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Top five signs you've become a London snob

Top five signs you've become a London snob
Nathan James Page

1. You buy expensive soap

Gone are the days when you’d lather up with some supermarket own-brand shower gel and be done with it. Now you buy your hand soap from a shop that looks like an art gallery where a shop assistant styled like Hitler waves a miniature poodle around you to create your ‘scent profile’. The resulting concoction smells like a mixture of TCP, sadness and vomit, and costs £80 a bottle. Everyone around you wishes you still smelled of that peppermint stuff that makes your genitals tingle, but they just don’t get it, you ARE your smell.

2. You use fancy taxis

Taxis used to be so simple. You’d get in, hear a bit of casual racism, get dropped off nowhere near where you wanted to be and pay a fortune for the privilege. Simple, easy, effective. But now you order cabs like room service and you’re disappointed when you don’t get offered ice-cold bottled water and a packet of Frazzles by the awkwardly servile driver. The problem is that you now wield the ultimate power: the power to give your driver a shitty star rating. It’s like you’re a mini-god with an iPhone, delivering your judgment on the mortals. Smite them! Smite them all with your mediocre star ratings!

Nathan James Page

 

3. You drink horrible beer

No one actually likes craft beer. That’s a fact. Sat at your local pop-up brewery taking increasingly intermittent sips of a tar- coloured pint of liquid turd, you turn to your friends and say something like: ‘This imperial IPA... mate, next level!’ and everyone’s nodding and sipping along and trying to smile to hide the fact that they’re wincing and they have stomach ache from this 13 percent ABV oral tragedy. The truth is, you miss lager. You miss Holsten. You miss Carling. You just can’t admit it, because you’re a snob.

4. You drink gross coffee

As with beer, you’ve become a snob by faking it when it comes to coffee. You talk about tasting notes and V60s and brew times, but it all actually tastes the bloody same, doesn’t it? But don’t feel bad, no one can tell the difference. Even the baristas are secretly going: ‘Er... I guess this tastes like... caramel? Is that what I’m meant to say? Oh God, don’t let slip that it tastes like Nescafé, oh God!’

Nathan James Page

 

5. You go to poncey cinemas

If you’re too good for a multiplex, you have become a cinema snob. And you can say it’s because of the intellectual clientele, the art-house programming or the paprika-dusted artisanal popcorn, but everyone knows the truth: it’s because of the wank-blankets. Cinemas don’t need blankets, they’re dark and warm. If they provide you with a sofa and blankets it can only be for one reason: handy Js. So you’re not just a snob, you’re also a perv.

By Eddy Frankel, who literally does all of these things. Sorrynotsorry.

Illustrations: Nathan James Page

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