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11th April 2025
10:42am BST
A survival guide for the tragically trendy now being bullied by signage.
So. It’s sunny. You’ve got your tiny sunglasses on, your €17 graphic tee is cropped just enough to show the tattoo you got in a moment of heartbreak, and your Sambas have barely touched grass. You’ve done your civic duty and supported a local wine bar by ordering one (1) glass of pét-nat to split with a friend. Now you’d like to sit outside and romanticise your life.
But lo! What’s this? A sign… “Please don’t sit on the curb <3 Thank you!”
What in the passive-aggressive HR energy is this? Dublin’s most effervescent street, Drury Street, a place forged in fire by the girlies, soft bois, and people who moved home from Berlin “just for a while” has declared war on public loitering. What next? “Please don’t vibe”? “No gathering unless you’re holding a tote bag of purchasable goods”? “Move along unless you're beige”?
Never fear. If Drury won’t have you, there are many parts of Dublin that still will. Here’s where to take your business, your blanket, and your hard earned euros.
For: the girlies who know what time the light hits the antique shop just right.
Once the haunt of dusty dealers and brooding priests, Francis Street is now crawling with galleries, bookish gays, and people who read Monocle unironically. It’s moody but now that Two Pups is slining natty, it's the mood. You’re allowed to wear linen here in all seasons. Sit on a doorstep. Pretend you’re in a Paul Mescal short film. There’s no signage. Just big Dublin aura, thrift shops, pubs, and the occasional smoked trout tartine.
For: people who pretend they’re in Amsterdam, even though they live in Clonsilla.
Massive concrete slabs? Check. Infinite sun exposure? Absolutely. The low hum of tech bros trying not to look hungover at 4pm on a Friday? Essential. Still artsy enough because of its proximity to The Lír drama school. This is where you go when you want to feel urban but still have room to dramatically unroll your picnic blanket like you’re in a St Brigids day inspired ad. Bring a speaker. Or don’t. It doesn’t matter. Nobody here has authority over your joy. Plus you're near Allta if you wanna nab a cocktail. Fresh if you're looking for craft beer. Charlotte Quay if you want a coupla buidéal fíona.
For: hot messes with emotional depth and a strong bladder.
It’s a lawless zone. Always has been. Always will be. I'm sure they miss us all since we made Drury Street our home post panny d. Yes, it’s technically haunted by the ghost of Owen Keegan’s clipboard. Yes, there’s a non-zero chance you’ll get side-eyed by a mum with a Bugaboo, but the atmosphere? Immaculate. The bridge selfies? Timeless. The social contract? Clean up after yourself. Remember though can's are literally worth 15c a piece.
For: art school dropouts and people who wear sunglasses in the rain.
Royal Canal is the hidden gem/best kept secret rave. Come here when you want to read Audre Lorde next to someone making DIY jewellery out of safety pins. It’s got room to breathe and zero chance of running into your ex. Unless they're also an art school dropout. Also: the dogs are cuter, the snacks are better, and the sense of municipal abandonment gives it real charm.
For: every type of person you’ve ever matched with on Hinge.
Okay the sun is not as lasting in the evenings here. But Capel Street is the cities biggest pedestrianised street. You’ll see drag queens, old men with opinions, and burger bros absolutely off it after one Guinness. It’s pedestrianised. It’s democratic. It's got everything except a decent wine bar.
Dublin has approximately three weeks of actual weather a year. If your first response to sunshine is to water the footpath so nobody can sit on it, you may be entitled to compensation but not community. We’re not asking for much. Just somewhere to sit that isn’t monetised, surveilled, or soaking wet from a passive-aggressive power hose. Until then, we’ll keep sitting. And laughing. And blocking your premium sock display.
