17 things that need to stop being things in 2016

Happy New Year, guys! We’d have been quicker off the mark to convey those sentiments but we’ve been too busy buying discounted Christmas decorations 11 months early, and coming down off stuffing butties. We’ve also got a new office. We’re grown ups now. It’s got a shower in it and everything. I know! A shower in an office!

Anyway, in the lull between Christmas and New Year we asked some mates and other internet heads what had irritated them in 2015 and therefore what they hope stops irritating them in 2016. It’s a broad spectrum and there’s a bit of crossover, but here it is, in all its glory. Misanthropic as fuck.

Style websites telling you what (and what not) to do.
By all means buy a coat you’ve seen on the internet. But anyone who drinks in a blog article entitled “Five ties every man should have” or “Ten common trouser mistakes” should probably get a bird/recreational drug habit. If you’re so insecure and dull that you need some posh, conceited stranger to tell you the rules of wearing clothes, you should probably just never wear clothes and become a naturist. Or maybe subscribe to GQ. Or maybe it’s me that’s getting it wrong and I should start sharpening my pencil and scribbling 400 words on “Key High Street Looks to Wear While Eating A Kebab.”

There’s an actual idea there, to be fair.

Self-titled “creatives” that still get daddy to pay their rent
They need to fuck off sharpish, I reckon. It’s not that these people are doing something inherently wrong – I’d do it too, if I could – but it’s the self-aggrandising social media personas that come along with it which, more precisely, need to fuck off. Nike flying you to Portland, or whatever, doesn’t make you #blessed, and I really don’t care who you’re meeting over a flat white in the Ace Hotel. Literally none of it matters. We’ll all be dead soon, so stop it.

No more war would also be nice, as an aside.

Fancy taps. 

I fucking hate fancy taps. Why can’t taps be normal anymore? Is there anything worse than going for a slash in a restaurant/boozer/service station etc with a fancy bathroom fit out and being stood there puzzled on how the fucking thing works? What do I press? Is there a button? Do I put my hands under it? Do I stoke the nozzle gently till it spurts into my hands?

I’m not a fucking mind reader.

No, I have to wait and hang around like some half a nonce until another bloke finishes his piss to come over and show me how to work it.

And don’t get me started on fancy hand towel dispensers.
Give me a fucked knackered stinking of urine shitter with a normal fosset, a 1960s hand dryer with the power of one of them silent farts that go ‘pha’ and walls covered in phone numbers with offers of bum sex.


Style websites with a North American bent writing about soccer.
I quite like that the global game is getting all global. What I mean is I like that people from America are calling boots ‘cleats’ and shirts ‘jerseys’ because at the very least, it pissed your Dad and his mates off and gives them something new to moan about beyond why the World Series is called the World Series when only America play in it. Or something. But, bottom line is, keep writing about football Chad, but at least maybe know stuff about it.

Cameron and the rest of his public school gang.
Nothing but contempt for them here , playing games, scoring points and turning poor people against poorer people whilst cosying up to this months despot .
John Poland, @good__measure

Distance selling regulation bores
Stop being such a virgin and just accept it doesn’t fit. You bought it without trying it on. Leave the internet free from your boorish, smug tales of how you rang Oi Polloi/End/AN Other and left some poor lad on minimum wage wishing he was dead because you demanded your £2.80 postage back, because IT’S THE LAW!

Social media fakes.
Yes I use it, but it creases me up sometimes, all the fakes out there with their perfect online lives featuring cups of coffee, photos of their feet and “look at the fantastic destination where I am today” bollocks. You know for sure that they live a beans on toast reality and shop in Tesco, so yeah, lose the fakes .
John Poland, @good__measure

Oompa Loompas
Not really but a reference the way a lot of girls are looking over the last few years, horrible fake tans and those painted on slugs for eyebrows, where did that come from? Hate it, even more so since my thirteen year old keeps trying to join the Scouse Brow club .
John Poland, @good__measure



Massive brands pretending to be on the side of football fans.
Banks and that. We’re seeing through it. YOU ARE FOOTBALL, they say. Yeah, we know. We’ve been to Hartlepool away. And that Head and Shoulders advert with Joe Hart looking like an ageing drag artist can do one as well. It’s the most Soccer AM thing that isn’t actually Soccer AM, ever. The gorps in the crowd flicking their shoulders and unveiling tattoos are all top of my list when I finally go full Michael Douglas/Falling Down.


Instagram casuals. Hashtag offenders.
The type of people who get 60-odd likes for a picture of them taken in a public toilet mirror whilst wearing an easy to get hold of Stone Island jacket. ‘A thing of beauty’, they say in the comments.

Scroll down.

A photograph of an adidas trainer, on top of its box, never in it. Terrible interior design in the background. The signs of somebody who happily queues up all night in a failing town centre to buy the latest ‘trabs’, and then boasts about it on the internet. The signs of somebody who thinks nothing of spending £465 on eBay to buy a pair of green suede shoes, yet lives at home with his mum. An adidas trainer in the fridge. An adidas trainer perched on top of an opened crate of supermarket lager. 132 likes.
@animoetfide does not like this


The Wests
She may be attractive in a purely ornamental sense, and he might be great value in his self-appointed role of King of the Humourless Gobshites. And the trainers are kind of interesting, in a way. But what do they do? What do they actually do? Fred and Rose had more depth. And I don’t mean in their garden.


