I know you’re a hipster when I see you. You go in twos, because three’s a crowd. Or larger groups on a street trawl. You dress like fools. You put me off my lunch. I feel I’m losing my appetite. Regardless of my confessional love for vintage clothing and trend-seeking, the very idea of conforming to hipsterism makes me want to go back and sell all my checked flannel shirts, skinnies and thrift pencil skirts just to be rid of such a label. You hipsters reject the oh-unspeakable mainstream, but at the same time created a blissfully ironic phenomenon known as hipstream, and a feeding ground for an unquenchable analyst like me.
Having a particular liking for certain hipster traits does not make me one persay. if you wanted to judge you could say i was going halvies in my hipsterdom, but remaining well aware of the danger of actually conforming to non-conformism and ironically contradicting myself. While I do enjoy a good night out i do not smoke serially nor have ever appeared on a social-scouting blog to date. i do not have a singular group of friends of a specific hip/deck genre but rather socialize with people from many different social circles, each of their own style preferences. so you see, the basic principle of hipsterdom, that is ELITISM, is not something I condone or maintain in my attitudes in life.
hipsters, if you are reading this, you probably would never out-loudly admit your state of hip, but believe me, you'll know by the end of this. kindly take your elitism and cork it with the rest of that vodka and coke you're boozing on, or preferably shove it up your two percent body fat bums.