Being a Dickhead is Cool?

Some of you will have seen this clever and artful ditty on You Tube by now. If not please see below. I know some people reading this are outside the UK (Hi there!) and may have not understood my references to 'Hoxtonites' or 'Hoxton Twatkids' or Shoreditch Hipsters. This person, usually young  self-consciously hangs around the fashionable London areas of Dalston, Hoxton and Shoreditch. These were previously and indeed in part are still scuzzy rough East End suburbs inhabited by the urban poor and any new group of Immigrants, presently Bangladeshis.  However the cheapness and the presence of essentially attractive old industrial buildings attracted artists in the 80's, who attracted the fashionable. The artists and cutting edge types now infest Peckham in South London for similar reasons. This has left East London expensive and attracting a certain kind of monied young person seeking artiness and a percieved sense of danger or edginess.  This song parodies them mercilessly:

I love parody but I am not one hundred percent comfortable with distinguishing one particular group to abuse. The Goth - bashing that culminated in Sophie Lancaster's murder grew from jibes and contempt directed at Emos and Goths. I am certainly guilty of comlaining about Hoxtonites, they particularly grate with Retro fans because they have enthusiastically grasped the idea of 'Vintage', got it wrong and then made it their own. The hipster is behind the skinny jeans with suit jacket concept that grasped the country's imagination and resulted in wholesale vintage suit armaggedon! The girls pay a fortune at Rockit and Beyond Retro for complete tat, push all the prices up and when they do get something wonderful butcher it to a silly skirt length. Mind you, it's their right but it's my reason for rankle. As a group if they were obviously motivated by some musical enthusiasm, some stylish current or some downright form of rebellion of creative ferment I might moan but I'd back them to the hilt. Otherwise I definitely would be like my parents were, the 21st century version of moaning about New Romantics or that terrible Siouxsie Sioux hair do....

I feel however that what this You Tube video is truly lampooning is that this is a group of people who for all their claims to originality only truly want to belong to the establishment. They are not disimiliar to the working class child who aspires to media celebrity.  It's not like the posh kid listening to the Jam and dreaming of messing his parent's world up in the 80's. You ask one of these girls what they are about and you get a full CV.  These are people who want a line of jewellery but don't want 3 years at art school learning how to do so. These are bloggers (?!), people who promote things, basically it is an alternative to the Gap year in Africa planting trees.  Ask any young person of the  past what they were up to and you could have expected at best a grunt, these people will go into great verbal detail.  The closest equivalent group I can think of is the Sloane Ranger, a group defined by class, aspirations and a dress sense but not much else except for a sense of entitlement. The Sloane was at least a giggle.

But is this a reason for ridicule, and surely they should be welcome to wear what they choose? behave and act as they wish?  The answers to these is a resounding yes.  The Hoxtonite however can only expect to face ridicule because as a group they court the media and the media feeds on them happily. The Hoxtonite idea of style is tied in the clothing ranges everywhere from BHS to Topshop. The look of most young white teenagers is affected by their taste. This is conscious, the children of Home Counties professionals and London's urban media chatterati they want to be looked at from outside, admired for their edginess and are happy to be commodified.  They are unlike Teds, Mods, Punks, Goths and New Romantics who dress for each other and are more comfortable in places full of their own kinds.  The figureheads for Hoxton Style and fashion are glib and in secondary media roles: dj, promoter, graffiti artist; even their venues are pop-up. 

Their exclusivity is not from belonging or understanding but from appearing to be something, something easily digestible to the mass media. Their prised quality is irony, the things I love they use ironically. They wear belts and braces because it is ironically working class, they hang horns on pub walls because they are ironically rural. But they are not ironic about themselves.

They can therefore expect to be ridiculed as much as any subculture but without any community to fall back on.  Even this would be no justification to be unpleasant, it is just that, and I know this is a generalisation but they do tend to be as a group to be very rude and bargey. It's as if manners are not fashionable. Punks, mods and skins are polite. Most people are. But from unhappy experience a few groups of Hipsters will make a happy atmosphere frigid. They also stare, because although they seek attention anyone who does look different seems to count as a freak or as decoration for their evening. And they are cliquey.

