The dinner was going well until my friend’s father launched into his third “kids these days” monologue, complete with a story about walking uphill both ways and a joke about millennials that landed with the subtle grace of a brick through a window. His daughter’s shoulders tensed.
The server, who’d already endured two sent-back salads, developed a thousand-yard stare. By dessert, the table felt like a hostage situation disguised as a family meal.
This isn’t about age—it’s about adaptation. Every generation develops habits that make perfect sense in their original context but curdle over time. The difference is whether we notice when our behaviors have passed their expiration date.
The following patterns aren’t moral failings. They’re simply communication styles and social scripts that worked beautifully in 1985 but now make people check their phones and suddenly remember urgent appointments. The good news? Unlike your knees, these habits can actually improve with age—if you’re willing to notice them.
1. Treating every conversation like your personal TED talk
There’s a particular conversational style—let’s call it “broadcast mode”—where one person holds court while others serve as audience. It worked in living rooms where Dad’s stories were evening entertainment, where conversation flowed downhill from elder to younger, where listening meant waiting for your turn to perform.
But modern conversation has evolved toward something more collaborative. When you consistently talk over people, answer every story with a bigger one, or treat questions as launching pads for monologues, you’re not conversing—you’re performing. And your audience is exhausted.
The fix is deceptively simple: after someone speaks, pause. Ask a follow-up question. Let their story breathe before adding yours. Think jazz ensemble, not solo concert.
2. Recycling humor from a different century
That joke about women drivers or men’s incompetence in the kitchen might have killed at the office party in 1987. Today, it marks you as someone whose cultural references stopped updating when Reagan was president.
This isn’t about political correctness or everyone being “too sensitive.” It’s about humor evolving with our understanding of respect. Punching down—making jokes at the expense of those with less power—isn’t clever anymore. It’s lazy.
The adjustment doesn’t require memorizing new rules. Simply observe what makes people genuinely laugh versus what makes them exchange glances. Observational humor about shared experiences ages better than stereotypes ever will.
3. Weaponizing phone calls
To someone raised on landlines, a phone call feels like connection. To someone juggling three screens and four deadlines, an unexpected call feels like someone bursting through their door without knocking.
The shift to asynchronous communication isn’t rudeness—it’s adaptation to a world where everyone’s attention is fragmented. That “quick call” about something that could’ve been a text isn’t efficient; it’s invasive.
Before dialing, ask yourself: does this require immediate, synchronous response? If not, text first. “Good time to talk?” takes three seconds to type and shows you value their time as much as your own.
4. The expertise olympics
You learned to fix carburetors when cars had them. You know the “right” way to fold fitted sheets. Your method for organizing files has worked since 1978. Wonderful. But insisting your way is the only way transforms expertise into exhaustion.
Younger generations haven’t rejected your knowledge—they’ve just developed different solutions for different tools. Their approaches aren’t disrespectful; they’re contextual. The world they’re navigating requires different maps than the one you used.
Try replacing “You should…” with “What’s worked for me is…” It’s a small shift that transforms lectures into conversations.
5. Competitive suffering
“I only slept four hours.” “I haven’t taken a vacation in three years.” “I worked through pneumonia.” These aren’t badges of honor anymore—they’re red flags.
The culture has shifted from valorizing burnout to recognizing it as poor planning and worse judgment. Work-life balance isn’t weakness; it’s wisdom. People who brag about exhaustion now sound like people bragging about drunk driving—technically impressive, deeply unwise.
Instead of competing over who’s most depleted, share how you’ve learned to manage stress or protect your energy. That’s the currency that earns respect now.
6. Generational condescension
Starting sentences with “When you’re older, you’ll understand…” or “Let me explain how this works…” to a 30-year-old professional isn’t mentoring—it’s patronizing. That subtle tone that suggests youth equals incompetence doesn’t just annoy; it alienates.
Here’s what many miss: younger generations often know things you don’t. They’ve navigated technological shifts you’ve avoided, economic realities you never faced, and social dynamics you might not recognize. Dismissing their expertise because of their age is like dismissing yours because of yours.
Approach intergenerational conversations with curiosity, not condescension. You might be surprised what you learn.
7. Toxic financial nostalgia
“My first house cost $35,000.” “I paid for college with a summer job.” These statements, meant to provide perspective, instead highlight a fundamental disconnect from current economic reality.
Housing costs have increased 1,608% since 1970 while wages have nowhere near kept pace. College tuition has outpaced inflation by astronomical margins. Your financial coming-of-age story isn’t inspiration—it’s science fiction to someone facing today’s numbers.
If you want to share financial wisdom, focus on principles that transcend eras: budgeting strategies, the importance of emergency funds, the psychology of spending. Skip the “back in my day” pricing—it helps no one.
8. Digital learned helplessness
Nobody expects you to master TikTok or code in Python. But refusing to learn basic digital tools—online banking, video calls, group texts—forces others to constantly accommodate your resistance.
When family plans revolve around your technological limitations, when others become your perpetual IT support, when you make jokes about being “too old for this stuff” while refusing to try, you’re not charmingly analog—you’re deliberately difficult.
Pick one new tool every few months. Ask for help without the self-deprecating comedy routine. Your willingness to try matters more than your mastery.
9. The golden age fallacy
Every generation thinks their youth was humanity’s peak. But constantly insisting “things were better then” doesn’t just reveal nostalgia—it dismisses the present and everyone living in it.
Yes, some things were simpler. Others were simply hidden. That “safer” neighborhood might have been safer for you while being dangerous for others. Those “better” times often came with costs you didn’t have to pay.
Share your memories without weaponizing them. Ask younger people what they love about now. You might discover that some things actually have gotten better.
10. Service worker superiority
How you treat people who can’t benefit you reveals everything about your character. Snapping at servers, talking over cashiers, or treating service workers as NPCs in your personal video game doesn’t just make you unpleasant—it makes you unsafe.
People notice how you treat those with less power. They file it away. They remember. And they reasonably assume that’s how you’ll treat them if the power dynamic ever shifts.
Make “please” and “thank you” reflexive. Make eye contact. Remember that every interaction is with a full human being, not a service delivery system.
Final thoughts
These behaviors aren’t generational destiny—they’re choices. The friend’s father from my opening story? He could have been the highlight of that dinner. He had stories worth telling, wisdom worth sharing, experience worth honoring. But his delivery system was stuck in 1985, turning potential connection into endurance exercise.
The most magnetic people at any age aren’t those who’ve memorized every new trend or adopted every modern sensibility. They’re the ones who’ve maintained curiosity about how the world is changing, who’ve updated their software without losing their essential hardware.
Age brings perspective that youth can’t match. But that perspective only has value if it’s delivered in a language the present can understand. The choice isn’t between betraying your generation or being left behind—it’s between fossilizing in place or remaining vibrantly, relevantly alive.
The behaviors that make you exhausting aren’t your age. They’re your resistance to noticing that the world has kept spinning while you’ve stood still.
