Ditch the fairy lights and bougie wax blobs. Real Londoners know the true mood-setters are buzzing tubes of light. Big, deliberately extra, and louder than a drunk on the Northern line, neon is buzzing again, and it’s got plenty to say. From what’s left of Soho’s neon jungle to Shoreditch’s curated chaos, neon signs are London’s unofficial therapy lights. They mock, shine seductively, and sometimes go full meltdown—but that’s peak London energy. Come on: this city’s grey.

It spits aggressively. Half the buildings look like they were built during a national sulk. So when a in-your-face pink sign says "Werk It" from inside a café you weren’t cool enough to know existed, it hits different. It’s hope. And no, it’s not just for the 'gram. Neon in London has history, mate. That fluorescent church in Walthamstow? An eyeball massage. If you haven’t been—go. Bring something UV-proof. And maybe a friend to keep you grounded, just in case.

Neon is the great equaliser. Pubs, gyms, even off-licenses are getting in on the action. Pop up a glowing "Vibes Not Mortgages" and suddenly your flat viewing feels like a music video with mould. And the phrases—oh the affirmations. "Treat Yo Self." It’s like being yelled at by a motivational lava lamp. Is it cheesy? But also weirdly inspiring. Neon signs in London aren’t just bits of buzzing plastic. They’re part performance art, part fashion statement, and fully proof we’ve all lost the plot a bit.

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 flickering like it’s had enough.