I'm not going to say that all Hoxtonites are dickheads, nor that I entirely agree with picking on them. Right here I am making it clear that plently are probably lovely and their are plenty of bitches in any environment. Sadly however it was going to happen sooner or later that the finger of mirth would point   at them and this ditty is, hilariously, spot-on.

What do you think? Am I being unfair? Should men in taches wear sharp suits? Is this funny or mean?

Commercial Tavern Review.

Exterior of the (rather wonderful) Commercial Tavern.

I’m not convinced by Shoreditch’s drinking holes. At the weekend the Old Street end is full of marauding hen and stag nights. The other parts are full of scenesters and then there are the junkies and nasties hanging around to prey on them. Late at night the place has a palpable air of aggression. I also now find the carefully eclectic interiors with ironic bits and pieces annoying. Twenty years ago it was charming but now you can almost produce a list of requirements for bars and pubs of this genre:

A neon sign saying anything (but sadly not C***y like the Colony Rooms)

Gaudy flocked wall paper

Graffiti ‘art’ in the loos

A print of Elvis, Bob Dylan, Dennis Hopper (delete as appropriate)

A lot of crappy old mid century furniture

A couple of mashed old sofas

One really expensive piece of furniture (just so you know they are actually really quite wealthy but are just being sarky)

A glitter ball

Barman in twat hat who calls himself a ‘mixologist’

Vaguely disinterested service

Pleased with itself Indie soundtrack interspersed with old ska and dotted with Lady Gaga or Cheryl Cole (like, we’ve got a sense of humour, ya)

Now I am not a Camraphiliac and prefer a cocktail to a pint but I do think that there are a few things that are essential for a pub or bar to be able to hold it’s head up high in London. Considering the prices and the hype of the trendy East End the bar should be set even higher. The interior should be fit for purpose and appealing and the staff should be interested and efficient. A decent range of wine and well kept draught beers is a good thing as are decent cocktails. These things are basics, desirable extras include a regular friendly clientele and an interesting sociable landlord. Personally I am not too concerned about food, but am satisfied with decent pork pies, scotch eggs or a bag of crisps. East London does however have a couple of good bars and pubs, and one of my favourites which manages to be fashionable, arty and yet still a decent pub is the Commercial Tavern.

I first visited this place on a hot Sunday afternoon a month ago, en route to Soho Shoreditch House. This used to be a very grotty pub, but it is now a jewel box of a place. It was always an attractive building with its circular façade. Now the interior is a fantasy of antique wall papers, distressed painted wood work and furniture in pale palette. In the airy upstairs bar you sit at tables next to wide windows watching the street below. If this sounds a bit twee it is not the case because the décor is not the usual corporate take on notting hill ethereal but a bit gothic and Alice through the Looking Glass.


There is a wit to the place that is playful rather than archly knowing and just a little dark. In the upstairs bar the plates on the wall feature, on closer examination a bestiary of creatures such spiders and cockroaches creeping across the porcelain. Above the doorway a flock of stuffed birds stare down and I felt momentarily like Tippi Hedren. Another wall is covered with jigsaw pieces painted gold which must have been a painstaking process. The gents (I was informed) is wallpapered with Popeye and chums whilst the games room has paintings of iconic Eastenders adorning the walls. It is pretty, witty but not ‘up itself’.

The pub sells Greenwich Meantime beers on draught. The first time I went in I was vacillating in front of the barmaid about my drink. Even though busy she volunteered options and offered to give me a taste of anything I wanted. How refreshing. The second time I visited I had both cocktails and wine, both of which were good quality. The cocktail choice was limited, but it was nice they were available and the one I had was well made and inexpensive. The rose I subsequently glugged was also moreish.

Perhaps the real strength of the place is the landlady: Maria. This is definitely her pub and her personality, having met her is stamped all over the place. A stylish husky- voiced lady she was present both times I visited. It is sad that so many places now are just corporately managed. A good pub or bar requires someone with character at its helm. We had a fantastic evening, I don’t remember getting home, feel I should apologise to the bar staff for something or the other and one of my group found lots of polaroids none of us remembers being taken in her pockets. They depict us looking inebriated yet very happy -one of the best waking states to find oneself in.

