Beginning of each day for some people resembles the arguable 'pleasure' of jumping into the pool. 'Once you're in, it's great' - kind advisors are telling you, rolling in the water with contempt smiles.

But when you stand there, with your toes wet, a primal instinct of some kind parseltongues inside your head: 'if you do that, you will most certainly die'.

Millennials experienced that on a generational scale. Economical crisis of the late 00s hit when they were standing on the edge of adulthood, terrified as one's supposed to be ahead of the very first head dive.

Many of them had loving parents, who saved their children from the storm - and from becoming properly adult at the same time - by letting them back home (and despite parents' claims, it wasn't 'against their will' at all, because it has largely eased their own fear of the emptying nest).

Ashanti Wheeler-Artwell's 'British Vogue' perfectly encapsulates on stage the inside of one of those 'I'm-noone-I-still-live-with-my-parents' bedrooms, in which Millennials generation squat, dreaming about becoming adult, comparing themselves with those who somehow did something with their lives, avoiding trashy jobs, blaming their parents with responsibility, watching a lot of Netflix and suffering from anxiety.

Genius of Ms Wheeler-Artwell's bittersweet show is that she's doubled this already well-explored subject with a layer of a very personal issue - that of Ashanti being of mixed racial heritage. "Where are you really from?" - she's being asked, and as her British identity is being challenged because of the colour of her skin, she has to answer question after question, until her admittance of having a Jamaican grandfather satisfies the purpose of this racially motivated interrogation.

Distanced, yet not detached from her life experiences, the author and performer of "British Vogue" has effectively created two, interconnected portraits: this of the Millennials' generation and that of the machinery inside contemporary racism.