BOXPARK, Shoreditch.
It started off under control, then before you could say "Fabrics", it spread across Britain like wildfire. The infected stick together in huddles, with their round sunglasses and brogues. Mocking the non diseased, eating street food. If you go to Brick Lane on a Saturday Night you are swarmed by them. Don't get me wrong, some of my friends have this illness but I plan on raising enough money to find a cure.
The beard that resembles a wicker basket from Wilkos is a common sign. No man should ever have a beard long enough that they have to condition it. The moustache twirl is simply unfortunate. And inexcusable.
Clinging to their latte from the local abstract Coffee Shop in a side street of Spitalfields, they ride the streets of London on an Antique pushbike like they own the place. A typical job would be someone who works in a Computer type media place making adverts for one of the many supermarkets.
An app for all occasions on the brand new iPhone. And iPad. They will continue to rub them in your face until you just have to pretend that you think their phone is better than yours just so they will stop harping on.
Their favourite pub displays books upon books, upon shelf upon shelf, complete with board games on the coffee table. Yes, a coffee table in a pub. I couldn't believe it either. If they are proper hipsters, they'll have a dog with them. A Pug with a bowl of water at said owners feet, while everyone fusses over it. The owner pretends not to be assed, but deep down you know they are. Tom, Ollie or Toby will have pug related items on him at all times. A phone cover maybe. A leather Oyster Wallet and satchel, the hipster flits off on the Overground back to its home in Dalston. Where they enjoy bands only they have heard of and a bottle of red wine. Wondering what new place they could "grab" a latte from next.
Charlotte, Emily and Sophie will usually have a Laura Ashley cardigan, a tea dress from Primark and ankle boots from Topshop. They discuss whether Ollie really wants a relationship with that bitch Jess from Accounts or if it will soon fizzle out because she's such a bitch with big boobs and MAC lipgloss. They have quaint little days out eating Vintage Cookies and wearing very little make up in the process. A quick Itsu for lunch and later an apple for the Northern Line home from work, the hipster girl has exhausted herself from saying "like" and "random" at least 30 times a sentence. Off to Waitrose to pick up a Salad for one. And that cute bearded commuter she passes everyday by the cobblers at the tube station. Or so she hopes. She goes to bed reading her Bronte books, hoping that tomorrow is the day someone has described her in Rush Hour Crush. And she may just wear them kitten heels from Office. Just cos she can.
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