This place might not suit some, but it definitely suits me and probably the kind of people I gravitate to: bohemian, stylish, drunkards. Certainly the Commercial Tavern is now my drinking spot of choice in that part of London.

Minn x

Shoreditch Soho House on a sunny afternoon..

Exterior of Shoreditch Soho House

Last weekend I went to Shoreditch Soho House. When this opened in Shoreditch it was the final nail in the coffin for any impression that the area was still ‘bohemian’ or that particularly over-used soubriquet ‘edgy’. How can it be when the wealthy media types that are Soho House’s core constituency regard it as fashionable? That is not to say the area has been gentrified. I still had to hurl profanities at two complete strangers whilst walking through the place. It is a grotty bit of London and Commercial Road is a long way from Notting Hill. Shoreditch Soho House is in a large erstwhile industrial warehouse type building overlooking the Overground depot so not a particularly glamorous locale either.

However that being said I do get this outpost of Soho House. It is always a pleasure to visit Soho House in Soho as I am invariably in excellent company and find the staff, drinks and food good. However I am ambivalent about the clientele (my fault, probably just a bit too ‘old Soho’ around the edges). Also I never liked, apart from the mirrored bar area, the interior. Too dull and Conranesque for me. Never liked the combination of Georgian and mid-century styles which feel like a numbing down of 17th century flamboyance. I also feel it lacks the loucheness of other modern Soho Clubs. Soho House does not seem to feel so much like a club as an leisure amenity, members seem to know the staff but not each other.

Soho Shoreditch house is, I think, am attractive place. Not so much the roof side pool area. I think pools on roofs are a fantastic idea, and this one is nice as is the inspired concept of placing an open plan windowy bar beside it. However it was obviously a poseur’s paradise and the people around it looked a bit Eurotrashy. Still more pools and gardens on London roofs, please. It is a GOOD THING.

The Soho House Pool.

The floor below was more my cup of tea; runs the span of the building and includes a bar, a games room, a large rustic looking restaurant with pizza ovens and then another all-purpose room. This floor was a pleasure. The industrial elements, 30’s style squared utilitarian windows, concrete and exposed brick were set off with what can only be described as a rustic urban aesthetic. It worked well. The bar, set in a central Island and surrounded by seating and more windows had a touch of 70’s brutalist chic about it.

Seating in the 'Square Bar'.

The bearded one mentioned ‘airport lounge’ but in a good way. I really liked this room and we started off there, sadly we didn’t stay as some very industrial drilling on the floor below was disturbing us. Next to the bar is a games room, including a billiard table and working old school sit-down electric games console tables. These include, I was informed, Space Invaders! More points scored. Sadly it was overrun by small noisy kids so it wasn’t us scoring, although thankfully they are not allowed into bar areas and not a common occurrence. Still, a good space and a ‘clubby’ idea.

The Restaurant.

The restaurant is curiously woody, with a wall of green plants and flowers and long communal bench type tables. A wall of pale blue wood is nod to that mimsy distressed French rustic style that runs rampant across Sophie Dahl kitchens and overpriced boutiques throughout West London. I would have preferred to see the urban feel continued but perhaps that is what it takes to sell food to the chattering classes these days. It wasn’t busy when I was there but the pizza ovens built into brick walls were roaring away. We ended up in the final area, a kind of drawing room space full of large pink womb like sofas. A relaxing area but rather soporific: my friends were falling asleep. Mind you that could have been down to the quality of my scintillating conversation.

Womb-like big pink sofa room.

I genuinely liked the way Shoreditch Soho House looked, it had great views over London and distinctly different spaces. It is wonderful to see old industrial buildings turned into public and leisure spaces and the club had been designed with thought and attention. The elements I am not convinced by in the Soho branch work well in a building that is more adaptable, and as my friend pointed out less hampered by issues of planning permission. It was quiet when I went but I imagine that on a Friday night it has a lively buzzing feel. And whilst space invaders are welcome, bankers apparently are not. Which must make it a welcome haven in that area. I’d like to see it during an evening rather than on a warm slow summer Sunday afternoon. I’d still rather be a member of a small friendly boozy club or an old Pall Mall institution. However if I was more modern in my outlook the Shoreditch outpost would be the kind of place I’d enjoy spending some time in. I'm hoping for a pizza next time....

