Why was this stranger calling me sweetheart? The benevolent ageism of ‘elderspeak'

The Guardian

13 hours ago

I recently joined an exercise class for over 55s. I estimated the majority of (mostly) women in the class were, like me, septuagenarians. They all seemed familiar with the drill – chairs, weights, bands, balls – and within a few minutes I knew I was in the right class for me. It wasn't a dawdle – in fact it was decently challenging, especially the balance exercises. Our excellent instructor offered three levels of difficulty for every exercise, urging us to work out at our own pace and ability.
Near me was a considerably younger woman who could well have been the baby of the group. A fiftysomething perhaps, she was steady, confident, flexible and strong. She always chose the hardest level. It was validating to share a class with her, to know that the program was designed to be accessible for my own arthritis-challenged frame but still be beneficial for a much fitter, younger person.
After the class I queued up to retrieve my bag from a table. This younger, fitter member was standing by the table between me and my bag. To fetch it I would need to reach around and risk invading her personal space. So I asked: 'Excuse me – do you mind if I grab my bag? It's just behind you there.'
'Of course not,' she answered, handing me the bag. 'There you go, sweetheart.'
Sweetheart? Why was this stranger calling me sweetheart? Not that I hadn't been bestowed with similar endearments before, but that was half a lifetime ago, under different contexts and gender dynamics. Back then I would sometimes find myself an unwilling darling, love, or sweetheart to a man trying his luck.
But being addressed as sweetheart, even by a pleasant woman who showed no hint of malice, left me feeling patronised. The incident carried echoes of my mother's aged care facility in the early 2000s, where staff routinely addressed residents by infantilising names. At the time I thought the carers sounded warm and sympathetic and Mum didn't seem to notice or mind. But I'm not OK with it now; not for myself as an older person living independently in the community, nor for those who live in aged care.
In 1986, UK researchers Gillian Cohen and Dorothy Faulkner coined the word 'elderspeak' to describe a patronising manner of speaking to older people. Dr Marlene Krasovitsky, a consultant to the World Health Organization's Global Campaign to Combat Ageism, and board member of Australia's anti-ageism advocate body EveryAGECounts, describes elderspeak as a form of 'benevolent ageism'.
'Research tells us that benevolent ageism is the most entrenched form of ageism because we tend to think of older people as frail, sick, dependent, passive,' Dr Krasovitsky tells me. 'Elderspeak diminishes and devalues. It erodes autonomy and voice and feeds the perception that older people are passive onlookers to life, basically irrelevant.'
Elderspeak may involve the use of inappropriate terms of endearment, juvenile language or unnecessarily loud or slow enunciation. It can often be a vehicle for attributing ageist stereotypes to the older person, defining them not by their selfhood but by their age. As I cogitated over the sweetheart incident, I began to see it as part of a pattern that began in my late 60s. This wasn't the first time I'd been treated as someone in need of a lap rug and a cup of hot cocoa.
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Not long ago a taxi driver welcomed me into his cab with 'How are you today, young lady?' Without asking me if I wanted to listen to music, he proceeded to select a song from his playlist. 'I think you'll like this track,' he said, as the Glenn Miller band's 1941 hit Chattanooga Choo Choo bounced jauntily out of the taxi's speakers.
I've been variously described as 'spry', 'sprightly' and 'good for my age'. As incidents like these have mounted up, I've wrestled with the question: is it just me? Have I entered my 'grumpy old woman' stage, blowing up trivial or imagined slights, spiralling into a morass of hopelessness? But a recent study by the University of Queensland cautions against engaging in 'self-directed ageism'; that is, adopting a mindset of self-doubt and fear of being judged on the basis of age. To embrace such thinking is to be ageist against yourself.
I have come to understand that elderspeak generally originates from a place of kindness. It is comforting to know that the woman in the gym meant no ill will, but it still stings to be on the receiving end of even benevolently ageist language.
Krasovitsky has some simple advice for me: 'Ask them to change the way they are speaking with you.' It won't be easy, but it stands to reason that if a person doesn't know their well-intended words can be hurtful, they will continue to use them.
So the next time a taxi driver offers to play me a big band Glenn Miller number, I'll say something like, 'That music was before my time – but can you find me some Led Zeppelin?'
Marcia van Zeller is the author of Be a good girl, Valerie (Ventura Press, $32.99).