My colleague Matt Balaam (the debate is still going on as for how to pronounce his surname) passed my desk this morning, giving me thumbs up with:

'Loving your hip set up here..' - referring to my breakfast display.

'Excuse me,' I tried to protest: 'I'll have you know this is a gluten-free courgette bread I made myself,...'
...and just like that my voice trailed off as I reviewed my arrangement including:

• coffee in a fucking glass mason jar with a dollop of coconut oil

• homemade paleo bread with AVOCADO

• water kefir brewed from rooibos

Shock, horror - somehow unwittingly, running in a background; persistently but out of focus - like a white noise sleep-aid app, a hipster* transformation had been at work.

Yes, I became a sign of Zeitgeist that TV shows like Girls or Master of None, or pretty much anything produced by Judd Apatow, would happily ridicule to death.

Controversially, as I remember it's been me, who, in our book Počong aneb O pinoživosti lidské existence that was published in 2016, ridiculed with gusto this phenomenon of people who turn 30 and overnight start baking gluten-free pies and spitting out offsprings dressed in hemp nappies, follow neo-paganism, obsess with mindfulness and eventually end up purchasing a ruin of a victorian farm house to first - smudge it with a sage incense stick cause duh it's haunted, and second - repair & refurb it with their own hipster hands.

So here I am, just two days ago, on my way to crash certain Kiwi Halloween party with David, carrying homemade gluten-free paleo cupcakes (lemon drizzle and red velvet), a special drink (awful blend of apple+rhubarb juice, Monster energy drink and rose wine) and a picture frame from Poundshop, because David ingeniously decided on coming dressed as 'The Picture of Dorian Gray' (which none of the Kiwis ever heard of).

The party turned out amazing, full of hilarious New Zealanders and their hilarious accents (like the one, who's known as Bill, but his name is Matthew), and as our synchronicities-filled reality would have it, we found both a girl, who's planning to launch her own sustainable fashion line (which could be super interesting for David), and another one who's starting a cosmetic company (super interesting for me).

It's thanks to the people we're surrounded by (inextricably linked to London being a melting pot of cultures attracting adventurers/fools from all around the globe), the trends and influences, possibilities and opportunities for growth (again very much related to the City and the common shared social experience of being a Londoner) and also, perhaps controversially - being in my thirties, that shapes us in a completely intangible and unique fusion of - in my case -

Someone who at one hand reads obsessively about biohacking and new anti-aging drugs, but then sit on a floor of morning underground train scribbling down in notepad plans for the spells and rituals for the upcoming New Moon in Scorpio (be ready for some powerful transformations and intense sexual yearnings !!! )..

..a person who tries to push himself on the gym floor, but simultaniously instead of music, listens to 'real ghost stories' whilst swinging kettlebells.

Salivates uncontrollably over Vans trainers, and in the same breath illustrates his POVERTY by the bitter fact he can't afford microdermabrasion treatment or a massage AT LEAST ONCE A MONTH FORGODSAKE, and yes - bakes his own bread and puts coconut oil in his coffee...

I'm having a meditation track playing on the background as I blog, trying to offset some of the craziness and dread circulating the office today. There's this ongoing massive campaign project for one of the main clients of the advertising company I work for - following a transfer of an endangered rhino called Eliška from a Zoo in Czech Republic (and yes, I totally used that to my advantage when interviewing for this role) to the wilderness of Tasmania. Lots of films already done and on the stand-by for an official launch date (TODAY), social media engagement, shoots that's been planned and billboards printed.

Well. Eliska was killed today. By a male rhino trying to have sex with her. Ups.

(to be fair I don't see this as the worst way to go - but I'm sure a dying female rhino would disagree)

And that's the kind of daily ongoing cocktail of bizarre and beautiful served here in the UK's capital. As I sit here typing, next to an anime obsessed girl from Cyprus with the most awesome hair south of the river, under a supervision of my line manager, who's name is (no jokes) Milo Bouquet. On my lunch break catching up with my Italian friend, a stem-cell scientist developing an artificial liver, and later on, after attending a barre class (yes, it's basically a ballet) rushing home to start a new batch of kefir and catchup with our residential ghost Herbert, and Carol - a therapist and soon-to-be a spiritual guru from New Orleans/and now practically a family, that we've met at a concert of Oh Wonder (that in turn I've randomly met in Soho few months prior and took a single picture, which - as my luck would have it - features me sporting something resembling a massive boner, and I'm almost hundred percent sure I haven't been that much excited).

And of course, most importantly a City where you can cross paths (in a series of unlikely synchronicities), and every day again and again madly fall in love with a giraffe boy from Poitiers, France.

And that's what London is for me. Eclectic. Forever both wondrous and scary; exactly for what makes London so great - the freedom...to become anything - and easily three different version of who you could be - in a month. To dabble, and try, and get swallowed by literally ANY movement, fashion style, community, social circle, religion, dietary preference, social subgroup or infinite types of yoga (yes, I've almost attended a laughter and tantrum yoga with cats, which I promise you IS A THING over here).

There are literally no restrictions to what is possible in London, and that's quite awesome, except sometimes borders keep us safe, give us a sense of home and belonging.

London is not a City for life...

(I myself cannot imagine raising kids in the City or Lord-forbid being 80 and attempting a ride on the Underground - or worse yet - put my fading health in the hands of British GP's - there's a reason why in 7 years I still haven't registered with one).

...but provided you're ready to constantly balance on the verge of bankruptcy+burnout in exchange of being a part of pulsating breathing ever-changing and ever-challenging colourful dazzling engulfing stupendous tapestry of life in all its flavours, there's magic still alive here, and waiting to bewitch you.

So..

I'm in (for now).

*a bit of wiki education:

“…the term ‘hipster’ originated in the 1940s, and was used to describe jazz afficionados, characterized by their “dress, slang, use of cannabis and other drugs, relaxed attitude, sarcastic humor, self-imposed poverty and relaxed sexual codes.”