Isn't it all about people wanting to figure out where they and the people they are dealing with fit into their world?
DH's GM was staunchly working class, believed that no-one should get above themselves and their roots, but woe betide the woman in their street who didn't have a spotless doorstep and curtains at the front windows. You had to keep up appearances. She and the rest in the street wanted to know that the people they spoke to every day shared their values; totally insular and completely unable to imagine that someone with a grubby step was to be relied upon in any situation.
So, on here it's names and boden/primark and it's just as stupid and prejudiced as steps and curtains, but it's the indicators that the un-imaginative use to decide whether you are part of their class/tribe and whether they should give any value to anything you say.
It's all a bloody pain. I was on the verge of a decent career when health issues stuffed it up. DM, who was desperately aspirational (Miner's daughter with a mother from a middle class family in reduced circumstances, whose mum harried seven children through grammar school and on to become Doctors and Nurses from a two up two down) would be horrified to see me trundling about in a tabard and the faces on some visitors when I open my mouth and, thanks to her, talk like a 50s BBC announcer.
As for names, DD has a classic name that has several legitimate spellings. It's been described, more than once, as a modern, chavy spelling. It's 16th bloody century.
Class isn't the problem, a lack of imagination and fear of what, or rather who, you don't understand is.