For this is a place where punks, Cure-heads, new romantics, metalheads and sullen looking Smiths fans used to shuffle about on cobblestone outside Freebird record shop, bringing a dash to often gloomy times. Now it's a homogenous, colourless place.

Topman I fear will expedite the trend towards uniforming those who believe that just because their girlfriend doesn't dress them they are actually quite fashion conscious.

This kind of shop obviates the need for thought while offering great value for money for entire ranges of clothes that you normally wouldn't be seen dead in. Just observe those awfully scruffy printed T-shirts that look washed out before they've been washed once, the three-quarter length combat pants with ridiculous sandals that highlight the white-as-a-ham calf muscles and bruised blue hairy ankles of the Irish male. Look at the skinny jeans and skinny ties for the indie children among us. And what about hats . . . the singularly most confusing high-street accessory? Note to self: never wear a hat unless you have had the opinion of at least three people who you can trust to be honest with you. And even then. . .

Yes, the Youth of Ireland have begun to collectively resemble the inhabitants of a Big Brother house.

Even the name of the store evokes the worst aspects of British youth culture in the 1990s.

Remember when people began to describe their mood as 'top', 'topper' or 'tops'. You're a top man, they would say, and you would feel glad.

In those days Blair was entertaining the Gallaghers in No 10 and Brittania was cool and everyone in Britain was wearing those stupid bloody clothes. And we had River Island.

Damon Albarn's Blur even wrote a song about it, and called it 'Top Man'.

"In a crowd it's hard to spot him But anonymity can cost He's never cheap or cheerful He's hugo and he's boss" Then, we kind of knew what he meant but now we really know: it's one thing buying a jumper you hate as soon as you've worn it, but 10-year-old hand-me-downs are simply inexcusable.