I know enough has been written about hipsters, but please humor me, for I had not had the opportunity to chime in. What exactly is a hipster? The definition seems to be very fluid; it can range from a V-neck wearing jerk with abysmal hygiene to a wannabe poindexter with thick-rimmed old timey glasses to a cretin with a braided handlebar mustache. The hipster world is vast — and all of it insufferable to me. Perhaps my tirade mostly applies for the species found in Chicago. I am not sure. Here are my grievances:
Their infatuation with poverty: Look, hipster, even though you live in Pilsen, we all know you came from the suburbs and that mommy and daddy probably pay the rent for your apartment over the Mexican grocery store. Poverty is not at all cute and/or fashionable. Take a look at the hardworking people in your neighborhood. Most of them perform backbreaking labor to feed their families. They must live like this for their entire lives. You, however, are only a tourist in their poverty. P.S. They hate you.
“Slumming” it: You think it’s charming when you drink Schlitz or PBR, but it’s “low class” or “ghetto” when real working class people drink 40s. Let me clarify: you are a black hole of charisma.
When hipsters talk smack about other hipsters: A man with a Super Mario mustache, wearing neon sunglasses, a coonskin cap, and Mexican “Wa-ra-chees” with black tube socks says, “Ugh, this neighborhood used to be so dope before all these hipsters moved in. Let’s move to the projects.”
The appropriation of other cultures: I don’t appreciate you wearing those “Wa-ra-chees” as a joke. Please leave this footwear to my elderly grandparents. In addition, what is with all the Native American prints and patterns lately? Will you soon be wearing a feathered headdress and replace “hello” with “how”? Why do you insist on exploiting cultures for your sartorial amusement? Do us all a favor and just wear some nice, innocuous khaki shorts instead.
Compromising physical attractiveness for the sake of irony: Yeah, it’s really funny that you’re sporting that rat tail, a 1993 Chicago Bulls jersey, and jeans so tight they expose parts of you we’d all like to forget. It’s funny because I can’t imagine anyone ever wanting to boink you. p.s. Whether a mullet is ironic or not, it’s still a mullet.
Pretentious and obscure taste in everything: I, too, like to be different. I am full of esoteric tastes, but your air of superiority because you like “post dubstep” (?) makes me want to punch you in the mutton chops.
Bad hygiene: Look, we live in the first world where soap and running water are as plentiful as trans fats and flip flops. Moreover, you can shower effectively in about 10 minutes if you set your mind to it. For the love of God, just do it for the rest of us who must hold our breath as we stand next to you on the train. Perhaps I should be like Mother Theresa and go give alms of soap at the local dive bars. Also, haven’t you caused your parents enough disappointment?
I guess rather than getting angry at your insufferable ways, I will try to exploit your presence for the endless comedic material that it offers. Besides, in a few years, once being a hipster gets old, you’ll probably move back to the suburbs of Ohio or wherever the hell you’re from. Just know, hipster, that your irony is a luxury.