View of Games Room through well-stocked shelf wall.

M x

Shoreditch secret shopper strikes sullenly...

I have railed against ‘Whoreditch’ and the Max Wall impersonators that seem to teem all over it (skinny jeans, ballet pumps, birds-nest hair) so much I know I am becoming tedious. However I am only really picking at one one layer of the East End Onion. There are other peelings that annoy me: the BNP-voting lumpen elements of Plaistow, the monoculturalism of bits of Tower Hamlets and the effluential Dalston. At the same time there are tasty bits of the Onion. I have a strong family association with the City itself and particularly Smithfield. I love the architectural elements of Spitalfields, the grubby old mercantile buildings and some of the good restaurants. Although the area has never been the same since the demise of Blooms and it's gefilte fish and the slip into mediocrity of the local Indian canteens is lamentable there are good nibbles to be had.

On Sunday we ambled over to Spitalfields market. I know it should make me spit to think of what has happened to the place but I am more than aware that the only way to save a market or it’s architecture is to gentrify and artify it. The alternative is the bulldozer and the advance of more belligerent office buildings. It was the same with Borough Market which was saved by posh Spanish cheeses and pies that cost a tenner. So if Spitalfields is overrun by Hoxton Twatkids, tourists and divvy trendy mums with children called Otis so be it. But is there a reason for creatures like me, and possibly like you to traipse over there?

Well yes. If only because it is something to do, which can involve quite painless transport links. It has to be said also that there is plenty to eat and drink. It is most definitely good for food. We had brunch at Giraffe, the chain that promises ‘world food and music’ and does actually provide a very tasty Mexican breakfast. We discovered this just as the chain cannily went for the yummy mummy rah demographic and started to give balloons out. Every Giraffe is now spoilt by babies, and babies do spoil lunch, and dinner, and everything else for everyone who…well doesn’t have their own baby. However we got there early enough to miss the first baby ‘surge’. Shame that human babies are so ugly compared to other infant mammals. Now if they all looked like puppies or kittens or baby meerkats the screeching and screaming and dribbling might just be ok.

The main market was largely full of stuff of no interest, there seemed to be a lot of Chinese people selling pared down Vivien Westwoodesque jackets and cannibalised tweed seemed particularly popular as a material. There were some interesting (and if I recall long-established) stalls selling paperbacks. The shops around the market were full of up-market tat. Dolly Dagger looked to have some ok frocks and undies although a little frou frou for me. The bars and restaurants looked expensive and banal. A drink at the Ten Bells would be a better and more atmospheric option than any of the bars we saw.

On Sunday however, across the road from the main market heading in the direction of the Truman Brewery is the Sunday market. I prefer this inordinately even though it is the homeland of the ironic porkpie hat. It reminds me of Design Festa, the huge market/art exhibition/happening/concert I used to go to in Tokyo. Located in a big old empty white building it always has a couple of vintage stalls that include vintage clothes (rarer than hen’s teeth) and the chap selling Balkan music. And Balkan music makes you smile. The food here, though not necessarily the most comfortable eating experience always looks absolutely delicious and is a far better bet than anything across the road, Mexican breakfasts not withstanding.

Did I buy anything? Surely the real mark of a market is this? Well no, but that was more down to my state of advanced boracity. If I had more than basic beer money I would have. The sellers I was taken by were:

In the main market a jeweller called 'Eat Your Feet' with some witty plasticky jewellery using vintage and pop-culture motifs. In the Sunday market, food and Balkan beats aside, I liked Dan Hilliers stall of prints of his Ernst-like surreal illustrations and designs. Victorian octopus people rule. A stall called Orizu was selling the most wonderful 30’s and 40’s inspired hats, really superb and good value at £120 -£180 (if you think that is expensive have a look at how much hand made millinery costs). She wasn’t giving out cards and does not have a website and would not let me take a photograph. But hopefully she will stick it out because her tiles were absolutely lovely.

Eat your feet necklace.

Dan Hillier illustration (copyright Dan Hillier)

Eat your feet jewellery homepage: http://www.eatyourfeet.com/

Dan Hillier: www.danhillier.com