Sirs, madams, our airs and graces are on the wane

http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/feb/12/sirs-madams-airs-graces-etiquette

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Homer Simpson only ever got called "sir" when it was followed by "you're making a scene". Unless you're a teacher or a drill sergeant, you're likely to be in the same boat. The last time I experienced the correct sobriquet in use was when I had to email a knight of the realm. My first email (an introduction, and a trifle out of the blue) used "Sir Cecil" liberally; it helped me break the ice and show an effort to get things right, which I hope we both appreciated. But when he replied quite informally, I couldn't then follow up with "Cheers Cecil" – again, I had to use the full formal frippery. It just became awkward, and I felt like a stupid serf tugging at a busy man's sleeve.

A fortnight later, I received an invitation from one of the country's oldest institutions – real sticklers for pomp and circumstance – and the invite list had me down as "Stuart Millar, Esq". That produced an entirely shameless thrill from within – they recognised me! They knew the correct honorific! The old esquire moniker, always popular in legal circles, has had a variety of meanings and it's rare to see it used properly. Unfortunately, nowadays it's just applied in lieu of anything better – even on this list of crusty CBEs and JPs. Every single man without a higher title was called "Esq", even if they didn't qualify through land-holdings or postgraduate qualifications. What an absolute disgrace.

But I fear it's a losing battle. Someone who insists on being called "sir" or "madam" would probably also self-label their Twitter account as official, even if they were only a minor celebrity. It's more pompous than correct; an arrogant attempt to enforce deference. But the criteria have changed.

Good people – even those called "sir" or "dame" by the Queen because of a genuine, life-improving achievement – don't use titles as a sign of dignity and class. These days, I only use "madam" when my baby daughter is in a foul mood or has let out a spectacularly noxious fart. How dignified is that?

There are very few exceptions to the declines of airs and graces, and where they lie shows us a bit about the nature of formality and its uses. In the doctor's surgery, most of us have a professional relationship based on absolute trust and faith in a qualification. Far better to say "Doctor" than "Natasha" when she's examining your perforated bowel. Elsewhere, in the supermarket I am a "mate" and things are "no problem"; whereas in Fortnum & Mason I am a sir and things are all "of course" as they try to sell me things that come with a sense of superiority. The services are still rigid enough to demand formality, but in the army you and your line manager are likely to get shot at and need a bit of order in the chaos. In the office, you call your boss by their first name because you're both ridiculous and all you ever do is type emails and touch people's bases.

In the end, though, it probably doesn't matter. Last year I was ceremonially piped aboard a frigate – an experience I commend to anyone with an interest in seamen – and found myself struggling to remember whether I was meant to address my host as "captain" or "commander". That passed. As we drank, conversation became far more important than formalities: the real reason we're not sirs and madams much any more is that we're more interested in cracking a good joke and being friendly rather than correct. But formality? Well, like a lot of old etiquette, it often seems a bit too complicated to bother with because we'll only get it wrong and there are no personal rewards for getting it right anyway.

But the alternative is horrific. Imagine a future in which everyone is presumptuously called "mate" or "love" and you've imagined a future in which we might as well not bother. No one wants to hear "Love, I'm afraid your house is on fire". I hope instead that sir and madam evolve a little, to indicate simple egalitarian respect, rather than wealth or obsequiousness. Only then will I truly be able to strike a rude cur across the chops with my Fortnum's leather gloves, or throw a fuckton of fancy words in a face during an argument. Have at ye, sir! Beware my wrath, madam!

• This article was commissioned after a suggestion from woman55.