Every type of grad you will inevitably meet when you move to London

Moving to London after uni is an exciting time, thanks to the promise of giving half your wage away on rent and spending two hours a day commuting from the suburbs. Five pound pints are a sting after drinking £2 Carling in the SU, and £10 club entry is now your reality.

At every university you meet the same stereotypes and characters, from rugby boys to promoters. And in London it is no different, with the same type of grads entering the big smoke year on year. There's those who work for the Big Four, the PR girls who live in Clapham, and the arty lot who don't leave east London unless they really have to.

Here's every grad you'll inevitably meet in London if you're moving here this summer:

The one hasn’t moved out and lives with their parents in Zone 6

This grad spends their whole time commuting from Richmond or Guildford from their family home because their parents don’t see the point of them wasting money on rent. Instead they waste their money on Transport for London and flat whites because they're up so early.

They leave for work at 6am and can’t stay out much later than 9pm without having to get the two hour night bus, pay £50 for an Uber or turn a friend’s sofa into a temporary residence each time they go out.

They’re never without huge bags under their eyes, especially on a Monday morning after they’ve gone large on the weekend back in their sleepy suburb.

The PR girl

They haven’t changed their blond back-combed hairstyle since they aced their A-levels and then went to Nottingham Uni to study Psychology. Now they’ve moving to London because they watched The Devil Wears Prada and Just My Luck once and want that lifestyle for themselves.

You'll find them dedicating their whole existence to taking boomerangs on rooftop bars like Pergola in Paddington, with an Aperol spritz in one hand, iPhone in the other ready to Snapchat with “drinks with the girls!” as the caption.

They've got at least a 4.85 rating on Uber but can often be found on the Northern line transiting between their job in Covent Garden and the three Clapham stops.

PR girls' favourite hang out is a Be At One after work and Mahiki Mondays – they go crazy for sparklers.

The Big Four lot, who are already looking forward to retirement

They’re quite bright, popular, good looking. They had aspirations of actually doing something with their lives, maybe changing the world, but then they panicked in January and will now spend the rest of their days as an accountant. At least they can afford to eat at Pret twice a day and when they tell people they haven’t seen in five years they now work for Deloitte, it sounds kind of impressive.

Big Four grads live around London Bridge, rent flats much nicer than yours and can afford a cleaner to come once a week. Their long hours mean they live for the late evenings and weekends, so if you're planning on dating one – don't bother. These people live to work, meaning they're prolific on Bumble. They pull the cream of the crop, but don't be shocked if they booty call you at midnight then have to go back to the office at 2am to complete a new deck and pull an all-nighter.

The unemployed grad who moved to London because all their mates did

Every one of their housemates secured a grad scheme in the city, apart from them. But they thought "fuck it, London can't be much more expensive than Newcastle, I'll just move down and get a normal job to pay the rent." So now they live in the smallest room of their five bedroom house in Camden, working in a shoe shop on the weekend and only having Monday and Wednesday off – it's safe to say they've fucked it.

The recruiter

Leaving uni they thought they’d made it securing a £25k job in St Paul’s for a big recruitment firm. They've decked themselves out in T.M Lewin, got some Russell and Broms and an Osprey laptop case their mum picked up for them in TKMaxx.

What they didn’t realise is that they'll develop a lowkey anxiety problem from all the daily targets they have to hit, work 12 hour days and end up leaving the job nine months down the line. The only conversation they want to have whilst they're at Swingers mini golf or Bounce ping pong bar is about how tired they are all the time and the mad commission they're making.

They manifest in Vauxhall and other quite grim and uneventful parts of London, but close enough to everywhere. They're mates with the PR girls, hang out in the Prince of Wales pub in Brixton and genuinely enjoy going to Clapham Infernos, where they religiously go every Saturday night.

The posh types who have fallen into nice jobs and whose parents own a lovely house in Islington or Notting Hill

After their parents spent tens of thousands of pounds on their private education, they went off to Bristol to study History of Art or Economics.

After three years of living it up and seeing how the other half live in student squalor, they've remembered that oh yes, wouldn't it be jolly good fun to go and live it up in London for a few years? And oh yes, how fortunate that mummy and daddy have an empty four bed house in Fulham that I can invite Hugo and Camilla to live with me in. And oh, doesn't auntie Hilda have a connection at the Saatchi Gallery who could set me up with a little something? Perfect.

At the weekend it's all about brunch in Duke of York Square off the King's Road, potentially a trip to Twickers if the rugby is on, and a medium-to-large amount of cocaine. Some people have life so easy.

The drama school clan

They’ve spent the last three years doing jazz hands, learning the Les Mis score and pissing their parents off for spending £30k on a drama degree or a place at a distinctly average acting school. Convinced they’re going to make it big on the West End they temp as a hotel receptionist or work events in between rejection after rejection. Eventually they stop singing, stop doing the splits on the dance floor of Cafe du Paris and give it all up to work in sales.

Because of their up and down life, they end up living in the East End like Isle of Dogs. They love the DLR, and love telling you how much they love it.

The start-up entrepreneur who thinks they should go on the Apprentice

They were the biggest bullshitter at uni, probably spent a good portion of first year trying to become a DJ, but in third year they decided “getting a 9-5 job isn’t really for me man, I wanna do something.”

Turns out doing something is posting an infinite number of Facebook statuses about some half-baked start up they work for, so much so that it’s become an in-joke in your friendship group. “Oop, did you see Jamie’s latest post about how he’s going to change the world with an app? Impressive….”

You’re always hearing about how successful they are yet you never actually see any tangible proof. Their Instagram, half made up of their suspiciously nice flat in London Fields or Dalston, makes you want to kill three generations of their family even though they’re the innocent victims in this.

The one who lives off the Bank of Mum and Dad and doesn’t become independent until the age of 28

“Guys I can’t come I’m soooooo poor”, they say, as they slide into their fourth Uber journey of the week and click confirm on their second ASOS purchase of the day.

You'll never quite understand how they live in a new build with two bathrooms in Herne Hill, or how they're constantly Instagramming Maddison rooftop. Sure, they say they pay their own rent, they’re "just as hard up as you are", getting by on a pittance. But secretly, £300 "randomly" pops into their bank account every month. What’s that? Oh nothing, just a dividend from the Bank of Mum and Dad.

The arty one

They work in graphic design or advertising and live in Hoxton or Hackney. They go to Boiler Room nights, queue up for trainer drops and have an unhealthy obsession with house plants.

They went to a London uni, like Westminster or Central St Martins, because they could never ever consider moving out of London – literally, where else would you even go? Arty people enjoy living in co-operative housing – basically big warehouses where it's never quiet and the mentality is what's mine is yours.

All they want in life is a membership at Shoreditch House so they can get an Insta by the pool with the red and white sun loungers, captioned "work sucks" or something equally as lame.

You can spot them out of a crowd because they look like they get dressed in the dark and they cut their own hair.