The United States Government Publishing Office thinks people from Indiana should be called “Indianians.”
Indiana — and the rest of the country — disagrees.
For nearly two centuries, they’ve been Hoosiers, a term popularized by John Finley’s 1833 poem “The Hoosier’s Nest,” and no amount of federal paperwork is changing that. The pattern repeats across the country: official American demonyms, unofficial residents actually use, tell better stories than the sanitized versions bureaucrats prefer.
Growing up in Michigan — specifically, as a Troll from the Lower Peninsula — you learn early that the Upper Peninsula residents are Yoopers, a derivative of U.P. The rumor that they call us Trolls because we live “under the bridge” (the Mackinac Bridge) is absolutely true, despite what diplomatic sources might claim. The official alternatives — Michiganese, Michigine, Michigoose — sound like rejected Dr. Seuss characters.
The Bay Staters vs. The Massachusettsans
Massachusetts has an official position: its residents are Bay Staters, named after the state’s common nickname. State laws and regulations use the term. The USGPO recommends “Massachusettsan”—a word that takes three attempts to pronounce and sounds like a Victorian-era medical condition.
Since Massachusetts is technically a Commonwealth, the law also allows “Citizen of the Commonwealth,” which is accurate but sounds like you’re filing a land grant petition in 1776.
Bay Stater wins.
When Your Town Name Creates Problems
Some demonyms are inevitable consequences of questionable naming decisions.
The town of Accident, Maryland, got its name when two 18th-century surveyors unknowingly worked the same land simultaneously and produced identical results — creating “The Accident Tract.” Residents are either Accidentals or Accidents, depending on which source you trust.
Truth or Consequences, New Mexico — originally Hot Springs until a 1950 radio show stunt — technically produces Truth-or-Consequencesans. In practice, residents call the town “T or C” and describe themselves as “Residents of T or C,” which is less a demonym and more an escape hatch.
The Nutmeggers and the Granite Staters
Connecticut is officially “The Constitution State” but commonly called “The Nutmeg State” — allegedly because Connecticut peddlers once sold wooden nutmegs as the real thing. Many residents prefer Nutmegger over the USGPO-recommended Connecticuter, which sounds like a kitchen appliance attachment.
New Hampshire faces the same tension. The federal government says New Hampshirite. Locals say Granite Stater, after the state’s nickname. The pattern holds: residents choose the version that sounds like an identity, not a bureaucratic classification.
The Jayhawks Who Reclaimed an Insult
Kansas residents call themselves Jayhawks — but the term didn’t start as a compliment. During the Civil War, Confederates used “Jayhawker” to describe anti-slavery militias from Kansas, equating them with thieves. After the war, Kansans appropriated the term as a badge of honor, a reminder of their state’s contributions to the Union cause.
It’s the demonym equivalent of flipping the script — taking an insult and wearing it as proof you were on the right side.
The Phoenix Problem
Phoenix, Arizona, is named after the Phoenicians, which is either clever or confusing, depending on whether you remember the ancient Mediterranean civilization that invented the alphabet. Some sources claim “Zoner” and “Zonan” are also common, but those could apply to any Arizona resident.
The ancient Phoenicians gave us the earliest form of our alphabet. The modern Phoenicians gave us sprawl and air conditioning. Both made contributions.
The Lanstronauts of Lansing
Lansing, Michigan — the state capital, 90 minutes from Detroit — officially produces Lansingites. In recent years, residents have adopted “Lanstronaut,” despite Lansing having more to do with the automotive industry than space exploration.
It’s aspirational branding. Lansing wants to be associated with rockets, not Oldsmobiles. Can’t blame them — one industry still exists.
Why the Unofficial Versions Win
The American demonyms’ unofficial residents actually share common traits: they’re shorter, more distinctive, and they tell a story. Hoosier beats Indianian. Nutmegger beats Connecticuter. Yooper beats… whatever the alternative would be.
The USGPO recommendations sound like they were generated by a committee that never left Washington. The unofficial versions sound like they were earned in bars, at high school football games, and in arguments about whose state has worse winters.
Detroit grit, North Jersey pragmatism — you learn early that the official version and the real version are rarely the same. The demonyms people actually use are the ones that survive contact with reality.
The government can recommend “Indianian” all it wants. Indiana will keep being Hoosiers.
And Yoopers will keep calling us Trolls.
Sources: American Facts