Why ‘Landlord’ is an Outdated Term That Needs to Retire

The first time I really heard the word “lord” used extensively was while binge-watching The Last Kingdom. You know, that gripping Netflix series about the tumultuous period of Anglo-Saxon England before the unification of the Kingdom of England. Lords were these powerful, often ruthless figures who commanded armies, ruled over territories, and held the power of life and death over their subjects. They were feudal overlords in the truest sense—men (and occasionally women) whose authority was absolute, whose word was law, and whose relationship with those beneath them was defined by domination and subservience.

So imagine my cognitive dissonance when I returned to my modern life and realized we still call the people we pay rent to “landlords.” Really? In 2026, we’re still using feudal terminology to describe a business relationship? It’s absurd when you think about it, yet we’ve normalized this archaic jargon to the point where most people don’t even question it.

It’s time we had a serious conversation about why the term “landlord” is not just outdated, but actively harmful—and what we should call these property owners instead.

The Feudal Baggage of “Lord”

Let’s start with the obvious: the word “lord” carries significant historical weight. In medieval England—the very setting of The Last Kingdom—a lord was someone who wielded immense power over common people. Serfs and peasants worked the lord’s land, gave him a portion of their crops or labor, and lived at his mercy. They couldn’t simply leave for better opportunities; they were bound to the land and to their lord by law and custom.

The term “landlord” emerged from this exact system. It literally means “lord of the land”—someone who owns property and allows others to use it in exchange for rent or service. While the legal framework has changed dramatically since medieval times, the term itself has persisted, carrying with it all those connotations of power imbalance, hierarchy, and unequal relationships.

When we call someone a “landlord” today, we’re unconsciously reinforcing this ancient power dynamic. We’re suggesting that the relationship between property owner and tenant is not one of equals engaged in a business transaction, but rather one of superior and subordinate, of patron and dependent.

Language Shapes Reality

You might think I’m making too much of a word. After all, we use lots of terms that have evolved beyond their original meanings, right? But language isn’t neutral—it shapes how we think about relationships, power, and our place in society.

Consider how the term “landlord” affects our collective psychology. Tenants are implicitly positioned as subjects rather than customers. This linguistic framing makes it easier to accept imbalanced power dynamics as natural or inevitable. If someone is your “lord,” even just your land-lord, there’s a subtle but persistent suggestion that they have authority over you beyond the terms of a rental contract.

This plays out in real-world interactions. Many tenants feel intimidated about asserting their legal rights or making reasonable requests because they’ve internalized this hierarchical relationship. The term “landlord” contributes to a culture where renters feel grateful for basic habitability rather than entitled to it—where they hesitate to “bother” their landlord with maintenance issues that are legally the property owner’s responsibility.

Meanwhile, some property owners may unconsciously absorb the lordly connotations as well, viewing their tenants as subjects who should be grateful and compliant rather than as customers who deserve good service in exchange for their monthly payment.

The Modern Rental Reality

The rental relationship in 2026 is fundamentally a business transaction. Someone owns property, someone else needs housing, and they enter into a contract where money is exchanged for the right to occupy a space. This is no different in principle from hiring a contractor, buying services from a company, or entering into any other commercial agreement.

Yet our language doesn’t reflect this reality. We don’t call the CEO of our internet company the “internet lord” or refer to our car dealership as our “automobile lordship.” We recognize these as business relationships between parties with different but legitimate interests. We expect good customer service, quality products, and adherence to contracts. When businesses fail to deliver, we complain, leave reviews, or take our money elsewhere (when possible).

The rental relationship should be framed the same way. Property owners are providing a service—housing—in exchange for payment. Tenants are customers who deserve respect, responsiveness, and quality service. The transaction may be ongoing and more personal than buying a widget online, but it’s still fundamentally commercial.

What Should We Say Instead?

If “landlord” is outdated, what’s the alternative? Several options exist, each with its own implications:

Property Owner: This is neutral and accurate but perhaps a bit clinical. It focuses on the ownership aspect without implying anything about the relationship with tenants.

Rental Property Owner: More specific, this clearly indicates that the person owns property that’s being rented out. It’s descriptive without being loaded with historical baggage.

Property Manager: While technically this might refer to someone hired to manage properties on behalf of an owner, it has the benefit of framing the role as one of management rather than lordship. It implies responsibility and service rather than dominance.

