Opinion | Last Orders, London?

One afternoon some weeks ago, a little after 1 p.m., groups of office workers — a mass of navy quarter-zips and smart-casual suits — huddled together in the dim mahogany-paneled main room of the Devonshire, a pub tucked behind the Piccadilly Circus tube station in central London.

Almost all of them had backpacks at their feet and pints of Guinness in their hands. From my spot near the bar, I could see a food influencer filming outside, and hear a tourist couple in the corner marveling at the sheer Britishness of the interior: the ornate ceilings and carpet; the etched mirrors; the rich leather banquettes.

As far as I could find out, there’s been a pub on this spot for most of the last 200 years — one opened in 1793, the same year Louis XVI faced the guillotine in France — but this latest iteration opened only at the end of 2023. It quickly became a success story: a public house not just back from the dead but thriving, thanks to its reincarnation as a quintessential British pub, with traditional interiors; elevated versions of the usual pub menu classics like Scotch eggs and sausage rolls; and good low- and no-alcohol drink options. A place where those who can afford to can have a few drinks and a relaxed dinner.

But the Devonshire and pubs like it are also symptoms of how London’s drinking culture, and the city itself, is changing. For one thing, it’s become irrationally expensive to go for a drink in London. Ten years ago, the average price of a pint of beer in the city was a little under 4 pounds, about $5. Today it’s more like $8, and for that price you could easily buy four cans in the supermarket.

For another thing, we’re all much more aware that knocking back pints every other night might not be the best thing for our health, and many of us, particularly Gen Z-ers, are drinking less. For these and other reasons (the pandemic didn’t help) a lot of pubs have closed, and many, many others have changed, often considerably. Some definitely for the better.

But as someone who has long been exploring and documenting the capital’s diverse pubs, from the upmarket to the occasionally threatening, I’ve noticed a pattern: a shift toward a sort of monoculture. I worry that we’re losing the variety that’s fundamental to the fabric of the city.

Head in any direction out of London’s center and there are ghosts of the city’s old pubs all around. Roughly a fifth of the capital’s pubs have closed in the last 20 years, according to the Office of National Statistics. Many of those have been so-called wet-led pubs, which serve no food other than the occasional bag of nuts or potato chips, and are clustered in less affluent neighborhoods — often colloquially known as “old-man pubs.”

It’s a tale of two cities, told through its public houses. On one side, the foodie establishments offer the quintessential pub experience to a consumer-class clientele. They are the kind of places that regularly make the capital’s “best of” lists, and often thrive. On the other are the community drinking dens that are less of a destination and more of a space for neighbors to commune and let off steam. Many of those pubs are struggling.

London’s love affair with the public house goes way back — Romans introduced “tabernae” (sort of wine bars/liquor stores) when they arrived in 43 A.D. And the concept of the “public house,” later “pub,” as we know it today, emerged out of legislation passed in the 16th century by Edward VI, which formalized the licensing laws that allowed inns and taverns to sell to the public.

The British boozer has always been about more than just getting drunk — though that has, admittedly, often been a large part of it. Inns were places for weary travelers to eat, drink and rest. Ale was a drink for everyone when tea and coffee were still the preserve of the rich. Even now London’s pubs are places to meet friends and colleagues. They’re the site of first dates (even if most people are finding those dates on apps), and they’re still places to watch rugby and soccer, or play pool and board games — I’ve even spotted the occasional board meeting. They are places, above all, to gather.

Maybe, unexpectedly, young people can save them. The young are still boozing, just in a completely different way. Research showed that the proportion of legal-age Gen-Z drinkers who claimed to have consumed alcohol in the past six months actually rose slightly, from 66 percent in March 2023 to 76 percent this past March. But they’re often drinking low-alcohol beer and alternating each round (or “zebra striping”) with a nonalcoholic drink.

And, perhaps also unexpectedly, Gen Z has developed a taste for the old-man pub. Gen Z values authenticity, and there’s nothing more authentic than a pub that’s remained unchanged and unpretentious for the best part of 50 years. Maybe part of it is a reaction to the minimalist millennial interiors that plagued bars and pubs of the 2010s, all exposed brick, strip lighting and uncomfortable wooden seating — about as homey as a bank branch.

Maybe it’s related to the fact that these pubs are often less expensive, too. It’s virtually impossible for young people to manage rent in London’s center. And as they’re priced out to the edges of the city, they often turn to the community pubs in those areas. The King’s Head in North London is one such pub. Its banquettes may be fading, its carpet well worn, but there’s an easy warmth, karaoke and cheap pints. It is in many ways the archetype of what a London pub should be: multigenerational, bacchanalian and — and this is key — affordable.

Pubs have always been the boozy stage upon which Londoners’ lives play out. As people drink less for their health and the cost of living rises, they’ll have to change. But if we’re not careful we’ll end up with a city dotted with identikit representations of the Traditional British Boozer all selling the same thing to whoever can still pay for it, and we’ll lose something important: That pubs are supposed to be for everyone (of legal drinking age).

So what’s the answer? Maybe just recognition that even if people aren’t drinking like they used to, we all still need places to gather. That inclusive, affordable places with low- and no-alcohol drink options, nuts, weeknight quizzes, pool tables and a convivial, welcoming atmosphere are something worth preserving.

We don’t need every pub in London to be a sea of quarter-zips.

Jimmy McIntosh runs the Instagram account @londondeadpubs and is the editor of Sir! Magazine.

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