A poundshop iPhone case, glittered with the novelty charm of awkward teenage yearning long dulled by a century of exploitative supernormal stimuli.
The Outernet building is a strained metaphor, bored of itself, knowingly: an ironic Fortnite skin of a building, merely the panelised garish avatar approximated for inconvenient embodiment, glibly adorned with languid Suicide Squad gothic drolery.
An icon of empty iconography, gleaming cubicly as a Minecraft Kaaba for gyratory tiktokers lost in the urban showbiz facepalm that is neo Tottenham Court Road.
The Now Building’s two squat forms huddle beneath Centre Point tower, anthracite fluting frames the black boxes as mawkish ebonised sarcophagi, hunched with bodyguard swagger flexing for the cult of RAL 7016 totalitarianism.
Set in with gold, gilding the armsrace, upping the ante on Renzo’s neighbouring neon retinal assault. Gold in faddish space telescope chic. Gold grills and gold fins like everything is a heat sync now.
The scalelessly BIM’ed, content-free elevations are the lorem ipsum of facade studies - wireframe webpage placeholders complete with pixel marked padding.
Atop, a glass protuberance buds beyond the parapet. The dualised soul peeks from its prison frame, the sheathed pupa of luxury gnostic futurism emerges. We’re all meta now.
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