I have not been a "miss" for decades. I became a m'am, lady, girl friend and sometimes hey you, long ago. And for years, I've used the feminist moniker Ms. before my name. But here in New Orleans, someone addresses me as the rejuvenating "Miss Mary" every day.
It might be the car mechanic or the cafeteria worker or the postman, but they all consider me a miss, whether I'm married or single, and absolutely regardless of my age. With that, I also benefit from doors opened for me, being allowed to pass in and out of the elevator first and even bought drinks, dinners and admission tickets. This has nothing to do with my level of attractiveness, which is debatable, my weight, attire or job description.
Call it quaint, but it works for me.