Ahead of the publication of his new book, cultural omnivore and master of the witty Instagram post, Raven Smith lets us in on his favourite places around London and that time he nearly became a stripper...
17 December, 2019
London-based writer Raven Smith is a cultural omnivore - a comment on David Hockney's ouvre is likely to be followed by a proclamation of his undying admiration for the Olsens. No two sentences (or Instagram posts) are likely to skim along the same cultural stratum. Poirot is his icon. Oh and after years of pretending to be allergic, he's started eating tomatoes again. Seeing the world from his point of view, his timely Instagram posts highlight the banality and hilarity of daily life, while his irreverent essays cause you to question your own position on the subject Raven is currently examining.
Formerly commissioning director at Nowness and a contributor for British Vogue- his Friday-night column for the publication was a celebration of whatever has caught his attention that week - he's now working on his first book, Raven Smith's Trivial Pursuits, which is set to be published in 2020.
"I've always been opinionated and vocal, but I slept on being a writer for some unknown reason. I love that there's nowhere to hide when you're writing, it's both extrovert and intimate."
I love telling people I was born at St Thomas on the Thames, opposite Big Ben, but I mainly grew up in Brighton with the other liberal gays.
It's everywhereness. Popular culture is the froth on the top of the cappuccino of society, but you don't order them separately at Starbucks. Pop culture is that aspirational lofty culture too. It's frivolous, but can be iconic. Is Monica Lewinsky pop culture? Or political? Does it matter?
We're cognitive beings so we need to see the connection between things. I always say I hate writing about clothes, because describing garments is dry, but everything has a story, an emotion, a place in culture-at-large.
If you peek behind the curtain it's just me in my pyjamas Googling ruby slippers. I want to root my posts in the now, but they should still resonate in the future too.
Witty. A pun is just a softening of your Instagram brag.
I nearly auditioned to be a stripper but my Jiminy Cricket kicked in.
I'm at home in France, naturally. Gotta love a secluded Grecian beach as well. Anywhere on the planet with outdoor swimming, especially a 30s lido.
In the same way I get my news, I always consult various sources. Everyone reads 36 hours [by the New York Times], don't they? I'll ask any mates who've been but finding a destination they haven't been to is kind of the goal.
Siwa in Egypt in a heartbeat.
The risotto on the Orient Express was *chef's kiss*.
I'm suppressing waves of panic as I wait for the copy edit of my book to ruin my life.
It's all me. It's my voice without me pretending to listen to your point of view between monologues. It's a chunk of me. It's a horcrux. Life is the pursuit of big and small stuff so I'm chewing it all over without gagging.
Phallic food is its own reward.
Myself, sorry. Personal anecdotes always reveal something bigger about culture and people. My idiosyncrasies are weirdly relatable.
No real preference. Love a magazine on a plane.
I love Googling pictures of people from school whose looks have faded. Writing offline is necessary.
The ones with free and plentiful WiFi. So, not Havana…
The Palm House at Kew Gardens is a fave, as is the omelette at Quo Vadis. I will often Boris bike to Ottolenghi for slabs of his apricot cake that surely has crack mixed in with the fruit.
Cough, a spa in Switzerland, cough.
Never having to call the front desk for anything. I don't think good service is make or break to be honest. I have a thing for faded glamour and history rather than pristine newness.
(Wow I sound fancy).
I just re-read The Remains of the Day [by Kazuo Ishiguro] and cried my eyes out. I have the new Glenn O'Brien essay collection [Intelligence for Dummies] arriving soon.
The one with the missing cryptocurrency woman [on BBC Sounds].
I talk about it but never do.
Find a local.
Fuck tourist tat that ends up in landfill. Ashtrays are surprisingly multi-use.
Free Sancerre? My husband gets me into the BA lounge for the troughs of continental breakfast which help.
Face wipes and not enough pants.
Raven Smith's Pocket Guide to London
STAY: Hazlitt's Hotel.
EAT: Too many favourites.
DRINK: Bar Termini in Soho.
SHOP: Alex Eagle Studio after a facial downstairs.
DO: I've still never been on the London Eye.
