The Trick is Not to Stare

When I first watched Nathan Barley back in 2005, it all appeared to take place in an almost futuristic world. It shared characteristics with ours but was full of so many extremities that it seemed suited to science fiction.

Having now moved to East London in 2008, I have realised that the show wasn't set in some far-off vision of the future. It was set in Shoreditch.

When I lived in West London there was a certain type of pretentious twat. The Sloane Ranger. Privately schooled, usually kitted out in semi-golf wear and called something like Crispin, they were at least honest about themselves. They were posh and they made no effort to hide it. They dressed smart because they wanted to appear well-bred and upwardly mobile.

What irks me about the Try-hards who populate the East is the lack of honesty. Many times they are just as middle-class as the Chelsea brigade but they so desperately want to be seen as 'down-to-earth' that they deliberately 'dress down' to appear as if they were poor. Although mostly they shop in over-priced vintage boutiques where they will spend £60 on a ratty cardigan that would probably be considered too ratty even for Oxfam.

They'll profess hatred for all major corporations and like totally hate the man because he's like totally killing polar bears and controls like oil and stuff. In reality their lifestyle will be mostly funded by their corporate whore of a father who sighs mournfully every time he sees the hobo that his son/daughter is turning into.

They'll populate Shoreditch bars that exist solely to be cool. The music will be loud and consist of animal noises and beeping or both. The staff will be aloof to the point of rude and the clientele will look as if they wandered in from a fancy dress party, around 20 years ago.

They'll over-dress themselves with as many 'quirky' accessories as they can find, no matter how ridiculous they may look. People will praise their creativity for turning orange peel into earrings or for wearing three watches on one wrist.

If you took any of these idiots and placed them in Dudley, for example, they would get laughed out of town and quite possibly lynched. I know that we're supposed to be encouraging difference here in the capital but there's only so much I can take. I'm not calling for everyone to be dressed in the same pair of gap jeans but there has to be a limit.

The irony is that all of the Try-hards who spend their mornings desperately dressing themselves to look wildly original end up looking exactly the same as everyone else. It's like they haven't properly grown out of their 14-year-old goth phase yet.

I can remember a friend and I being classed as 'ordinaries' by the high-school goths because we didn't dress in faux-Matrix gear and didn't listen to Placebo.

I'm happy with that. I dress in clothes because I like them. I listen to music because I like it. I'm not trying to fit into a particular type. Isn't it easier this way? To just sit back, relax and not worry that others may deem you uncool? Mustn't it hurt to constantly wear an expression that says 'this is my Myspace picture'? Mustn't it be annoying to always be hiding the Nestle products?

The Try-hards won't go away for a while. They have a majority stake-hold in Shoreditch. For now, they are relatively contained. If an area is economically deprived but still contains ironic canteens that sell edamame beans and quail eggs they will be there. What scares me is that in a couple of years the Shoreditch tube station will be opened. If they can travel, well then what? The infection will spread.

As it stands, I have developed a coping mechanism. The trick is not to stare. Don't encourage them. If you encourage them then they'll think it's okay. It's really not okay.