Every year, we fall for it. Dear old Nicky Haslam, friend to kings and queens, legendary socialite, former boyfriend of Lord Snowdon, self-appointed arbiter of taste, and one-time member of Andy Warhol’s inner circle, fixes us with his dead-eyed stare and unveils what’s made it on to this year’s list of things, sayings, habits and happenings that he considers to be common.
Nicky Haslam’s List of Common Things, now in its eighth edition, is a faintly ridiculous, yet diverting, wintertime ritual, an annual proffering of English eccentricity that means nothing but, curiously, says something about the times in which we live.
I am not even sure that the concept of “common” even exists in this pluralistic, more class-agnostic, democratised, homogenised world – think “lame” or “mid” or “basic” or “cheugy” in millennial or Gen Z parlance – but, if it does, who better than Haslam, the octogenarian interior designer and practised aesthete, to root it out.
And so, printed on a tea-towel (or a drying-up cloth, in the Haslam lexicon) we have a list of the 40 things that have registered on the great man’s commonometer in 2026. I am not suggesting we take any of this too seriously, but Haslam, an old Etonian born into a world in which class mattered, is a reminder that Britain hasn’t quick shaken off its obsession with establishing where everybody sits in the social pecking order.
Even he is not sure the term “common” is relevant any longer. “They are mostly clichés,” he told The Sunday Times. “It’s common in the sense of being universal.”
Through that lens, we have to take Haslam’s word that this year, “being thin” (a comment on the age of Ozempic), “quail eggs” and “the Hay Festival” have become déclassé.
Likewise “stand-up comedians” (“I don’t think any of them are funny”, is Haslam’s sweeping assessment), “beards” (“too many of them”) and “car wing mirrors that fold in” (he’s channelling Jeremy Clarkson here).
The thing is that we can all go through his list, and recognise those things that we, secretly or unknowingly, have also been sniffy about. I am very much on Haslam’s side, for instance, on some of the modern-day sayings that grate with him, like “sooooo sad”, or “no-brainer” (what is a brainer?), or “a country mile” (who even knows what that is?), or “manifesting”. I found myself nodding in agreement with his commentary.
And then there are those personal habits which annoy Haslam, such as “people wanting to show photos on their phone… then can’t find them” or “calling the turkey ‘The Bird’”, or “still finding The Goons funny”, which seems rather like a gratuitous gibe at the King, as he must be the only person alive who actually admits to finding The Goons funny.
So, while the very idea of someone standing in judgement on what’s socially acceptable or not may, in itself, be considered antiquated, if not borderline offensive, I’m afraid we can all find, er, common ground with Haslam.
And then there’s the moment which gives us pause for thought. Oh no, am I common? I do like a quail’s egg, for example. Who has ever not been pleased to be offered a quail’s egg with a side dish of celery salt? I understand that this used to be a luxury item and now it’s available at the Co-op, but I’m afraid, Nicky, that’s what living in a mature, demotic society gets you. “They’re revolting,” is merely what he says.
Similarly, “posh dog food” makes it on to this year’s list. That puts me right in Haslam’s sights. Never has a tin of Pedigree Chum or Winalot made it on to my own dog’s daily menu. In fact, I just noticed that Lenny, my handsome dachshund, breakfasted this morning on a bowl of biscuits made from – and I’m not kidding here – “whole British free range chicken, slow roasted with sweet potato and sustainably sourced green lipped mussel, plus botanicals, vitamins, minerals and probiotics”. So there you have it. Not only am I common, but my dog is, too.
Thus humbled – damn it, that’s another word on Nicky Haslam’s list – we are left to reflect on the main purpose of this exercise: to remind us that standards do exist, as does snobbery, and that being British means we can take a joke against ourselves.
By the way, Haslam’s tea-towel is available to purchase at £50 (a signed one is £70). And if you ask me, you can’t get more common than that.
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