It's OK to hate Chavs

Although for every fad there is a backlash I had not anticipated that it would come so soon, or the form that it would take. I recently heard the fine folk of a BBC current affairs program discussing Mini Beckham #2 having his ear pierced at whatever tender age he is. Chavvy or cool? Except the consensus was 'One oughtn't use words like Chav, as it makes one sound very smug'.
Yes?
Well I beg your pardon, but I feel that as I am not bright orange, surgically enhanced, clad entirely in peach hued Juicy "Couture", extended, highlighted, and pushing my first child along in a Burberry pram whilst the huge bulge of that child's half brother or sister shines in eight inches of leathery exposure between the two halves of my too-small tracksuit, I do in fact have a right to be smug when comparing myself to Chavs. For years there has been a notable absence of a suitable word to describe the wearers of velour and exposers of unattractive flesh. The English language needed this sublime word (which in a bizarre metaphorical way has an onomatopoeic quality, being much what I image the sound of my brain cringing would be) in order that those of us with taste might explain why we would not do or wear a particular thing without having to enter into a lengthy explanation. I recall shopping with my mum once, who made the suggestion I buy a particular velour tracksuit top on the basis that the colour would suit me. I was without a suitable way of explaining why that would be wrong ("But it can't be tarty, it does up to the neck." "Not tarty, worn by little tarts. What's the word now....?"). And then months later, there was the word. And the word was Chav. And it was good.
Having lived a proportion of my life in Essex, the need for such a word was great indeed. The same experience allows me to provide a full and universally applicable definition for 'Chav'. It is this:
Chavvery (rather than Chavism, please, it's more elegant) is any display of apparent wealth by means of use of a universally understood alphabet of sartorial and comestible items and/or brands, chosen by criteria of popularity and cost, without any reference to decency, propriety, or suitability, and/or behavior limited only by the constraints of the same criteria. Otherwise summarized as 'All attention is good attention'. The alphabet of Chav is known to Chavs by having studied it in said magazines and newspapers, and known to the rest of us by the feeling of creeping flesh that it provokes.

It may well be that to judge the likes of Colleen (?)Rooney(?) and Jordan as Chavs, whilst ignoring those who are traditionally 'more worthy' for some other reason but are never the less prime exponents of Chavvery, would be wrong, but technically, not morally wrong. One participant of the aforementioned debate pointed out that Princess Di was a prime slab of Chav in her day, with her clothing picked entirely for impact and her behavior calculated to put her face on the front page day after day, good or bad, and her general Chav taste. What used to be called 'Eurotrash' were the frontrunners of Chavvery. Being titled does not prevent you from being a Chav. Neither does being rich. Although one who fails to pay the gas bill in order to expand their Von Dutch collection is Chav, one who can afford a better brand of self-tan may apply it just as injudiciously, or chose just as wrongly at the spray on tannery.
Chavvery is not restricted to those famous for nothing/doing something badly. Britney Spears is pure Chav, and her arse has earned every penny she has. Mainly without the help of the rest of her. Lesley Garret also verges on the Chav, in that her clothing and understanding of what behavior will make people cringe borrow heavily from the alphabet of Chav in colour choice, shape, and whether or not a woman of her age should be anywhere near them. Carol Vorderman appears to be seeking Chav status, and has indeed in the past out-dog's dinnered all of Atomic Kitten, yet she has not yet attained natural Chavvery, and her performance looks too studied.
You know when you're looking at a Chav. You know being able to chose your own clothes rather than have a footballers' girlfriend who is shaped totally differently from you pick them for you makes you better than the Chavs. You know keeping what needs not to be seen put away has moral value. Be smug, be as unashamed of being smug as the Chav is of its [insert name of this season's favoured overpriced footwear that goes with nothing here]. Always, always call a spade a spade, or, if there's any common sense left in the world, let us call Peter and Jordan spayed and spayed.