IN our capitalist label-obsessed society, some brands attract more tosspots, twats and knobheads than others. Avoid anyone devoted to these:
Tesla fans – the majority of whom don’t own Teslas – live in a constant ego-trip, believing that aspiring to their vehicles makes them Elon Musk. Not understanding that he, like them, is a tool, making his theoretically worthy brand a byword for incel dicks that he didn’t even found.
When was the last time you saw someone in a Superdry hoodie who wasn’t a total wanker? Never, that’s when. The loudest prick in the beer garden is always wearing one, not realising the Japanese characters spell out ‘f**king mug’.
No-one needs a watch these days because we’ve got phones, so they’re exclusively status symbols. Owning a Rolex that costs more than a car reflects a lack of taste and warped priorities. You’re wearing five grand on your wrist. Don’t be shocked when you get mugged.
Kate Middleton wears Zara and so does your friend who, like Kate Middleton, thinks she’s better than you. You’ve chosen a brand that says ‘I’m something of a sneering arsehole myself’.
Anything called something like ‘Guild of Scoundrel Gentlemen’
Flat-cap wearing arseholes love to pretend they live in a cheeky version of Edwardian England where everything from their beer to their shaving cream stresses what a testosterone-jacked man they are. You’re not Tommy Shelby mate, you’re an estate agent.
Farrow & Ball
Not so much a paint, more a way of announcing your superiority to others by way of shades like Wimbourne White and Nancy’s Blushes. Now so nakedly aspirational it’s getting slapped up in new builds so the posh have abandoned it. Nobody will know it’s Farrow & Ball. You’ll have to tell them it’s Farrow & Ball. So what’s the point?
The preferred sportwear brand of those who regard themselves as a bit handy and who others stay the f**k away from, Under Armour is worn over tattoos quoting action films and pairs beautifully with convictions for ABH.