Unearthing the Transformation: Hackney’s Journey towards Brilliance

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As a rule of thumb, I’ve noticed that if I like a neighborhood, it was popular ten years ago. When I lived in Silver Lake, the hipster scene in Los Angeles had already moved on to the other side of Dodger Stadium. When I stayed in Washington’s Shaw district, the “scene” had shifted to H Street.

In fact, I’ve noticed two indicators that confirm this pattern. One is Aesop, the Australian cosmetics brand. Its presence in a neighborhood usually marks the completion of its transition from avant-garde to trendy. The other is The Rolling Stones. Their album, Hackney Diamonds, pays homage to a London borough that was popular among the creative class decades ago.

Hackney’s transformation, along with its outskirts, is a fascinating urban story comparable to Brooklyn and Kreuzberg.

It also offers valuable lessons. First, infrastructure isn’t everything. In fact, it can have unintended consequences. Hackney’s lack of access to the Tube, although it has overhead trains with scenic views into people’s homes, has allowed the borough to maintain its independent cinemas, vibrant nightlife, urban farm, and unique atmosphere. A bit of separation forces a place to develop its own identity, much like the Galápagos finches that inspired Darwin. Contrary to what estate agents say, the only true “villages” in London are those that are off-Tube.

If locals could traverse the city on the Tube, I doubt the borough could sustain its nightlife

This principle can apply to entire cities. Los Angeles, for instance, thrives on its lack of integrated public transport. Each neighborhood has its own unique ecosystem, with art galleries in strip malls, bars playing vinyl records above chain pizzerias, and fine dining establishments like n/naka located near Interstate 10.

The rise of Hackney has also highlighted the close relationship between bohemia and capitalism, something that both sides are often reluctant to acknowledge. Notice how the trendiest neighborhoods tend to be near financial districts. It’s possible that the incidental business from high-earning individuals allows creative professionals like chefs and artists to take risks. Both cultures rely on a certain level of individualism. Hackney, a Labour borough, has entrepreneurial small business owners in its migrant-run markets and acclaimed restaurants, adding a touch of Thatcherism to its legacy.

However, the most important lesson from Hackney’s transformation and the surrounding areas is how difficult it is to bring about such change. We often debate the morality of gentrification, but rarely discuss the technical aspects of its occurrence. Many struggling places would love to know how it happens.

Unfortunately, Hackney isn’t a feasible template for most locations. Aside from being several miles away from the core of Europe’s global city, it possessed remarkable physical assets: canals, Victorian architecture, and abundant green spaces. Its rich history is also intertwined with its built environment, with notable inhabitants such as Joseph Conrad. Not every place can replicate this kind of material or atmospheric legacy. This is why, despite the anger and distaste that new developments may evoke in some, I feel a sense of poignancy. It’s about the creation of aspirations for a “village” lifestyle or café culture that simply aren’t feasible. A place must work with what it inherited.

Having grown up in a neglected suburb that missed out on gentrification, I understand that it’s not anyone’s fault. The interwar housing there isn’t as desirable, and it lacks the captivating historical context. That’s why I spend most of my evenings and weekends in Hackney. Of course, the bohemian frontier has already moved further south across the river. I’ll see you there in another ten years.

Email Janan at [email protected]

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