Tuesday, June 8, 2010

I'm A Hipster, You're A Hipster, We Get It. Now Stop That.

Oh my God, I just took a step back and examined my night last night.

I went to Millennium Park tonight to see She & Him and spent the night trying to catch a glimpse of Zooey Dechanel (the lead singer.) Then I came home, took off my skinny jeans, and looked at the new iPhone before writing in my blog.

THIS IS THE PERSON I HAVE BECOME. I wouldn't have believed it either, to be honest. But these are the facts. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to go watch Metropolis, drink some PBR and read a little Hemingway.

Not really, but at this point I wouldn't put it past me. #accidentallyhipster

The thing is, I love hipsters. They are the most fun to look at. There's just so many versions! Gay hipsters! Skinny hipsters! Dirty hipsters! Skinny hipsters! And they were all at the She & Him concert. It was a magical amalgamation of hipsterdom.

Mostly, I'm okay with hipsters being a little weird and owning big headphones and such. They keep to themselves. What actually bothers me is a specific breed of hipster: the hipsters who hide behind their weirdness.


Otherwise known as Marilyn Manson syndrome. Not that Marilyn Manson is a hipster, but you'll see what I mean.

You have seen these people. They are possibly not very attractive people. But instead of owning this and maybe having a great personality or winning smile, they decide to just wear their hair in the weirdest way possible, maybe grow out their goatee until they can braid it, possibly pierce their forehead.

And the thing is...we all still know that you aren't very attractive. No, it's not the first thing we notice anymore. What we notice first is that your earlobes touch your shoulders. But what it says to ME, at least, is that you have no confidence in who you are as a person. You hide behind a shield of weirdness so that no one ever takes a step near you. Either that, or you just crave attention in a way that your parents never gave you. And that's not "bucking convention"...that's sad. (And a little LOST if you ask me.)

Basically, unless you are Lady Gaga and have a legitimate need to look certifiably crazy, cut that out. You aren't fighting the man. You are fighting infection from the tattoo you just got on your cheekbone.

No comments: