From Lauren's Data substack, March 16:
London's Divide Was Called Character. It Was Actually Policy.
I built a machine learning model to find London's divide and you can enter your postcode to see which side you're on. We've been blaming the wrong people for it.
I have a bit of a weird habit. I cycle to a random café in a random London borough, sit down, and listen. I’ve done it for long enough to notice an invisible line: while cycling, at some point the shopfronts change, the language changes, the streets narrow, then widen. The café itself tells you almost nothing. Good coffee is everywhere now. What changes is everything around it: who’s in it, and what they’re talking about. (I now also know far too much about Terry, Steve, Brenda, and Olivia - their lives, their grievances, their strong opinions about the council and the weather.)
I’ve written about London’s pub closures, its restaurant algorithm, its segregation patterns. The whole time I’ve been circling the same question from different angles: is London’s divide just a feeling everyone recognises, or is it stable and structural enough, that you can actually draw it?
So I tried. I built a model using neighbourhood-level data across London: education, occupation, ethnicity, house prices, cafés, pubs, restaurants, ratings, etc. and asked a simple question: if there really is a boundary in this city, can a machine find it?
It could (and you can check where your favourite neighbourhood sits at the end). And once it did, the more interesting question became who put it there. The answer is less about the market than we've been told, and more about three policy decisions that are still sitting on the tab.
London has the same divide. Charles Booth, a Victorian social cartographer who walked every street in London and drew what he found mapped it in 1889. Wealth clustering in the west, deprivation running east along the Thames. The gradient he found is still visible in today’s data and has barely shifted in 130 years.
But London never named it. Instead, London called it character. Called it up and coming. Called it regeneration. A vocabulary carefully chosen to describe a structural inequality as if it were an aesthetic phase, something a neighbourhood passes through on its way to becoming somewhere worth living. We have been looking at this line for longer than Australia has existed as a federation.
So I wanted to do the impolite thing and draw it.
The obvious way is to stare at a deprivation map until a story presents itself. I did something only slightly more dignified.
I assembled a neighbourhood-level dataset from all data in my previous Substack posts (google map’s algorithm, pub closures, segregation and inequality measurement) at Lower Super Output Area level of roughly 1,500 residents each, combining measures such as education, occupation, ethnic composition, house prices, café density, pub density, restaurant density, reviews and ratings. In other words, both the deep structure of the city, and the softer cultural signals people usually use to talk about class without saying class.
With thirty-odd correlated variables, the first task was compression....
....MUCH MORE
We have a couple posts referencing Charles Booth's maps of London poverty including, coincidentally one that was re-referenced just a couple days ago.
From January 2022's "Selling Luxury Apartments Where Oliver Twist Once Asked for Gruel":
....Speaking of the BMJ, they published their take on the health and well-being of the urchins in 2008 and not to be outdone the Royal Society of Chemistry put together the historic gruel recipe and served the slop to the public the following year.
And if wary yet curious reader wants to know why these factoids come readily to mind, it was something about shorting Oatly.
*Although the workhouse is on the north side of the river in Fitzrovia, a look at Charles Booth's maps of London poverty, 1889 - 1899 show that the same potential in Southwark and environs:

The re-reference wasn't so much about Victorian-era poverty—to get into that you really want to go to the north side of the river, hang a right and enter Whitechapel—rather the re-ref was about dropping molten gruel on the miscreants besieging your tower. Not to be confused with Tower Hamlets, same 'hood.