All Things Considered
The Domino's Pizza of death; Banksy, and the triumph of trivia.
This column makes no apology. What came before us was more cerebral, more meaningful, more beautiful, less chaotic, and infinitely less tedious.
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The Triumph of Obviousness
A coffee with the herd of independent minds.
Frequent any Millennial-run haunt and you risk a diabetic coma—not from sugar, but from sentiment.
You’ve been here a thousand times, if once. Exposed brick. Austere hanging lamps. Chalked slogans daubed on the wall: Our coffee is for everyone.
Welcome to Filter. Or Brew. Or Caffeinate. The name is always a verb. Much like the leaflets and posters demanding action on this and to resist that and fight the other. The design budget—lavished on antique typewriters and distressed wood—has done its work. The counter is an art installation of scaffolding poles and planks. The menu, bleached of pound signs, offers a smorgasbord of caffeinated virtue.
Behind it stands an earnest man in his late thirties, dressed like a dockworker who has never seen a dock. His beard glistens faintly with jojoba oil. In an affected American accent, he asks: What can I get you?
You hesitate. Is it large here? Or grande? God forbid they insist on venti.
The walls ache with twee. Be the change you wish to see. A Banksy print hangs prominently: a homeless man with a sign reading ‘I want change.’ Helpfully, a nearby observer explains the double meaning buried in the word ‘change.’
Until this morning, you—a jaded, mid-thirties Millennial—straddled the philosophical fence. Now, you know for sure: homelessness isn’t much fun. Another print, that naked Vietnamese girl running from horror. But now there’s Mickey Mouse and Ronald McDonald beside her. The premise: War destroys innocence. Well, I never. If only a stencil graffito tackled the moral gordian knots of our time—incest, say, or cannibalism—so that we’d finally know when to tut and when to applaud.
