You can bin the soft-glow candles and bougie wax blobs. Anyone south of Zone 3 know the true vibe masters are neon signs. Big, deliberately extra, and louder than a drunk on the Northern line, neon is buzzing again, and it’s got serious glow about it. From what’s left of Soho’s neon jungle to Brick Lane’s glow-up corners, neon signs are London’s passive-aggressive wallpaper. They sass, buzz cheekily, and sometimes spell things wrong—but that’s part of the charm.

Truth is: this city’s about as bright as a wet sock. It rains sideways. Half the buildings look like they were built during a national sulk. So when a blazing pink sign says "Keep Serving Looks" from inside a café you can’t afford, it hits different. It’s vibes. And no, it’s not just for the 'gram. Neon in London has proper roots, mate. Walthamstow’s neon temple? An eyeball massage. If you haven’t been—go. Bring something UV-proof. And maybe a second pair, just in case.

Neon is the shared hallucination. Pubs, estate agents, even florists are getting in on the action. Pop up a glowing "You’re Home-ish" and suddenly your flat viewing feels like a music video with mould. And the phrases—oh the affirmations. "Good Vibes Only." It’s like being yelled at by a spirit guide made of LED. Of course. But also weirdly inspiring. Neon signs in London aren’t just decoration.

They’re part existential meltdown, part therapy, and fully unnecessary in the best way. They say: "Yes, the rent’s a joke, the bins are overflowing, and the air smells of vape and regret—but look at this glowing pink banana. Now go vibe." So next time one catches your eye—probably in a pub loo whispering "Smash It" as you reevaluate your last five decisions—just accept it. The sign believes in you. Even if it’s hanging by one loose wire.

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