London Notes

after a week

—London has the feeling of a place where things once happened. This is despite a significant rustling of current culture. It exudes a stately melancholy and wistfulness—it is a beautiful graveyard where techno music is made by young people. 

—It is repetitious. Though the architectural niceness varies by district, a lot of the built environment has a similar mood, coloration, etc. Depending on your disposition on a given day, this can either strike you as monotonous or as pleasingly harmonious, like the city is a single spell being slowly cast. I experienced both opinions.

—Caveat to the above: London is apparently good at having roughly one standout street per neighborhood where you go, “wow, this street is cute as fuck.” And Notting Hill is really adorable, with its houses done in the cupcake style of architecture. But I maintain that overall it’s pretty samey.

—There’s a cluster of traits I have started to associate with European cities in general, which also applies to London, something like: cultivated, coherent, well-ordered, self-assured, clean, calm, easeful, reliable, downcast, old. As I travel, I continue to learn that I like this less than the traits of major American cities, even though they’re obviously less livable in several important ways. This is not reasonable but it’s my preference.

—I developed all of these opinions before stumbling across this New York Times article from 1914, which feels weirdly like something I would’ve written 100 years ago: “The bigness of London is a British boast, but it is the bigness of a Brooklyn—with apologies to our growing sister borough, which every day is more and more putting itself upon the map. That is to say, London is a vast and nearly formless mass, without that concentration of population and rapidity, of its circulation which Manhattan is doing its best to rid itself of.”

—Unlike, say, LA, whose bright colors become sinister under cloud, London is meant to be dressed in gloom and damp. Its rich browns, greens, and greys are complemented nicely by dimness and moisture. It is especially splendid just after rain. That said, it’s lovely in sun too, and it was mostly sunny during my week. As far as I can tell, September is a great month to visit.

—Retail in general is inferior to American equivalents. The exception is fashion. I found the menswear shopping fantastic: the way I like to dress is “good quality, nice, with buttons, but not super formal or weird,” and it’s strangely hard to find that note hit well in America. But there is a lot of that in London, and everything else, too.

—Dressing up is attended to with more dedication and capability than in most American cities, at nearly every socioeconomic rung. Outfits are more complete, if not better: I’m getting more information per person, it feels as if people are better at signaling what they want to signal. More outliers, too: at least five times a day, I am shocked by some example of sartorial perfection. Professional men are sharp here. As well, there is a specific kind of fancy made-up put-togetherness with some women that is less common elsewhere. I wonder if this has something to do with class salience.

—Beyond clothing, London excels at gardens, green spaces, and canals, which are enchanting and grim all at the same time. Walking around made me understand the mood of TS Eliot more. Highly recommend reading The Four Quartets after being infected with some of the local atmosphere. Victoria Park and Hampstead Heath are both lovely. 

—Also great: the Tube. Fast, comprehensive, convenient, easy to understand, rarely overcrowded. The new Elizabeth line is beautiful. The MTA should be ashamed of itself, and the BART feels like a categorically different kind of thing. 

—The food on the other hand. I had a full English breakfast. I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure that kind of thing is called for by circumstances. Meanwhile, fish and chips were normal—there’s no English edge that we’re missing out on there. Just eat Indian food while you’re here, unless you’re really curious about just how pale and gelatinous your protein intake can be.

—The interior spaces are generally small. After spending a lot of time in America, London can feel like being shuttled from one closet to another. I found this charming at moments, and claustrophobic at others. The average showroom in the National Gallery is about as large as many brunch places in California.

—Speaking of the National Gallery, it’s fun to see the Monets and Manets and Minets, but what I was haunted by most is the Red Boy. Perhaps you, too, will be haunted by the Red Boy, although of course it’s much better in person, obviously containing at least one entire soul:

—Some names of London districts and stations are magisterial and beautiful, like “Gospel Oak.” But many are totally ridiculous. It just doesn’t feel serious to take a trip between “Goodge Street” and “Canada Water.” That’s not an adult act. Other names are less obviously hilarious, but still faintly weird. Rotherhithe? Tooting Bec? If you need to cheer yourself up, just open up Google Maps, go to the UK, drag the map around, and read out loud. 

—Overall, London didn’t make a forceful impression on me, unlike the cities that I continually long for. Nevertheless, I developed a quiet fondness for it, and I’d be happy to live there if circumstances called me to, for the people if nothing else. At the very least, I hope to soon take another swing at one of its autumns.