We all know the middle class has its quirks—some charming, some slightly unbearable, and some just plain funny. These habits sneak into daily life like they’re part of the national curriculum, and once you start spotting them, it’s hard to unsee. If you’ve ever referred to your supermarket shop as a “big Sainsbury’s run,” this list might hit close to home.
Calling it a “cheeky” anything
A cheeky Nando’s. A cheeky prosecco. A cheeky midweek takeaway. For some reason, adding “cheeky” in front of literally anything makes it feel like you’re breaking the rules, even if it’s the fifth time this month. It’s the middle class way of pretending you’re being wild while staying within very safe lines.
There’s nothing remotely rebellious about ordering garlic bread and a Diet Coke, but somehow the word “cheeky” gives it a thrill. It’s a small rebellion wrapped in chicken and mildly spiced mayo, and people genuinely lean into it like they’re being edgy.
Buying an air fryer and acting like it’s a revolution
The air fryer didn’t just enter the kitchen—it took over the entire household identity. If you’ve ever heard someone say “honestly, it’s changed our lives” about one, odds are high you’re in deep middle class territory. It’s not just cooking. It’s now an entire personality category.
And while they are admittedly useful, the devotion is intense. There’s something deeply amusing about acting like you’ve discovered fire for the first time because your frozen chips now take six minutes instead of twelve.
Bragging about not having a TV licence (because they only watch Netflix)
This one’s become almost a badge of honour. Saying “we don’t even watch live TV” has the same energy as “we only drink oat milk now.” It’s not just a preference; it’s a subtle declaration that you’re above scheduled programming and daytime telly.
Of course, they’ll still be glued to Strictly or Drag Race the second it’s legally available to stream, but there’s a proud smugness to the whole “we just stream stuff” vibe that’s very on brand for a modern middle class household.
Calling every weekend trip a “mini break”
You’re not going away for the weekend—you’re on a mini break. Somehow, that makes a two-night stay in a converted barn in the Cotswolds feel like a royal holiday. The phrase alone adds a layer of sophistication to what’s essentially just a slightly overpriced Airbnb with nice soap.
Middle class people love to romanticise the simplest getaways. Add in a log burner, a pub nearby, and a local deli that sells artisan scotch eggs, and suddenly, you’re “getting away from the chaos” even if you only drove 40 minutes from home.
Referring to supermarkets as if they’re political statements
You don’t just go to a supermarket—you align with it. You “won’t step foot in Lidl” or you “only do a Waitrose top-up.” Each choice seems to say something about your values, your priorities, or how seriously you take sourdough. Conversations about where you shop start sounding like declarations of personal ethics. “We used to do Tesco, but we’ve been really impressed with M&S lately”—as if it’s a policy change rather than a slightly better meal deal.
Talking about property like it’s a sport
There’s something very middle class about treating house hunting like an Olympic event. Even people with no intention of moving still regularly browse Rightmove for fun. “Just keeping an eye on the market” is the national hobby for people who own scatter cushions and know the difference between Farrow & Ball shades.
The language is intense: “bags of potential,” “bit of a fixer-upper,” “lovely flow through the downstairs.” It’s like they’ve all done an estate agent crash course just to feel prepared for hypothetical open houses.
Having a tote bag for every possible mood
There’s the bookshop tote, the market tote, the ironic art gallery tote, and the reusable one that lives in the boot for spontaneous zero-waste moments. Totes are a whole lifestyle. Bonus points if one of them has a sarcastic slogan about sourdough or feminism on it. They’re not just bags—they’re an identity. A way of saying “I care about the planet” while still sneakily buying avocados shipped from halfway across the world. No judgement, though—it’s part of the charm.
Describing everyday tasks as “therapeutic”
Middle class culture has made it totally normal to describe things like ironing or repotting a fern as “really therapeutic.” Somehow, deep cleaning your skirting boards is now part of your self-care routine. It’s not just chores—it’s mindfulness with a feather duster.
This habit shows up in conversations all the time. “Honestly, folding laundry while listening to a podcast is my me-time.” There’s an unspoken competition over who can find calm in the most tedious task—and weirdly, everyone seems to love it.
Acting like liking wine is a hobby
You don’t just drink wine, you “appreciate” it. There’s talk of undertones, aeration, and whether it’s “punchy enough.” Even if you picked it up in the reduced section at Co-op, the ritual of discussing it like a sommelier is half the fun. Middle class wine chat is a language all its own. It’s never “this tastes good”—it’s “I’m getting blackberry and a touch of oak.” Which roughly translates to: I watched half a documentary about wine once, and now I’m qualified.
Obsessing over thermostats
Thermostats in middle class homes are a full-blown domestic battleground. There are rules. Limits. Heated debates about the ideal number. You’re either too cold, too hot, or being told to put on a jumper because it’s “not even that cold yet.” Saving on heating while pretending not to care about money is a delicate dance. “We’re just trying to be a bit more conscious this winter” often means “we don’t want to admit how much the gas bill scared us.”
Using the phrase “bits and bobs” to cover everything
There’s nothing more middle class than saying “just picking up a few bits and bobs” as if you’re off to forage in the woods. It’s the go-to phrase for errands, shopping, organising, or absolutely anything that doesn’t require specifics. It makes everything sound casual and effortless—even if you’ve planned the day with military precision. The phrase does a lot of heavy lifting. Groceries, a new light fitting, and a haircut? All just bits and bobs, apparently.
Having a favourite farm shop
You know you’ve crossed the line into full middle class when you’ve got a preferred farm shop, and you’re willing to drive 25 minutes out of town to get chutney or sausage rolls. The loyalty is fierce. And the prices are always “a bit more, but worth it.” It’s not just about food—it’s the whole vibe. The fairy lights. The outdoor seating. The fact that someone there makes jam in small batches. Even if you only buy eggs and a brownie, it still feels like a wholesome countryside pilgrimage.
