Before “yas queen” and “slay,” there was “bona” and “vada.” Before being out was possible, being in required a secret language. That language was Polari — and for decades, it helped queer people find each other, stay safe, and throw a little shade.
A Language of Survival and Sass
Polari wasn’t a full-blown language, but it might as well have been. It mashed up Italian, Cockney rhyming slang, Yiddish, theatrical jargon, and criminal cant into a dizzying, campy lexicon. It let gay men in 1940s–1960s Britain speak openly in public — without being understood.
Some words were flirty:
• vada = to look
• omi-palone = gay man
• trade = a guy who sleeps with men but doesn’t identify as gay
Others were pure fun:
• bona = good
• naff = bad
• eek = face
• lallies = legs
• bevvy = drink
And some were protective. A well-timed nanti (“don’t” or “none”) could warn a friend when police were nearby — or when a date was a dud.
Why It Existed
Polari filled a void. It gave queer people in a criminalized, hostile society a way to express desire, share gossip, and build community without outing themselves. In a time when being openly gay could get you arrested or fired — or worse — this shared code wasn’t just clever. It was necessary.
It was also playful. Polari turned daily life into performance. A simple trip to the pub could be laced with theatrical flair:
“Vada the dish at the bar — bona lallies, but the eek’s a bit naff.”
(Translation: Check out that guy by the bar — great legs, but the face is a bit unfortunate.)
From Secret to Spotlight
Polari reached the mainstream in the 1960s, thanks to the wildly popular BBC radio comedy Round the Horne. Characters Julian and Sandy, played by Kenneth Williams and Hugh Paddick, slipped Polari into living rooms across the U.K. — often past the censors who didn’t realize what they were hearing.
With subsequent advances in human rights, the use of Polari began to fade. The 1967 partial decriminalization of homosexuality in England and Wales reduced the need for coded language. And the rise of the Gay Liberation movement in the 1970s brought a new tone — loud, proud, and uninterested in campy secrecy.
A Legacy Worth Vada-ing
Though no longer widely used, Polari still pops up — in books, drag shows, Morrissey lyrics, and the occasional nod in queer media. Some Englishmen still toss off a bona or naff now and then. It lives on, less as a language and more as cultural memory.
In West Hollywood, where queerness is visible and vocal, a coded language like Polari is no longer necessary. But its spirit — defiant, creative, and subversive — is easily recognized. Our shared struggles, triumphs, and drive to communicate on our own terms echo across oceans and decades.
From “omies” to “they/thems,” the words may have changed — from secrecy to self-expression — but the impulse remains: to find each other, affirm our identities, and thrive — with style.
