How to be edgy at Birmingham

It takes a lot of effort to look like you’ve made no effort

birmingham edgy hipster

After spending your gap yah “finding yourself” picking bananas on a plantation in Brazil, inter-railing with your chums from school and building houses in the Third World for the Facebook likes, coming to Birmingham and forging a new alternative identity will surely be a doddle.

Soon you’ll be the biggest VK-swigging, wavy-garm wearing wanker Brum has ever seen.

Image is everything

Chances are you have a name like Verity or Fergus, and you’re obviously going to be from Reading (or another home county with a shit service station), so being accepted with a new edgy look is unfortunately going to be pretty hard.

So ~~ bruh

So ~~ bruh

Firstly delete any pictures of yourself wearing Jack Wills or Abercrombie from Facebook and Instagram. Wearing anything from a high street retailer is social suicide and will lose you street cred at Seedys.

Armed with the remnants of your student loan, get yourself down to COW in Digbeth, or any second rate charity shop in Harborne, and nab yourself all the essentials – a few patterned jumpers, a wind breaker or two, a choker necklace with religious or cultural symbols (either a Hamsa or a Ying Yang symbol) and most importantly, Adidas. Anything that looks like it’s been dragged through a JD Sports warehouse and dumped in a £2 bargain bin will do the job. Remember, you’re meant to look effortlessly shit.

Being ‘posh’ isn’t cool anymore 

Much like Oregon in Channel 4’s Fresh Meat, you’re allowed to hate your middle class privilege now, apparently.

The next time your parents chuck you some cash for an Ocado order and some prosecco and nibbles for predrinks, simply tell them to fuck off in your best new “saff Landan” accent because you’re going at it alone now, even if it involves starving to defend your right as a new-found student champagne socialist.

Bin the food in your cupboard, grab the keys to your Mini and head to Aldi, silently weeping as you drive past Sainsbury’s on Bristol Road on your way. Buying branded food would show you support capitalist greed, so stick to anything that looks cheap and remotely beige.

Goodbye my lover, goodbye my friend

Goodbye my lover, goodbye my friend

Nights out will never be the same again

Nights out used to start out with civilised drinkies in the kitchen with the droan of an Olly Murs song in the background, but you’re going to have to get your shit together to make it truly kl bbz.

In preparation for a top night, litter your floors with cig butts, put all your dirty plates on the floor, take out all the furniture and bring in some tosser called Lee that owns some half decent speakers and a bucket hat to man the decks.

Next thing you know, you’ll be downing cans of Red Stripe and bottles of Drinks 2 Go’s finest Rioja for a bargain £2, discussing your post-Magic Door comedown over the heavy bass.

Don’t even think about spending hours on hair and makeup either: it’s futile considering you’ll be gurning your tits off in some converted factory by 1am anyway, by which point you’ll be craving a number three from Roosters.

Eat. Sleep. Rave. Repeat.

From this...

From this…

...to this.

…to this