Decoded: The Language of Power

Exposing the Bias Beneath the Buzzwords—One Word at a Time

We study language for a living. And the deeper we go, the more one thing becomes clear: exclusion rarely announces itself in tech. It whispers, polishes, self-congratulates, and hides inside the words we call “modern,” “intuitive,” and “seamless.” It shows up in the language we think is neutral but isn’t. One of the most persistent examples is this: “tech-savvy.”

When companies say someone is “tech-savvy,” they’re not measuring systems, security, or infrastructure knowledge. They’re projecting youth. Or more precisely, assuming it. “Tech-savvy” has become a proxy—a flattering term that sounds like a skill but often functions like a filter. It shows up in design briefs, user personas, and brand language. And over time, it builds a boundary between the imagined user and the excluded one. Between who tech is for, and who tech would prefer to forget.

That boundary is not accidental. It is linguistic. It is structural. It is part of the scaffolding—a term we borrow from Isabel Wilkerson to describe the quiet architecture of inequality that sits beneath everyday design decisions. In tech, that scaffolding is often written in brand copy.

Let’s begin here: “tech-savvy” has no operational definition. You won’t find it in onboarding flows or support docs. It’s not indexed by platform fluency or security protocols. It’s more aesthetic than analytic. More vibe than verifiability. And as Jack Schafer’s Psychological Narrative Analysis shows, vague language—especially around skills or social groups—is often where bias thrives. The less specific a term, the more likely it hides assumptions.

“Tech-savvy,” in this context, isn’t about what someone can do. It’s about who someone is presumed to be. And for companies targeting “mobile-first, modern” users, the implications are loud in their quiet: if you’re not fast, not design-native, not fluent in minimal UX, you’re not the user we built for.

This is how exclusion moves: not through overt policies, but through design ideology. Few companies say, “We don’t prioritize older users.” Instead, they say, “Built for today.” They say, “Simplicity you’ll love.” They say, “Intuitive and effortless.” Schafer calls these Push Words—language that implies superiority without ever explaining who benefits. Ask: Intuitive for whom? Seamless for what context? Modern by whose clock?

Look at what gets left unsaid. Financial tech rarely advertises “built for multigenerational planning,” “supports complex estates,” or “optimized for retirement transitions.” Those phrases require specificity. And specificity makes exclusion visible. So marketing leaves it out. That’s not an accident. That’s linguistic redlining.

Pronouns matter here, too. Schafer reminds us that honest speech uses direct subjects: “We made this.” “You asked, we delivered.” Evasive speech favors distance: “Mistakes were made.” “It was created.” In tech copy, vague pronouns dominate. Features are given “to people.” Tools are made “for users.” The result is a kind of universalism that sounds inclusive but isn’t. It flattens the difference. It distances responsibility. It hides who got left out.

Then come the euphemisms. Tech doesn’t say it’s cutting support for older tools. It says it’s “streamlining.” It doesn’t say older workflows are discontinued. It says they’re being “sunset.” It doesn’t say older adults were left out of testing. It says it’s “prioritizing agility.” These are hedging tactics—linguistic minimization, as Schafer calls it. Corporate PR for, “We built this for someone else.”

Take Simplifi by Intuit. It was framed as the “modern” alternative to Quicken, targeting “younger, tech-savvy professionals” seeking “real-time financial insights.” Read that again. “Younger” and “tech-savvy” are linked, undefined, and assumed. “Real-time” is presented as the obvious preference. And Quicken—a tool designed for deep investment tracking, estate planning, and tax categorization—is rebranded as old news. But what if it’s not about age at all? What if it’s about architecture? What if some users want oversight, not oversimplification? That’s not a generational gap. That’s a design mismatch. Yet the language doesn’t leave room for that possibility.

Watch how tense shifts are used in this game. Schafer teaches that truthful narratives stay anchored in time, while deceptive ones drift. Ads will say, “You want access now” (present), then shift to, “We built this after complaints about older tools” (past). That move quietly shifts older users out of relevance and into history. It’s subtle, deliberate, and effective.

Now look at the dog whistles. “Digital native.” “Mobile-first.” “Modern interface.” “Intuitive design.” These aren’t just marketing phrases. They’re quiet codes—terms that tell one group, “This is for you,” while gently pushing another group out of frame. That’s how exclusion operates in polite company. It doesn’t name itself. It signals.

This isn’t just a question of language. It’s one of the economics. AARP and Pew have made the numbers plain: adults over 50 hold the most wealth, maintain long-term subscriptions, and are likelier to pay for premium tools. But the myth of youth-as-default persists—because branding favors image over evidence. And words are what keep the myth alive.

Schafer’s model flags overconfidence as another tell. When a speaker insists too hard—“This is the future,” “Only tool you need,” “Best in class”—they’re usually covering a gap. Tech ads love those absolutes. But absolutes bulldoze nuance. They ignore complexity. They pretend everyone wants the same thing for the same reason.

Maybe the most revealing tactic is silence. Age isn’t erased explicitly. It just doesn’t appear. Financial tech ads show cropped hands, not faces with laugh lines. They use phrases like “optimize, automate, win.” Never “preserve, reflect, retire.” When vocabulary disappears, so do the people it describes.

So let’s say this plainly: older adults aren’t excluded because they “lack digital skills.” They’re excluded because design languages never imagined them in the room. Because the scaffolding of tech was written without their presence in mind.

What should the language sound like instead? Clarity over charisma. Specificity over assumption. Say what your tool does. Say who it serves. If it’s not built for long-term planning, own that. If it’s optimized for fast tasks over deep ones, say that. Stop pretending “modern” is a universal design value.

We also need linguistic invitations that acknowledge complexity. Say: “built for families managing generational wealth.” Say: “for professionals planning legacy transitions.” Say: “for those adapting to digital tools later in life.” These aren’t just user personas. They’re users. And they deserve to be named.

Finally, let’s retire the lie that tech-savvy means young. It doesn’t. A 62-year-old who runs automated rebalancing in Excel is tech-savvy. A 55-year-old who manages a digital estate with 2FA and a VPN is tech-savvy. A 70-year-old who understands encryption standards and uses secure cloud tools? Tech-savvy. The variable isn’t age. It’s access. And respect.

Unjust systems don’t collapse on their own. Neither do unjust assumptions. We don’t need to rebrand inclusion. We need to reword exclusion.
Rebuild the defaults. Rebuild the frame. Rebuild the story. Or ignore us, if you prefer. We’re over here analyzing UX flows, managing RMDs, and optimizing for a future we understand more deeply than your tagline ever will, and we need to put these RMDs somewhere. Will it be with you?

Today’s word for you is: RMD.
We know what it means. We also know who’s missing from your wireframe. We’re not behind. We’re just not impressed by your shortcuts.

Your Turn:
Which phrases in your product language or team copy seem inclusive, but actually narrow the frame?
What truths are you not saying?
And who disappears in that silence?

#DesignJustice #ScaffoldingMethod #DigitalInclusion #UXBias #LanguageMatters #WeKnowWhatRMDMeans #RebuildTheSystem