Cathy Adams' article serves as a fascinating case study in modern middle class delusion where the true joys of life in Dulwich are boiled down to oat milk flat whites, designer buggies, and a performative obsession with whatever brand is currently deemed acceptable by the local mum mafia. How inspiring.
What’s truly great about Dulwich isn’t the ability to accessorise one’s life with the right labels; it’s the rare gift of having a proper community, a peaceful refuge from the chaos of London, actual greenery, and a place where kids can grow up in a safe, healthy environment rather than learning the fine art of dodging traffic fumes. We have excellent schools, homes that aren’t glorified shoeboxes, and, perhaps most importantly, people who appreciate these things without feeling the need to turn their existence into an ongoing lifestyle ad.
But sure, let’s pretend the real magic of living here is found in a £6 loaf of artisan sourdough and an overpriced gym membership. Because nothing screams "good life" like reducing everything to a checklist of material must-haves.