younger woman that way? (Uh, maybe…) In those instances, ma’am feels like code for shhh. 

It Reminds Me of All the Things I Haven’t Done

I thought I would have done, or accomplished, many things by this age. Getting called ma’am reminds me, simply, that I have not. I have not published the novel, I have not won the awards, I have not married the love of my life, I have not moved to the charming sun-bleached cottage on the beach. Though I’m grateful for the many wonderful things I have—good friends, a nice apartment and a house outside the city to escape to, fulfilling and somewhat unusual work—when I remember my age, I can’t help but be confronted with all the unrealized plans I had for my future self when I was younger. Being called ma’am is a stark reminder that my life is drifting by, and if I still want the things I wanted before, I have limited time in which to make them a reality.

It Feels Formal, Old-Fashioned, and Overly Gendered

Women don’t need to be called ma’am, miss, or anything other than our names. Also, how do you know I identify as a woman to begin with? If you don’t know my name, I’d rather you didn’t use any type of greeting—it’s perfectly acceptable (preferred, even) to say “how can I help you?” without the ma’am tacked onto the end. 

I know saying ma’am and sir is customary in the American South and I don’t expect that to change anytime soon. Still, for every other region of the U.S., I’d ask people to reevaluate their use of the term. I know I’m not alone; there are plenty of other ma’am-haters out there, and simply put, the word might not be doing what you think it’s doing. 

All in all, though I realize my abject hatred of being called ma’am might seem trivial, to me it feels quite real—like a judgment more than a greeting. And no matter how old I get, it doesn’t feel good to be judged. Yes, I know there are far heavier things to think about than how I’m addressed, but perhaps I’m even more mad because the world feels like a steaming, scary pile of garbage at them moment. But maybe that’s even more of a reason to call it out, and say, “Hey, I’m not your ma’am.”

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