I’m a very self-aware person. I know what I am good at (eating cheese, relacing shoes) and what skills I am lacking (most things). I’ve analyzed and reanalyzed myself, knowing each and every thing about me. I am definitely the foremost expert on the subject of “I.”
Every so often, though, something about myself is brought up that I had never really noticed before. Sometimes it’s something very good, such as my ability to read upside down. Other times it is something that I hate about myself, something so loathsome that even the most detestable people would give me a nauseated look if they knew. Recently, one of these facts has come to light.
I might be a hipster.
Hipsters are a modern-day scourge on our society. You can see them anywhere, wearing their skinny jeans and an ironic t-shirt that is meant to make some sort of statement, usually along the lines of “I don’t like this eighties band, so I’m wearing their shirt to show just how ridiculous it is to like this particular band. HA!” They are usually speaking about their new favorite band that is usually named something along the lines of Somnambulant Tantra or Reigning Catastrophe. They usually have some sort of “revolutionary” sound that has never been heard by anyone ever before, but somehow can be traced back to Frank Zappa or Television anyway.
The thought that I might be one of these people never would have even crossed my mind if it had not been for a couple my wife and I have hung out with. During a girls’ night out, my wife was told by her friend that she “wished she could be as hipster as you.” This launched them into a conversation about what hipsters we are.
On hearing of this conversation, though, I became concerned. I wouldn’t put myself into the hipster camp. I don’t even like hipsters. I find the fact that they “ironically” like things to be one of the most annoying things ever. I have wanted to trip a person more than once just because he was wearing jeans that looked like they came out of his 12-year-old sister’s closet. I would much rather watch “Tommy Boy” for the 214th time than to spend my evening trying to understand an Avant-Garde Foreign Art house film that runs roughly 4 ½ hours yet only has 36 lines.
What first triggered the fear was my record collection. Hipsters are known for preferring music on vinyl. I also am known for preferring music on vinyl. In my living room sits a stack of records ranging from the Beach Boys to Johnny Cash to Bob Dylan and back again. I was able to alleviate my worries by glancing through them, though. Despite the presence of a couple records that hipsters would own, my record collection was mostly made up of classic rock and country. Hipsters would not own a Van Halen record, so I felt pretty safe there.
I wasn’t a hipster, I was just an audiophile.
Then, I thought about my glasses. Many hipsters love thick rimmed glasses. I also love thick rimmed glasses. I had worn them since my early high school years. This was more of a necessity thing, though, as I have a giant melon shaped head. Thin wire frames only accentuate the size and melon-like quality of my noggin.
Since it was necessary to avoid being confused with a giant human bobblehead, I was once again free from the hipster label.
More and more things popped up everywhere I looked. I attempted to explain away my liking of Zooey Deschanel (she is extremely delightful), my closet of cardigans (I like looking like Ward Cleaver), my strong favoritism towards classic novels (I’m not going to read Twilight, am I?) and buying clothing at thrift stores (I’m an incredibly cheap person). The more I explained away, the more I found that pointed towards hipsterdom.
That’s when a thought clicked in my head. (Picture me with a cartoon lightbulb hanging over that giant dome of mine.)
Maybe I am a hipster. Maybe I’m not. Quite frankly, I just don’t care anymore. The only thing that seems lamer than people trying as hard as they can to be in a certain group is people trying as hard as they can to NOT be that group.
Do I want to be a hipster? No. Clearly if you’ve made it this far in my post, you have found that. I, however, don’t care enough about it to ditch my vinyl, burn my cardigans, and start shopping at Abercrombie. I will continue to do exactly what I want all the time solely because I enjoy it. If I want to start listening to obscure indie music all day, that’s my business. If I want to start doing things because they are “ironic,” I will and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.
If you ever see me wearing skinny jeans, though, just shoot me. Those things look like they would chafe.
- Hipster Cycle!?! (terripham.wordpress.com)
- hipsters (throughhermind.wordpress.com)
- Hipsters: Hot Or Not? (ypulse.com)
- What to do when confronted with a hipster (hermitmessiah.wordpress.com)
- Come to my 90s horse party (makeadaringdaylightescape.wordpress.com)