Brunch
I am through with restaurant brunch. Long queues, overpriced food, undercooked eggs, not enough bread, too much booze for a Sunday morning, which inevitably leads to a hangover at 3pm or an all-day bender that sees you sending a drunken text to a colleague you fancy and have to face the next morning.
Sex
The lies told to us by Sex and the City, pornography, romcoms and Reddit have led to us all being totally perplexed by sex. Why do they do it on the floor when there's a perfectly good bed next to them? Why do the men on YouPorn do that tapping thing? And why did those four women all have such demonstrative orgasms from half a minute of missionary?
Weddings
Our parents' generation knew how to have a wedding. Register office, local pub, bride in a dress that cost £150 and was slightly froofier than a normal one. They did not feel the need to stage-manage an event to rival Lady Gaga at the Super Bowl, including a personalised website with a 4,000-word description of how the couple met.
Prosecco
For years I drank pint after pint of the stuff, thinking it was the height of decadence. But I have finally realised that prosecco is not what we think it is. It tastes thin and sour, and it gives you a dreadful headache (yes, yes, I admit that may have been the pint thing and not specifically prosecco's fault). I have now seen the light and only drink crémant (the £9 stepping stone to champagne) or prosecco's drier Spanish sister, cava.
Small-plate dining
"Would you like me to explain the menu?" the waitress asks, before telling you she recommends two to three dishes per person. First of all, if there is a need to "explain" a menu, then it should be very clear that the menu is broken; it's rotten at the core. Second, two to three dishes per person is never enough. Five of them would barely be enough. And they all cost £10! Ten pounds for three croquettes! Ten pounds for a slice of cheese! Imagine explaining it to your grandma. It doesn't make any logistical sense — none of it makes any sense. I once shared a miniature ceramic pot of soup with six other diners. Pathetic.
Opinions
Once seen as a thing to exchange, evolve and learn from, now seen as totally unmalleable permanent proclamations to make to the world as definitive evidence of what a good and clever person you are. Opinions are not commodities you accumulate like fast cars to show off your unbreakable brilliance. Or things to detail in a definitive list while imperiously speaking on behalf of your generation. Bloody millennials.
Written by: Dolly Alderton:
© The Times of London