#thisgirl #thisguy #datenight
Instagram again. You know the type. It’s the logistics of this that baffles. You are hungry, and you have the company of a semi-attractive girl. You’re probably punching above your weight. So you go to a city centre eaterie, definitely not a cafe, somewhere with brick walls, mismatched lampshades. Oversized jars. You order food. The ingredients list is reasonable enough; eggs, ham, slightly expensive bread. Avocado will be there. Coffee. A waitress who looks like she is not yet dressed for work brings your food over.

Now is your time. You pick your phone up. You prod it into action. You enter your passcode. You select the camera app. You wait a second or two for it to open. ‘Everything ok?’ #thisgirl is asking. It is. You stand directly over your food, careful not to cast a shadow over your latte. Your 5ft 9″ frame too puny to get to the required height for you to take a photo worth sharing. You must curate some more. You stand on a chair. #thisgirls bag is caught under one of the legs of the chair. ‘Can I, can you just…’ you are saying. She has to move her chair back slightly, bumping the diner sat behind her. He looks round. You’re still stood there, your phone in horizontal aspect, held in two hands. Pointing downwards, camera app open. #thisgirl frees her bag. You pull your chair out. Your coffee is now cold. You stand proudly on the chair, careful not to clip your head on exposed timber. You stand over your food, like a giant 70s floor lamp. You take the picture. You take another picture. You stand on the chair, above the rest of the diners, admiring your work.

You climb down, still selecting a filter. You select inkwell. You offer a look of the photo to #thisgirl, half showing her your phone before pulling it back before she has the opportunity to comment. You post. 59 likes. You feel validated a stranger you have never met comments with that red underlined 100 emoji.

Big beards!

Over the last few years big beards came about from a few, granted it was the odd person or two who decided to let rip and grow a beard to rival a hobo/Father Christmas. Like a lot of things though it wasn’t long before it hit the mainstream and lots of divs started sporting them. Nowt wrong with facial topiary of a normal to mid length but for me in 2016 it would be nice to see the demise of the extended, overgrown 70s biff on a man’s face.


They are the encapsulation of everything that is wrong with human beings as a species.
I’m sure lots of kids got them for Christmas this year and instead of the traditional ways kids move about – bikes and scooters and the like – these useless pieces of shit just transport an already lazy generation along at less than walking pace but without expending any of the energy. They require the earth’s valuable natural resources to build and power them and for what? Can you do rad tricks on them? Can you jump over ramps on them? Can you impress the opposite sex with your mad skillz? Can you fuck. I’m sure kids will mainly use them to transport themselves from sitting on their arses in their own house to going round a mates house to sit on their arses. And don’t get me started on ‘adults’ going round on them.

In the film Wall-E the human race had regressed to fat, immobile lard arses who spend all their time being ferried around on floating sedan chairs.

Hoverboards are the first step towards this and the fact that they have a tendency to catch fire is just the baby Jesus trying to tell us that we are all fucked if we carry on this way. Don’t say we weren’t warned.


OTT ‘socks out’ pics on social media.
Now I’m partial to a lairy sock, be it one based on a film carpet, an overly expensive one or even one of the happy variety with a nice shoe. But these pics of blokes with the jeans pulled up and their salfords pulled up in full hardcore glory colour-matched to a pair of deadstock trainers is a bit meh! Less is more. A little flash of sock as you sit down or stroll is the key. Less is always more.

Ped Zeppelin
I want Shaun Keaveny to stop going on about Jimmy Page as if he was the second coming of Christ. I quite like your breakfast show on six music but does the fact that good old Jimmy used to indulge 14 year olds not turn your stomach a bit mate? All those adult women he could have had. Led Zeppelin? Ped Zeppelin more like.

Contrarians/Clarinet kids
If people could just stop being so contrary on twitter, that would be nice; I don’t get why it is not allowed to like The Stone Roses but it is okay to like Justin Bieber. It’s stupid. Just like whatever, it’s cool.

I also hope that my next door neighbour snaps their clarinet in half and never tries to learn to play it again. I don’t care if she’s a little kid. She’s a cunt, and she can’t play clarinet.

Cynical articles about #menswear by embittered Northerners who can’t count
This is the last one we’ll write, promise.

Mark Smith

I had pizza for tea.


  1. Overpriced acrylic hat makers deliberately limiting supply to 50 per run, pretending they are still a cottage industry when they are mainstream as fuck. That can do one In 2016.

  2. The Right Reverand Marcousious McDonutious

    Those Golden shower, poor mans Red Wings, I’m sure if you walked fast enough the friction would melt them..I’m no saying I’m a fireman/safety officer but I’m fucking sure you would combust.

  3. Mark Smith

    Fair one, even if slightly exaggerated.

    19. People off the internet commenting on things without using their real name. What on earth is stopping you?

  4. Kuff Dam Buster

    cheeky. But worth saying. Name names though, you soft northern ponces.

    18. Northern menswear fashion mafia interviewing each other in every other every article.

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