Food & Drink

Millennials have officially ruined brunch

Remember when brunch was a simple meal? You waited 10 minutes at the hostess stand, ordered pancakes and hash browns, maybe sipped on a spicy bloody mary and left.

As the years rolled on, it took on a ceremonial role in city life, as brunchers convened to discuss who was the Carrie, Samantha or Charlotte in the group. (The Miranda was so lame, she only rarely landed a pity invite.)

But lately, brunch has morphed into something more horrific: a millennial lifestyle. They squat at tables for hours to eat, drink, drink, drink and show their 250 Instagram followers what #BrunchGoals look like. Spoiler: They look like drunk chicks dressed for the club they couldn’t get into the night before.

There’s no better evidence of this cultural affront than BrunchCon, which kicks off Sunday morning at the Grand Prospect Hall in Brooklyn.

The building that used to “make your dreams come true” is now nourishing nightmares with the biggest brunch offensive since Lord Lunch and Lady Breakfast’s first ill-fated roll in the hay.

This massive brunch-pocalypse features ​more than​ 60 vendors​ ​— such as the House of Mac and the Awkward Scone​ ​— offering sad food samples for the bargain price of $60.

It sold out right away.

This, despite the fact that ​an online​ trailer​ for the event​ looks like ​the latest reality show to be rejected by Bravo. Highlights include balloons that say “Let’s Get Drunk” and “Cheers bitches,” photo booths and Champagne. Lots of Champagne.

But the brunch orgy isn’t merely a place to eat, booze or fill up your Instagram feed. You can heal from brunch burnout in the Hangover Lounge, or score a “You had me at brunch” T-shirt at the BrunchCon market. Hardcore brunchheads can seek their soulmates at the #NoLongerAlone corner, where matchmakers unite like-minded B-word enthusiasts.

If you weren’t lucky enough to get a ticket, there’s a wait list​ ​— otherwise known as a directory of the saddest people in New York.

But there’s a silver lining for the rest of us. This Sunday, we might actually get a table and a peaceful meal at one of our neighborhood haunts.