Camberwell Authentocrats
What a storm to prominence this imperious tribe has had! These men—yes, it’s always men—are sticking two fingers up to the corporate crap in pursuit of revelation at the bottom of a bowl of genuinely gristly Vietnamese pho. The authentocrats are on the march from their southeast habitat, through the world-food aisles at the supermarket and the Hinge dating profiles of every woman under 30.
Where they go, others follow. The tribe swells and the mass transforms: Haircuts grow slack and mulleted. Mustaches creep across and below the lip. Regular outerwear is replaced by esoteric restaurant merchandise. They converge on dubious sandwich shops with pen-scrawled menus stuck to the window. Their fridges overflow with obscure oils and pastes they’ve picked up along their quest for authentic consumption, jars of jerk marinade growing white and furry with neglect.
