Ditch the twinkly nonsense and scented candles. Londoners know the true glow gods are neon signs. Big, deliberately extra, and louder than a drunk on the Northern line, neon is back, 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 emotional support lighting. They mock, flirt with your retinas, and sometimes spell things wrong—but that’s peak London energy.

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 overconfident pink sign says "Werk It" from inside a café you weren’t cool enough to know existed, it hits different. It’s a serotonin boost via electric bill. And no, it’s not just for the 'gram. Neon in London has history, mate. God’s Own Junkyard in Walthamstow? An eyeball massage. If you haven’t been—take your retinas for a trip.

Bring sunglasses. And maybe a second pair, just in case. Neon is the shared hallucination. Pubs, vape lounges, even florists 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 neon nonsense. "It Was All A Dream." It’s like being cheered on by a motivational lava lamp. Yeah, a bit. But also exactly what you need at 2am on a Tuesday.

Neon signs in London aren’t just bits of buzzing plastic. They’re part existential meltdown, part mood, 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 nod.

The sign believes in you. Even if it’s flickering like it’s had enough.

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