Read Stuff Hipsters Hate Online
Authors: Brenna Ehrlich,Andrea Bartz
Stuff Hipsters Hate (23 page)
Every once in a while, a brand will attempt to shill its wares to the hipster set, employing pictures of frolicking actors in bohemian clothing, indie background music and/or bold messages about “being yourself” and “wandering off the beaten path.” Such advertising campaigns inevitably crash and burn—much like Jonas’s old Mustang did when he tried to drive across the desert last summer on a gas tank full of vodka. Why?
1. Hipsters don’t have functioning TVs, so it’s highly likely that no one in the target demographic will ever see the new alt-music-soaked commercials.2. Hipsters don’t purchase mainstream brands, which are often the culprits in these situations. The bodeg a down the street doesn’t carry Charmin or Miracle Whip; it’s all about Panda Soft and Nayonaise, brother.3. Hipsters refuse to accept that they fit the demographic to which the company is pandering. No, the average hipster often gravitates toward goods and services better suited to other cultures and countercultures. Take, for example, the seemingly endless varieties of caffeinated malt liquors that hipsters often embrace, mostly because of their ability to get you seriously fucked up for very little capital. Though these beverages were clearly created for hip-hop fanboys or something of the like, hipsters chug ’em like nectar from the Gods. Why? Did I mention that they get you seriously fucked up?
In short, if the folks over at, say, Miracle Whip really want to draw the younger crowd into their world of mayo-y goodness, they should hawk their merch at ghetto-ass bodegas slathered on premade sandwiches that are soaked in booze and marketed toward rappers. Mmm, an excellent source of irony.
While hipsters are usually
huge
sticklers for grammar (never mind their love of ludicrous abbreviations and neologisms), when it comes to using the shift key, it’s laissez faire all the way, baby. Ever get an e-mail from a hipster? For those who have not had the pleasure, here is a typical excerpt:
huge
sticklers for grammar (never mind their love of ludicrous abbreviations and neologisms), when it comes to using the shift key, it’s laissez faire all the way, baby. Ever get an e-mail from a hipster? For those who have not had the pleasure, here is a typical excerpt:
hey dude, not much is going on here. i’ve been taking the b62 a lot, just for kicks. i like looking out the window and watching the world spin ’round the sidewalks—all the ghost signs on the facades o’ the buildings and the halfway people trippin’ down the sides of the highways. you just don’t get that on the subway, man. everyone’s listening to their music and traveling ’round in their own little orbs—like gerbils in those plastic balls. i’d rather be a rat in the race than a gerbil in a ball. no lie.
Although the epistle may be lengthy with text and full of clever turns of phrase and well-wrought imagery, chances are, not one letter is standing tall. Why? First of all, it takes a lot of effort to hold down two keys at once, and secondly, a string of lowercase text is just, well, much more visually pleasing than the jagged peaks and valleys that constitute a conventional sentence. Also, the caps lock key popped off about two months ago, and the hipster in question has been way too fucking lazy to fix it.
One of the main tenets of hipsterdom is, intrinsically, youth. Hipsters are colorful new blossoms careening merrily toward a glorious end. In short:
Hipsters are not supposed to grow up
. Which is why aging members of the counterculture are so reviled: They are grim markers of what looms over the horizon, cautionary tales in the flesh. In general, there are two kinds of oldster:
Hipsters are not supposed to grow up
. Which is why aging members of the counterculture are so reviled: They are grim markers of what looms over the horizon, cautionary tales in the flesh. In general, there are two kinds of oldster:
1. The Old Dude at the Bar:
A horn-rimmed-glasses-wearing, fedoraspor tin’, Smashing Pumpkins-adoring loser whose burgeoning gut spills over the top of his skinny jeans like froth over the lip of an overfilled Yuengling. This specimen is most likely an “artist,” but, in reality, spends more time drinking whiskey on the sidewalk outside his studio than actually painting. He whiles away his days playing a giant game of musical chairs, moving from neighborhood bench to neighborhood bench, until he takes his rightful place on his favorite bar stool, where he officially kills everyone’s buzz.
A horn-rimmed-glasses-wearing, fedoraspor tin’, Smashing Pumpkins-adoring loser whose burgeoning gut spills over the top of his skinny jeans like froth over the lip of an overfilled Yuengling. This specimen is most likely an “artist,” but, in reality, spends more time drinking whiskey on the sidewalk outside his studio than actually painting. He whiles away his days playing a giant game of musical chairs, moving from neighborhood bench to neighborhood bench, until he takes his rightful place on his favorite bar stool, where he officially kills everyone’s buzz.
2. The Hipster with a Baby on His/Her Hip:
A wide-eyed host with a tiny person permanently welded, parasite-like, to their body. The hipster parent persists in frequenting the same brunch spots, stores and (rather disturbingly) dives that he or she did before becoming afflicted with infantitis. I’m sorry, Mommy and Daddy, artful stains are cool, but whatever is spewing out of that small keening beast has no place splattered across your totally played-out cowboy boots.
A wide-eyed host with a tiny person permanently welded, parasite-like, to their body. The hipster parent persists in frequenting the same brunch spots, stores and (rather disturbingly) dives that he or she did before becoming afflicted with infantitis. I’m sorry, Mommy and Daddy, artful stains are cool, but whatever is spewing out of that small keening beast has no place splattered across your totally played-out cowboy boots.
