Why ‘my’?

It used to be ‘Your M&S’. That was presumptuous enough. Now, when you drive past Earls Court exhibition hall, pathetically covered in plastic sheeting while being demolished to make way for a high–quality, mixed-tenure residential neighbourhood, the hoarding tells you you’re going past ‘My Earls Court’. You can read all about it on myearlscourt.com.

No, it is not my Earls Court. And nor will I like it more if you try to tell me it is mine. The same with Church Street, London NW8: there’s redevelopment here, too, and it’s being flaunted as ‘mychurchstreetnw8’. No it’s not. Stop trying to make me take psychological ownership of your so-called urban renaissance. This is what I call ‘the aggressive first person’.

We’re having too many mys thrust upon us these days. If you so much as click on a website, it’s not long before you’re encouraged to take possession of it: My Apple, My Virgin Media, My Sky, My Talktalk. The first-person possessive pronoun is foist upon us — or upon ‘me’ — to give the illusion that I’m being given a personal, exclusive, bespoke service tailored exactly to me, whereas in fact I’m just enjoying (or not enjoying) one of their five deal packages for the month.

They want to make us feel as if we possess our own cosy, carpeted corner of their vast corporation, rather as a little girl might proudly possess part of the My Little Pony collection. I resent being stereotyped as someone so acquisitive, self-centred and obsessed with ownership. I’m not.

Nor am I train. We’re being bombarded with advertisements on buses for the website The Train Line with the slogan ‘I am train.’ I am not train, and I do not pass through the ticket barriers like a wind.