9 ways boomers accidentally offend younger generations

I don’t think most people wake up saying, “How can I annoy someone younger than me today?”

But generational friction is real.

It usually comes from small, unintentional signals that land badly across age lines—tone, timing, a “joke,” or a habit that made sense in 1989 but feels off in 2025.

Let’s get into the nine most common missteps I see—and what to try instead.

1. Treating new names and pronouns like a phase

If someone shares the name or pronouns they use and you roll your eyes, crack a joke, or default to “whatever,” the message is simple: your identity is negotiable and I’m the negotiator.

Even when the intent is curiosity, it can come off as dismissal.

What helps?

Use what people ask you to use. If you’re unsure, ask once—respectfully—and then move on. I keep a notes app entry for colleagues’ names/pronouns the way I do for birthdays. It’s not politics; it’s people.

2. Calling job mobility a “loyalty problem”

A classic move is telling a 26-year-old that changing roles every two years proves they’re flaky.

Here’s the rub: the data doesn’t fully support that stereotype. As one research summary puts it, “Median job tenure is nearly identical across generations.”

You can debate strategy all day, but leading with “kids these days” shuts the conversation down. A better opener is, “What are you optimizing for right now—skills, scope, or salary?” Now we’re talking growth, not guilt.

3. Treating phones like moral failures

When someone checks a screen at the table, some older folks read it as disrespect. Younger people often read it as staying in the flow of life—with group chats, family pings, and work all braided together.

Neither interpretation is “right.” But moralizing it usually backfires.

A boundary works better than a lecture.

“Phones face down while we eat?” is clear and fair. And if you worry about tech’s impact on connection, you have allies. As Sherry Turkle warned, “We expect more from technology and less from each other.”

The fix isn’t shaming. It’s co-creating norms for when to be fully present—and modeling them yourself.

4. Making money talk sound like a character test

“Just save 20%,” “Skip the latte,” “I bought a house at 25”—these lines can land like judgment, not guidance.

Context matters. Housing costs relative to income have shifted meaningfully in many countries, and rent increases often outpace entry-level salaries.

I’ve found money chats go better when we trade absolutes for questions:

• What’s your biggest constraint right now—cash flow, debt, or housing?

• What do you want money to do for you in the next 12 months?

Advice without context feels like a scold. Advice after context feels like support.

5. Starting every story with “Back in my day…”

Nostalgia is human. I have my own “I used to blog from a cracked laptop in a coffee shop” stories from the late 2000s.

But when “back in my day” becomes a baseline for judgment, it erases real differences. Tuition, climate anxiety, social media, and geopolitical uncertainty weren’t the same mix back then.

Try swapping the hierarchy for humility: “Here’s what it was like for me. What’s it like for you now?” That bridge invites a two-way conversation, not a one-way lecture.

6. Giving “help” that sounds like control

Advice is generous. It can also carry a meta-message: I know better.

Linguist Deborah Tannen put it simply: “Much depends on how things are done and said.”

I test my own “help” by asking permission first: “Want suggestions or just a listening ear?” If they say “ear,” I zip it. If they say “suggestions,” I share options, not orders. The difference is respect.

This is where some insights from my latest read Laughing in the Face of Chaos nudged me.

I’ve been juggling a couple of cross-generational projects, and the book inspired me to stop micromanaging outcomes and start trusting conversations. One line that stuck with me: “When we let go of the need to be perfect, we free ourselves to live fully—embracing the mess, complexity, and richness of a life that's delightfully real.”

7. Using age-coded nicknames and compliments

“Kiddo.” “Young lady.” “You’re so articulate.” I know many people mean these to be warm, even encouraging.

But diminutives can create instant distance. And “articulate” has a long history of being used in backhanded ways, especially toward people of color.

Try names, not nicknames. Compliment the work, not the demographic. “Your analysis was sharp and clear” lands better than “You’re surprisingly polished for your age.”

8. Assuming the same life timeline still applies

College → full-time job → marriage → kids → house → stay put. That conveyor belt is not the norm anymore.

Some of that is preference (travel, portfolio careers, creative pursuits). Much of it is structural (costs, care responsibilities, visas, health).

I’ve mentioned this before, but asking “What does a good life look like for you this decade?” is a more respectful starting point than “When are you settling down?” Curiosity beats scripts.

9. Dismissing values you didn’t grow up with

Veganism, climate choices, mental health days, flexible work, pronoun sharing—these aren’t fads to many younger folks. They’re expressions of care and coherence.

As someone who writes about plant-based living and the psychology of everyday choices, I’ve seen how values shape well-being. Whether the topic is food, activism, or work flexibility, the fastest way to offend is to roll your eyes.

The fastest way to connect is to ask for the story behind the value. “What made this important to you?” Then listen.

A small add-on that’s helped me bridge the gap

There’s a reason I brought up Rudá Iandê's book earlier. Cross-generational conversations can stir up perfectionism, people-pleasing, and the urge to “fix” each other.

His book, Laughing in the Face of Chaos: A Politically Incorrect Shamanic Guide for Modern Life, gave me language for that inner tangle—and practical ways to show up more human.

I won’t get autobiographical here, but I’ve been in a season where expectations from different age groups pull me in opposite directions. Reading the book recently, a few of his insights clicked:

• Authenticity over perfection. When I’m less busy performing the “wise adult,” I’m more present—and less likely to condescend.

• Emotions are messengers, not enemies. If I feel defensive in a generational debate, that feeling is information, not a character flaw.

• Meaning comes from within. I don’t need everyone to validate my way of doing life before I can respect theirs.

His core message that landed for me: drop the armor, bring your whole self, and relate human-to-human. That stance alone lowers the odds of accidental offense.

If this resonates, consider giving it a read. The book inspired me to frame tough moments with a little more humility and a lot less “let me tell you how it is.” Whether you’re a boomer wanting better rapport with your kids and coworkers, or you’re younger and tired of explaining yourself, you might find the same relief I did.

What to try instead of walking on eggshells

A few simple shifts reduce accidental friction:

• Lead with curiosity. “How do you prefer I…?” is a magic sentence.

• Trade certainty for stories. Share your experience, then ask for theirs.

• Notice the meta-message. Tone, timing, and context do half the talking.

• Co-create norms. Phones, meeting styles, feedback channels—agree together.

• Fact-check your assumptions. Stereotypes about “kids these days” are often outdated. One example: that job-hopping trope we covered above.

And because quotes help us remember: Turkle’s reminder about technology isn’t a ban on phones; it’s a nudge toward presence. Tannen’s line is a pocket-test before speaking: not just what I say, but how I say it.

One more thought that dovetails with Iandê’s approach: “When we let go of the need to be perfect, we free ourselves to live fully—embracing the mess, complexity, and richness of a life that's delightfully real.” If that sentiment helps you exhale, his book—Laughing in the Face of Chaos—is worth your nightstand space.

If you’re a boomer reading this, it’s not on you to master every new norm. It is on all of us to keep learning.

If you’re younger and feeling seen-in-the-wrong-way, it’s okay to set kind, firm boundaries: “I know you’re trying to help. Here’s what would help more.”

I spend a lot of time toggling between research and lived experience. On a good day, that mix helps me show up with fewer assumptions and more questions. And it makes work, family, and community spaces feel less like a minefield and more like a conversation.

That’s the point. Fewer accidental cuts. More intentional care. And a little more grace when we miss and try again.