In short, although hipsters live in a state of extended adolescence, if they had their druthers, they would see their elders (read: anyone over 35) meet some dramatic fabled end, or park their skinny asses on an ice float and disappear out to sea…you know, like a dying Eskimo is wont to do.
MILLIE:
You know that David Lynch-themed bar-slash-gallery idea I was telling you about? I’ve been talking about it with my friend Clementine and we’re going to make it happen, aiming to open the doors by next fall. Her boyfriend’s cousin is this crazy-rich venture capitalist and he’s totally into the idea, so we’re all meeting next weekend to start looking at possible locations. It’s gonna be cool. We’ll have shows for all our friends, like maybe you and Craig and Woody and whoever else could think about putting something together for the grand opening.
You know that David Lynch-themed bar-slash-gallery idea I was telling you about? I’ve been talking about it with my friend Clementine and we’re going to make it happen, aiming to open the doors by next fall. Her boyfriend’s cousin is this crazy-rich venture capitalist and he’s totally into the idea, so we’re all meeting next weekend to start looking at possible locations. It’s gonna be cool. We’ll have shows for all our friends, like maybe you and Craig and Woody and whoever else could think about putting something together for the grand opening.
[Six months later]
JONNA:
Hey, whatever happened with that bar-gallery thing you were working on?
Hey, whatever happened with that bar-gallery thing you were working on?
MILLIE:
What the fuck are you talking about?
What the fuck are you talking about?
To be a true hipster, one does not identify oneself as such. That is why you will often hear dudes in skintight jeans and chicks flashing calculator wristwatches muttering, “Fucking hipsters,” as they sip at their PBRs and glare at all the NYU kids smoothing their red cigarette pants and spewing off the L train.
How do you know when you’ve finally arrived as a hipster? When you hate other hipsters.
GLOSSARY
Barnes, Kevin:
Frontman of passé but respected indie outfit Of Montreal. Known for sporting multiple outrageous, feathered getups and gobs of glam-rock makeup during the band’s incongruently straightforward concerts.
Frontman of passé but respected indie outfit Of Montreal. Known for sporting multiple outrageous, feathered getups and gobs of glam-rock makeup during the band’s incongruently straightforward concerts.
Beacon’s Closet:
A chain of clothing stores at which you may buy and sell used clothing. Hipsters frequent the stores so often that it’s almost as if an entire neighborhood is sharing one, big, slightly smelly communal closet.
A chain of clothing stores at which you may buy and sell used clothing. Hipsters frequent the stores so often that it’s almost as if an entire neighborhood is sharing one, big, slightly smelly communal closet.
Bedford Ave.:
Williamsburg’s most famous and scenester-clogged artery.
Williamsburg’s most famous and scenester-clogged artery.
Bed-Stuy:
Originally known as Bedford-Stuyvesant, a sketchy Brooklyn neighborhood where only the most hardcore of hipsters hang. It’s so in, no one lives there yet.
Originally known as Bedford-Stuyvesant, a sketchy Brooklyn neighborhood where only the most hardcore of hipsters hang. It’s so in, no one lives there yet.
Bolt Bus:
Cheap transportation between the East Coast’s major drinking cities. It uses that the-first-few-seats-are-dirt-cheap-so-book-early model. Thanks to their inability to plan ahead, hipsters usually snag the pricier, more last-minute tickets, and thus disdain the line as the more bourgeois alternative to the scary Chinatown Bus.
Cheap transportation between the East Coast’s major drinking cities. It uses that the-first-few-seats-are-dirt-cheap-so-book-early model. Thanks to their inability to plan ahead, hipsters usually snag the pricier, more last-minute tickets, and thus disdain the line as the more bourgeois alternative to the scary Chinatown Bus.
Bowery Ballroom:
Apparently, if you play there you’re hot shit. Most hipsters have never been because they hate waiting in line/ paying more than $5 for a show/going into Manhattan.
Apparently, if you play there you’re hot shit. Most hipsters have never been because they hate waiting in line/ paying more than $5 for a show/going into Manhattan.
Brooklyn Bowl:
Bowling alley/music venue down by the water in Williamsburg. (Generally full of the authors’ exes. Generally avoided by the authors.)
Bowling alley/music venue down by the water in Williamsburg. (Generally full of the authors’ exes. Generally avoided by the authors.)
Brooklyn Label:
Coffee shop frequented by the authors despite the fact that it has the word “Brooklyn” in the name. All employees follow an unofficial rule whereby they must have visible tattoos.
Coffee shop frequented by the authors despite the fact that it has the word “Brooklyn” in the name. All employees follow an unofficial rule whereby they must have visible tattoos.
Bros:
Light-denim jeans. Polo shirts. Bulging pecs. 401ks. Basically, everything hipsters are not.
Light-denim jeans. Polo shirts. Bulging pecs. 401ks. Basically, everything hipsters are not.
Cake Shop, The:
Tiny concert venue on the Lower East Side where many famous indie bands once played. They do, indeed, have cake—or cupcakes, rather.
Tiny concert venue on the Lower East Side where many famous indie bands once played. They do, indeed, have cake—or cupcakes, rather.
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