Housing Provider: This term, which is gaining traction in some progressive housing policy circles, emphasizes the service aspect of the relationship. Just as we have healthcare providers and childcare providers, we have people who provide housing. This framing positions renters as recipients of a service rather than subjects of a lord.

Lessor: The legal term from contract law, though admittedly a bit dry. The tenant is the “lessee,” and together they’ve entered a lease agreement. It’s neutral and professional, if not particularly warm.

Personally, I’m partial to “housing provider” or simply “property owner.” Both move us away from feudal connotations and toward a more modern, equitable understanding of what this relationship actually is.

The Broader Housing Crisis

This isn’t just about being politically correct or fussy about language. The term “landlord” is part of a broader cultural framework that treats housing as a commodity for wealth accumulation rather than as a human right or public good.

When we use lordly language, we reinforce the idea that those who own property are a class apart, entitled to deference and profits, while those who rent are lesser citizens who should be thankful for whatever they can get. This mindset contributes to housing policies that favor property owners over renters, that prioritize investment returns over housing stability, and that allow rental markets to become increasingly unaffordable and exploitative.

Many cities around the world are facing severe housing crises. Rents are eating up ever-larger portions of people’s incomes. Eviction rates are climbing. Homelessness is rising. Meanwhile, in many markets, rental properties are treated primarily as investment vehicles—ways to generate passive income or build wealth through property appreciation.

I’m not arguing that people shouldn’t be allowed to own rental property or make money from it. But I am suggesting that our language should reflect a more balanced view of this relationship—one where both parties have legitimate interests and deserve respect.

Real Power Imbalances

The feudal terminology isn’t just symbolically problematic; it reflects real power imbalances that persist in many rental markets.

In most places, property owners hold most of the cards. They can decline to renew leases, sell properties, raise rents (within legal limits), set strict rules about behavior, and access your home with relatively minimal notice. Tenants, meanwhile, often struggle to enforce their rights, face discrimination in housing searches, lose security deposits to dubious deductions, and can be blacklisted from future rentals if they complain too much or get evicted.

While tenant protection laws have improved in many jurisdictions, the fundamental power imbalance remains—and calling property owners “landlords” linguistically reinforces this reality rather than challenging it.

Moving Forward

Changing language is both easy and hard. It’s easy in the sense that we can simply start using different words. It’s hard because language change requires collective buy-in, and people often resist changes that seem unnecessary or overly politically correct.

But consider how many terms we’ve successfully updated over the years. We no longer use many outdated terms for various professions, groups, and relationships that we now recognize as offensive or inappropriate. Language evolves to reflect our changing values and understanding of the world.

The term “landlord” deserves the same scrutiny. It’s a holdover from a feudal era that encoded profoundly unequal relationships into both language and law. While the legal framework has changed, the language—and some of the attitudes—persist.

By shifting to terms like “property owner,” “housing provider,” or even just “owner,” we can begin to reframe the rental relationship as what it actually is: a business transaction between parties who deserve mutual respect. We can chip away at the unconscious assumptions that prevent tenants from asserting their rights and that allow some property owners to treat their tenants poorly.

My View After The Last Kingdom

After watching all those episodes of The Last Kingdom, where lords were literally the difference between life and death, between freedom and servitude, the modern use of “landlord” strikes me as almost darkly comic. We’ve kept the terminology while (mostly) abandoning the power structure it described.

Or have we? Perhaps the persistence of the term suggests that we haven’t moved as far from feudalism as we’d like to think—at least not when it comes to housing and property. Perhaps “landlord” endures because it still captures something true about the relationship, even if we’re uncomfortable acknowledging it.

That’s exactly why we need to change it. Language can either reinforce unjust systems or help us imagine alternatives. By retiring “landlord” and adopting more neutral, service-oriented language, we take a small but meaningful step toward a housing system that treats all parties with dignity and respect.

The lords of Anglo-Saxon England are long gone, their kingdoms unified into modern nations, their absolute power dissolved by centuries of social progress. It’s time for the linguistic remnants of their lordship over land to follow them into history.

Let’s stop calling them landlords. They’re property owners, housing providers, or lessors—but they’re not lords, and we’re not their subjects. It’s 2026, after all. We can do better.

What do you think? Is it time to retire “landlord,” or am I making too much of a word? Let me know in the comments below.