While they may be able to send a series of messages to those around them, teenagers are reluctant to answer calls. Why such reluctance? By avoiding direct communication, how are communication codes being reshaped?

Teenagers have a phone grafted to their hand… but don’t answer when called. This situation, familiar to many parents, may seem absurd, frustrating, or worrying. Yet, it reveals a lot about the new ways in which 13- to 18-year-olds connect (or not connect). Because, while smartphones are omnipresent in their daily lives , this doesn’t mean they use them according to the same codes as adults.

Behind this refusal to “disconnect”, it is not only a generational trend that is at play, but a profound transformation of uses, communication standards , and forms of digital politeness.

In this apparent silence, there are logics – social, affective, emotional – that are worth deciphering, far from the clichés about “addicted but unreachable” teenagers.

Control speech

“I never answer calls unless it’s my mom or an emergency… like a surprise checkup or a friend who’s panicking,” laughs Léa, 15. Behind this seemingly innocuous sentence lies a much more profound change than it seems. Because while the telephone has long been the emblematic object of speech—designed for face-to-face communication—it is now used less and less… for making phone calls.

Among teenagers, voice messaging is no longer the default channel. It’s even becoming an exception, reserved for certain very specific circumstances: urgent situations, moments of anxiety, or the need for immediate reassurance. In other cases, we prefer to write. Not out of laziness, but because written communication—text messages, voice messages, DMs on Snapchat or Instagram—offers a completely different relationship to temporality, emotion, and self-control.

Because answering the phone means having to be available here and now, without a safety net or delay. For many teenagers, this immediacy is perceived as stress, a loss of control: there’s no time to think about what you want to say, there’s a risk of stammering, saying too much or too little, expressing yourself poorly, or being caught off guard.

Written communication allows us to regain control . We can formulate, reformulate, delete, defer, and smooth out emotions. We speak better when we can first be silent.

This need for control—over time, over words, over emotions—is far from being a simple adolescent whim. It reflects a more general way of inhabiting social relationships through screens: by giving ourselves the right to choose the timing, form, and intensity of the connection.

The phone then becomes an interface with variable geometry . It connects, but it also protects. It links, but it allows you to avoid:

“When I see ‘Dad’s Mobile’ on the display, I let it ring; I don’t have the energy for an interrogation. I prefer to reply to him by text afterwards,” confides Mehdi, 16.

Behind this gesture, there is not necessarily rejection or disenchantment: there is the need to establish a distance, to temporize the exchange, to channel it according to one’s own resources of the moment.

Paradoxically, then, the telephone becomes a tool for avoiding the voice. Or, more precisely, for choosing when and how we agree to hear it, in the name of a certain relational balance.

The right not to respond

Not picking up the phone is no longer a sign of rudeness: it’s a choice. A deliberate way of setting boundaries in a hyper-connected world where we’re expected to be available 24/7, at all hours, and on all channels.

For many adolescents, not responding, immediately or not at all, is part of a logic of chosen disconnection, seen as a right to be preserved .

“Sometimes I leave my phone on silent on purpose. That way I have peace and quiet.”

This strategy, reported by 17-year-old Elsa, expresses a need to control her time and attention. Whereas previous generations saw the phone as a promise of connection and closeness, the teenagers we met today sometimes see it as pressure.

In this new attention economy, silence becomes a language in itself, a way of experiencing relationships differently. It does not necessarily signify rejection, but rather resembles an implicit norm: that of an availability that is no longer presumed, but rather demanded, negotiated, and constructed.

As Lucas, 16, explains:

“My friends know I don’t answer right away. They send me a snap first, like, ‘Are you available for a call?’ Otherwise, it’s over.”

This little ritual illustrates a shift in attitude: calling someone unannounced can be perceived as a lack of digital tact. Conversely, waiting for the right moment, probing the other person before launching into a call, becomes a sign of respect.

Thus, the telephone is no longer simply a communication tool. It becomes a space for relational negotiation, where silence, far from being a void, imposes itself as a necessary breath, a pause in the flow, a right to privacy .

Politeness 2.0: Changing software?

“Is calling rude now?” asks a father. For many adults, refusal to answer or the lack of a voice response is experienced as an affront, a breach of basic communication rules. Yet, from an adolescent’s perspective, it’s less about rejection than it is about new relational codes.

These codes redefine the contours of what we might call “digital politeness.” Whereas a call used to be seen as a sign of attention, it can now be interpreted as an intrusion. Conversely, responding with a message allows us to frame the exchange, take our time, and formulate our message more clearly… but also to postpone or avoid it, without open conflict.

It’s not that teens lack empathy: it’s that they practice it differently. In a more discreet, codified, often asynchronous way. With their peers, they share implicit rituals: texting before a call, sending emojis to signal their mood or availability, unspoken codes about the right times to talk. What some adults interpret as coldness or distancing is, in reality, another form of attention.

Provided we accept these new logics , and speak about them without judgment, we can thus see in this transformation not the end of the link, but a subtle reinvention of the way of being in a relationship.

Reinventing the link… without imposing it

Rather than seeing this telephone silence as a crisis of dialogue , why not see it as an opportunity to reinvent the way we talk to each other? Because it is entirely possible to defuse tensions related to the telephone and cultivate more peaceful communication between adults and adolescents, provided we accept that the codes have changed and that this is not a tragedy.

This can begin with a frank and calm discussion about each person’s communication preferences: some teens prefer to receive a text message for practical information, a voicemail to share an emotional moment (saying they’re thinking of the other person), or a call only in case of an emergency. Putting these uses and preferences into words, and formalizing them together, is already a way to connect, and even to trust each other.

Before calling, you can also simply ask with a short message if the other person is available. This allows you to move away from the logic of injunction and into that of shared availability.

It’s equally important to learn to embrace silence. Not responding immediately, or even at all, isn’t necessarily a sign of disinterest, rejection, or a broken connection. Sometimes it’s just a way to breathe, to refocus, to preserve your mental space. A form of respect for your own boundaries, in short.

Finally, it’s always useful to question our own practices: what if we, as adults, also experimented with other ways of expressing our attention, other ways of saying “I’m here,” without necessarily calling? An emoji, a photo, a brief or delayed message can be just as meaningful. Attention doesn’t always need to come through a ringtone.

Reconciling generations doesn’t involve a return to the corded handset, but rather a mutual listening to each other’s codes, desires, and rhythms. Because, ultimately, what teenagers are asking us for isn’t to communicate less… it’s to adjust better.

Author Bios: Anne Cordier is a University Professor of Information and Communication Sciences at the University of Lorraine