Berkley Center

The use of “wee” to describe anything small or little, routine afternoon teas, and inclusion of taxes in marked prices—these are just a few samples of local traditions I have delighted in since arriving in Scotland. However, as I slowly acclimatize to the seemingly perpetual drizzle, there are still some aspects of British society that continue to bewilder me. The national sport of militant queuing is one. The separation of hot and cold taps is another. Most perplexing of all to me is the UK concept of class.

When students in America complain about class, it almost always refers to their 8 a.m. lecture the following morning. Although British students also grumble about their aversion to morning courses, they also speak of a different sort of class—hierarchical social categories in the United Kingdom.

The existence of social class is in no way unique to Britain. Throughout world history, the inheritance of status and wealth has stratified societies ranging from Ancient Greece to Edo Japan to the Ottoman Empire. It continues to exist in many societies today. Even in America, meritocracy—which lies at the heart of the American dream—is paradoxically still somewhat class-based. Although rare high achievers still scale their way to the top, many researchers argue that economic mobility has flattened out or possibly even declined in recent years; class differences affect not only where and with whom Americans live, but also play a role in family structures, education, and health.

Multiculturalism and the changing economy have gradually been eroding the architecture of British social hierarchy. A major study by the BBC has revealed that the United Kingdom is no longer divided along Victorian lines. Rather, boxing people into the classic categories of “upper,” “middle,” and “working,” modern British society boasts no less than seven different social classes. And so while it may have evolved with the times, some features of the system still remain.

For me, the most confusing aspect of British class divide is that unlike in the United States, it is not hinged upon wealth; although they usually go hand in hand, there is apparently a difference between being “posh” and being “rich.” Just as someone who lives an extravagant lifestyle may be considered wealthy but remain unable to break into the upper crust, someone from a modestly well-to-do but not ultra-rich background can be posh. Being posh is about your accent, your interests, your clothes; it’s also largely about who you know.

On one hand, my friends complain about the snobbery of their “posh” counterparts. They insist that although there are exceptions to the rule, students dressed in Barbour jackets who speak the Queen’s English tend to cluster amongst themselves. There are clubs that operate openly on campus that you cannot join; the only way to be a member is to be handpicked by existing members who have decided that you present yourself similarly to the rest of the group. Just the other day as we were sheltering from the rain in the student café, my friend saw someone in line to order tea and winced. She explained her reaction to me: “We sat next to one another in class for an entire semester, and she still wouldn’t acknowledge me on the streets because apparently I’m not part of her crowd.”

At the same time, just like in anywhere else, inverted snobbery against the privileged also exists. Scotland considers itself England’s liberal sister in many ways. Still, the very same friend later told me that at the state school that she attended here, she used to be teased relentlessly for being posh. Her parents are educators, and so her family is comfortable, but far from being members of the landed gentry. And yet, she was targeted by even students who came from more affluent backgrounds than her own. “It’s pretty confusing. I think in Scotland people tend to conflate being posh with sounding English if you’re identifiable as middle class. So I was picked on for being posh because I had an English accent. My wealthier English friend who had a Scottish accent and the identifiably working class English boy with an English accent were never called that.”

And so one of the lessons I’ve learned outside of my classes is this: changing definitions aren’t just based on socioeconomic factors, but also on how people perceive the differences and similarities between themselves and others. And so the tensions and divide will continue to exist as long as posh people exclude people based on class.