Our local corner shop has undergone a 2026 glow up and has gone all bougie. Whereas once it was all decades-old signage and the main products sold were booze, milk, loo rolls and probably some well-past their expiration date biscuits, it’s now all dark exterior paint with minimalist lettering, beige interiors and the products for sale are now pastries, artisanal loaves with spelt and grains harvested by the light of a full moon, and wine bottles with the price and a description written in white Sharpie on them, etc.
Needless it say, it has brought all of the middle-class to the yard. There has been an endless stream of people. Little Tarquin and Esther have been shepherded in by their parents to buy Cacklebean eggs for their morning poached eggs, dog walkers have been clutching takeaway coffees and people have been walking by with paper bags full of pastries and flowers tucked into the crook of their arms.
It’s all very odd to me. We live in East London and while there are some very nice and expensive houses in pockets of our postcode, most of it is still very not gentrified, so it’s alway feels weird when something that would be right at home in an SW postcode, pops up here in our little E neighbourhood.
I’m always torn on gentrification. It’s obviously great for us when we gain fancy little places within easy walking distance of our house (like a bookshop that opened up on the nearby high street last year) but at the same time, gentrification and the influx of young working professionals pushes up prices and reduces diversity. On the other hand, a lot of OG locals have benefited by selling houses to those of us who weren’t here back in the 90s or earlier when house prices relative to salaries were more reasonable.
For now, I’m mostly just trying to ignore the fact that delicious buttery pastries have become much more accessible on my way home from the gym…
