A few years ago, I became enthralled with a blog called Things That Are Called Jazz That Aren’t Jazz. It was as simple as the name suggests: a list of things, such as the Honda Jazz or jazz apples, which had nothing to do with the rich musical art form. After a while, it inspired me to apply the same logic to another word you hear a lot in London, where I live: posh.
There are thousands of things named “posh” that aren’t posh: I doubt Jacob Rees-Mogg has eaten a pack of Tyrell’s Poshcorn, for example. You won’t find Camilla Parker Bowles honking on a Posh Vape before entering the Posh Nails & Beauty salon near me. But once you start analysing it, it becomes harder to know what is genuinely posh anymore. Caviar is obviously still posh, but are olives? They definitely used to be. Is a visit to a spa posh, even if it’s one at a Better Leisure Centre? Is rugby posh?
