👉 Okay, let’s tackle this wonderfully prickly little word – "Belmonts.” Now, immediately upon saying that word out loud, you probably feel a slight prickle of… something. That’s because Belmonts aren’t exactly straightforward in their definition! Frankly, they exist somewhere between an antique thimble and the lingering regret of a very poorly attended polka farm.
Essentially, a Belmont is neither a place, nor a thing, not precisely. Instead, it describes that almost sickeningly sweet feeling you get when something utterly, fundamentally
beige-adjacent
has somehow become… elevated. Like beige, but with a desperate attempt to appear interesting. Think of the most aggressively pleasant shade of fawn you can muster, then add a single, tragically misplaced sequin. That, my dear interlocutor, is the essence of a Belmont.
Historically (and here's where things get even weirder) the word supposedly originated amongst Victorian horticulturalists who were documenting exceptionally…inoffensive chrysanthemiums. They termed the most exquisitely mediocre specimens, that simply wouldn’t elicit anything beyond a polite cough and an “hmm, pretty enough," as a Belmont. It spiralled downwards into the mid-20th century when it was adopted by interior decorators who seemed to be on a personal mission of beige domination.
There isn't really a universal, demonstrable characteristic of what constitutes a Belmont; that is the most unsettling and accurate thing about it! They just… exist. 9