From Wagu burgers to AI, Jesse Armstrong to Neil Jordan, the FT Weekend Festival catered to the one percent and the curious, and more often than not a mixture of both.
Potentially the last remaining Broadsheet (certainly in the UK) to give a damn about as-objective-as-it-gets journalism, I was chomping at the bit to hear what the line-up of erudite speakers and their interviewers had to say.
Immediately after Tim Harford’s ‘Why smart people believe silly things’ (guilty, I think), I hot footed it to the Food and Drink Tent to get the lowdown on what the point is of restaurant critics. After 45 minutes with Tim Hayward, Jimi Famurewa and Jay Rayner, and some incisive questioning by Harriet Fitch-Little, the answer was clear: entertainment. Jay confirmed “Ours is a writing job… As long as readers want to turn the page…”
Jesse Armstrong on Succession followed, immediately after what the FT considers to be the biggest issue of the day: America and China’s relationship, or lack of. The latter’s tricky we pretty much all agreed, however cultural collaboration could be a way forward, Gillian Tett suggested. That garnered a round of applause, but was as nothing compared to the one Mr Armstrong received shortly afterwards.
Jesse’s spot was the hottest ticket in the grounds of Kenwood House that day: queues round the block and up to the Literature Tent told us so. And, it was hardly surprising. A blockbuster production virtually the entire audience that day had watched – demonstrated by a show of hands early on.
I struggled to curb my question: Who wrote Tom’s lines? Was it just one person? If so, please please can you give me their phone number, in fact all their contact details, because I want to marry him, her, them.
I restrained myself. Instead, a member of the audience asked “Who is cousin Greg modelled on?” Jesse’s reply was straight and sweet: “A lot of me” or words to that effect.
Already a pastel de nata and sharp coffee down, the brain needed further nourishment. The Wagu burger got my money, but the variety of vittles on offer was wide.
A more relaxed afternoon followed, with my attention taken by a ‘How to style it Q&A’ and Neil Jordan on novel ideas.
By 5.30pm ish I’d earned a break. Sitting on a straw bale with tea and a melting brownie, I got chatting to L and G – a junior doctor and media professional respectively. We talked pre-loved and vintage fashion, style, and getting dressed in the morning – as is my wont.
“What do you think is missing in media coverage of fashion/vintage shopping?” asked G. I didn’t hesitate: “The intellectual aspect” I replied. “The media focus on the apparent trend for shopping pre-loved and vintage. I think it would be interesting to delve deeper into that. What’s really driving our current shopping habits? Has that changed forever? Is it about money? Is it about climate change? Do we still care? And, if not why not?”
I looked around at my fellow FT Weekend Festival goers: a uniformity of casual verging on careless style proliferated. Money didn’t appear to be an issue here – but then how the one percent and the curious dress is a whole other story.
Thanks to the Financial Times for a thought-provoking day.
In the Nineties, dare I say so, we all read it. In fact we read two of them: ‘Men are From Mars, Women are from Venus’, and ‘Mars and Venus on a Date.’
“I don’t know about you, but I feel like I’m on holiday, not in Maida Vale” I said to The Brunette – my dinner companion for the evening. Contemplating the decor of our newest local restaurant immediately imbued a sense of relaxation and calm. Dark wood, mirrored strips on walls – a nod to Japanese lacquer – minimal tables and a soupçon of light jazz to be heard in the background provided the comfort of the traditional with the frisson of the new.
Manners maketh man and most certainly add to the enjoyment of dinner out on a Wednesday night. Politely we were asked what we’d like to drink. We discussed the options with Toru the owner: “Try the sparkling Sake” he told us, “It’s light, not too strong, I think you’ll be okay.” He was right; gently floral, the colour of effervescent water it was to be relished for itself rather than any unwanted effects.
We took our food recommendations from Ken: “This is nothing special” he repeatedly told us. Yellowtailed carpaccio with truffle oil, grilled asparagus with sesame dressing defined with threads of chilli as a starter told us otherwise.
Tom from Crepe City shoed us in. My niece led the way up urban stairs of concrete and steel into a cavernous room made of similar hard stuff. Music boomed so loud we had to shout at one another to be heard.
A sea of black hoodies, baseball hats, rucksacks and box-fresh super trainers adorned the majority of attendees at this Crepe City convention. I followed H’s Inter Jordan All Stars past rows and rows of sneakers for sale and asked for some explanation, some clue as to what all the fuss was about.
“The thing is, the Yeezys for instance – they’ll launch a new style in store, but the queues will start the day before so the chances of getting a pair at the retail price of £150 is slim. The fact that they’re limited in production ultimately increases their value for re-sale. That’s what this is all about” she informed me. “See?” I glanced at the trainer she held up for me to appraise. The price tag attached read ‘£750’ – a punishing price to pay for your inability to be one of the first in line on launch day.
I remained intrigued as we wandered on past the special Back to the Future Part II self-lacing Nike Air MAG trainers and other £3,000 pairs to be envied, admired, and coveted by some, if not all sneaker enthusiasts.
At a sneaker-friendly watch stand – finally comfy sofas and a free nailbar. I sat down and took full advantage; neon pink with a lavender heart, mindful of mother’s day ahead.
Heading towards the exit we passed a gentleman wearing a pair of Adidas Hardcourts. “I’ve come from Sweden especially to be here today” he told me. His newly-met companion shifted from one of her SB Dunks to the other, smiling at him admiringly.
Conversations with Strangers 