Once a forgotten corner of Hackney, with its rows of tired terraces and no-frills pubs, the area around Dalston and London Fields has undergone a transformation so radical it’s now being dubbed “Primrose Hill East” — not by estate agents, but by the very celebrities who’ve colonised its streets. But while the influx of money, manicures and media darlings has turned this once-downmarket area into a hotbed of curated cool, longtime residents say the vibe — and values — that once defined it have been lost in the glitter.
In recent months, the neighbourhood has seen a sharp uptick in high-profile sightings. The likes of Dua Lipa, Charli XCX and even Hollywood offspring have been seen swanning between the chicly faded pubs and artisanal bakeries that now dot the high street. The Spurstowe Arms, once a humble boozer, is now a hotbed for TikTok it-girls and paparazzi stakeouts. Meanwhile, nearby Wilton Way is starting to rival Notting Hill’s Portobello Road in Instagrammability — with its vintage boutiques, plant-forward cafés, and painfully hip clientele in wraparound shades and mesh tops.
“There’s an arrogance to it,” says Julie M., 54, a local who’s lived in the area for over three decades. “They walk around like they discovered East London. As if we weren’t here through the riots, the squatters, the years of neglect. Now they’re drinking £17 cocktails on the same streets where we used to queue for housing benefits.”
The cultural shift is stark. What used to be a melting pot of artists, immigrants, and punks has rapidly gentrified into a celebrity petting zoo. With it has come a spike in property values, the closure of old local shops, and a very visible divide between the new and old guard. Longtime locals complain they can no longer afford their own postcodes — their children forced to move further east while yoga studios and oat milk-only coffee bars spring up in their place.
One viral moment, caught outside a bar on Richmond Road, showed a young socialite demanding security “move the peasants” from the outdoor tables so she could take a photo. That same week, a tabloid spotted a music producer’s 4x4 double parked outside a vegan butchery.
And it’s not just the visuals. The new elite have brought with them a curated kind of chaos — exclusive after-hours parties in once-sleepy streets, midnight drone deliveries for influencer product drops, and film crews blocking off access for Netflix-backed docuseries about “youth in London.” For many, it’s all becoming too much.
“It's not that we don’t want change,” says Ahmed, 60, who owns a corner shop near Mare Street. “But this? This isn’t change. This is invasion with a ring light and a £5,000 outfit.”
Ironically, it’s that same “authenticity” that drew the celebrities in — the gritty edge, the underground feel. But now, as wealth and fame polish the corners of every graffiti-tagged wall, locals wonder how much longer the soul of the area can survive.
As one online comment bitterly put it: “They took our postcode. Now they’re taking the piss.”
