7 phrases boomers use that Gen Z would never say

Generations aren’t better or worse than each other—they’re fluent in different languages built by different technologies, economies, and norms.

When you tune into those differences, you learn a lot about how people think, what they value, and how to reach them.

Here are seven boomer-coded phrases I still hear (and sometimes love) that most Gen Z folks would never say—and what each one reveals about mindset, habits, and how we can bridge the gap.

1. Can you fax it to me?

Fax is the landline of documents.

If you grew up when “official” meant paper and a whirring machine in the office corner, fax feels trustworthy. It creates a tangible trail. It feels adult.

Gen Z, raised on apps that verify identity and timestamps automatically, sees fax like a rotary phone museum piece.

They’ll say, “Can you PDF it?” or “Drop it in the Drive?” The value—proof—hasn’t changed. The medium has.

“The medium is the message,” wrote media theorist Marshall McLuhan. The tool shapes how serious a request feels. A fax signals gravity to one group and friction to another.

If you’re collaborating across generations, translate the need (secure, time-stamped, auditable) into a tool everyone actually uses. E-signature beats a busy signal.

2. I’ll write you a check

Checks are a ritual: date, name, memo line, signature. There’s ceremony there, a sense of accountability.

But to Gen Z, a check is a to-do list item disguised as money. It asks them to find a pen, a bank branch, and twenty extra minutes.

When an older neighbor insisted on paying me by check for helping him set up his new laptop, I realized how rooted this phrase is in rhythm. He liked the pause. He wanted to mark the moment.

Today’s equivalent is a quick transfer with a note that still carries meaning: “For the laptop rescue—thank you.” Same gratitude, zero friction.

If you’re the check-writer in your circle, ask yourself: do I want the feeling of formality, or the outcome of a smooth exchange? You can design for both.

3. Call me after 9, it’s cheaper

This one is pure time-capsule. Nights-and-weekends plans trained a generation to game the clock. Calling was costly and deliberate.

So “Call me after 9” isn’t just thrifty—it’s a framework for intentional connection. You prepared to talk. You made space. You listened.

Gen Z lives in a world where minutes are unlimited but attention is not. “Text me first” is modern phone etiquette. It respects the other person’s focus, even if that “focus” is decompressing with a show or editing a TikTok.

I’ve mentioned this before but our tools teach us timing. If you want richer conversations with people who don’t do spontaneous calls, set a standing time. “Thursday catch-up?” Easy yes.

And if you’re still hoarding prime-time minutes out of habit, notice that scarcity reflex. Direct it somewhere useful—like timeboxing when you’ll scroll and when you won’t.

4. Back in my day…

Nostalgia isn’t the enemy; unexamined nostalgia is. “Back in my day” often means “I understand the rules that used to work.” The intention can be generous—sharing a path. But it can also flatten the present.

When I hear myself drifting into this phrase (usually after a long day and a small coffee), I try to translate it to something more precise: What principle from that story still applies? What has changed enough to make it obsolete?

A boomer might say, “Back in my day, you stayed at a company ten years.” The principle baked inside is loyalty and compound learning. A Gen Z reframe: “I stay while I’m learning and growing.” That’s still compound learning—just in faster cycles.

McLuhan had another line I love: “We shape our tools and thereafter our tools shape us." The velocity of tools changed the shapes of our careers. That’s not disrespect; that’s physics.

Tell the story, sure. Then extract the lesson. That’s how history becomes fuel instead of a speed bump.

5. Kids these days…

I get it. Every generation sees the next one bending rules they spent years learning. But this phrase rarely lands with curiosity. It usually lands like a door closing.

The reality? “Kids these days” are living inside a different system: different economics, climate risks, information floods, and identity options. If you grew up with three TV channels and they have three million, attention works differently. So do reputations.

A better starter is a question.

“What’s the hardest part of job hunting right now?”

“What’s one constraint I don’t see from my vantage point?”

You’ll learn faster, and the conversation becomes a bridge instead of a scorecard.

And if you’re on the receiving end of this phrase, try flipping it too: “What did your first boss teach you that still helps?” Curiosity scales both ways.

6. Burn me a CD

To me, this one is like a mixtape wearing a trench coat. It’s tactile, permanent, giftable. You can hold a CD. You can doodle on it. You can remember who gave it to you and why.

For Gen Z, music isn’t an object. It’s an address. Playlists are living documents, updated in real time, algorithmically nudged, collaboratively built. They don’t “own” the song; they inhabit it for a while.

I still remember burning my first road-trip CD on a sluggish laptop, waiting for the progress bar like it was baking bread. That slowness made the mix feel sacred.

Now, I share a playlist link before I hit the highway. Different ritual, same intention: “Here’s a piece of me you can take along.”

If you’re hoping to connect across this divide, bring the intention forward. Name the mood. Add a note. Whether it’s a link or a disc, make it personal.

7. I’ll Facebook you

Facebook is still huge in raw users, but for many younger people it’s not the living room—it’s the attic. They’ll DM on Instagram, send a Snap, or drop a Discord thread. “I’ll Facebook you” flags where someone’s social home base is, not just their age.

This matters for more than memes. It affects how we organize, share news, and mobilize. If your activist group or book club is stuck because nobody sees the updates, it may not be the message—it’s the platform.

The communication scholar’s line applies here: “The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place.” (Often attributed to George Bernard Shaw, and whether he said it or not, the warning stands.) Wrong channel, wrong assumption.

Ask people, “Where do you actually check?” Then choose one channel and commit. Fragmentation kills momentum; clarity feeds it.

What these phrases teach us (and how to use them well)

None of these phrases is “bad.” They’re fossils that tell a story about the environment that formed them. When you understand the environment, you understand the behavior.

Here’s how I try to put that understanding to work:

• Translate needs, not tools. If the need is “a paper trail,” the tool could be e-signature, an email thread, or, if it really must be, a fax. If the need is “showing care,” that might be a handwritten note or a thoughtfully curated playlist. Match the tool to the human on the other end.

• Keep the ritual, update the method. The pause of writing a check? You can recreate that with a heartfelt transfer note. The intentionality of “call after 9”? Put a weekly call on the calendar and protect it like a meeting with your future self.

• Check your nostalgia bias. If you find yourself starting with “Back in my day,” pause and turn it into a lesson or a question. What part is wisdom? What part is habit?

• Ask one good question before you judge. “What problem is this solving?” or “How does this make your life easier?” Judgment is quick; genuine interest travels farther.

• Remember that tools teach. If your team communicates like it’s 1999, it’s not just preference—it’s training. Teach a new tool by pairing it with a clear win: less friction, faster feedback, more inclusion.

I’m a California-based writer who likes to think about the psychology of choices—what we keep, what we ditch, and why. Outside of the keyboard, I’m usually lugging a camera around or digging into a behavioral science book. That curiosity helps me see phrases like these not as punchlines, but as clues.

Clues to trust. To tempo. To what feels safe and what feels simple.

If you hear yourself—or your parents, or your boss—in any of these, take it as an invitation. Not to roll your eyes or declare one group outdated, but to ask: What value is hiding under this habit? How could we honor that value with a better, kinder, more current tool?

That’s where the real conversation starts.