But to pretend this rivalry is just about varsity scores, entry requirements, or postcode pride is to wilfully ignore what it has always been about: class.
Beyond the chants and costumes lies an unspoken hierarchy - one that decides who belongs where, who is impressive, and who is simply lucky to be here. At Northumbria University, around 30% of students come from households where the main breadwinner works in a manual, working-class occupation. At Newcastle University, that figure drops closer to 20%. Like many Russell Group institutions, Newcastle has repeatedly faced criticism for admitting disproportionately low numbers of working-class students, favouring those who are privately educated and culturally primed for elite academia.
I say this as someone who did work for their place here. I didn’t go to private school. I didn’t grow up surrounded by people who spoke fluently about UCAS applications, internships or “target universities”. And yet, the stereotype persists. “Posh”. “Out of touch”. “Privileged.” The Poly vs Posh narrative flattens students like me into a caricature, as if every Newcastle student grew up skiing, rowing, and calling their parents by their first names.
But the stereotype cuts far deeper than hurt feelings.
For many working-class students, Russell Group universities feel actively unwelcoming. The culture prioritises results, productivity, and prestige over wellbeing. The expectation is that you already know how to cope. How to study. How to ask for help. Private education often prepares students for this jump, for the workload, the independence, the academic confidence. State-educated students are left to figure it out alone.
Often, they’re the first in their family to attend university. There’s no parent who can explain how office hours work, or reassure them that struggling doesn’t mean failing. Meanwhile, many middle- and upper-class students arrive with a safety net: family members who’ve done this before, peers who speak the language of academia, and, in some cases, a job waiting at the other end regardless of grades.
For working-class students, the stakes are higher. A first-class degree isn’t a badge of honour, it’s survival. It’s the difference between staying afloat and sinking. Mental and physical wellbeing are sacrificed not for prestige, but for the hope of stability.
To its credit, Newcastle University does attempt to address some of this disparity. Bursaries, hardship funds, and opportunity scholarships do matter, particularly within the constraints of an already broken student finance system. But money alone doesn’t fix exclusion. There are far fewer places to turn for cultural, academic and emotional support - the kind that makes students feel like they belong, not like they’re trespassing.
The Poly vs Posh rivalry survives because it reinforces a familiar and comfortable myth: that working-class people are less intelligent, less capable, and therefore naturally belong elsewhere. In the North East, where Durham sits at the top of the academic hierarchy, Newcastle’s position just below it fuels the assumption that its students must be smarter, and therefore more middle-class, than those at Northumbria.
This isn’t banter. It’s stigma.
And as long as we keep treating it like a joke, we allow class prejudice to pass unchecked through our campuses, our traditions, and our student culture. If universities are serious about widening participation, they need to confront not just who they admit, but how their students are perceived by each other, and by themselves.
Because no one should feel like an imposter at an institution they earned their place in.