I’m Not a Hipster So That Makes Me a Hipster

Posted: March 6, 2015 in LA ism, Long Beach

buildingHow to be a hipster

A few years ago came the great Hipster invasion of Los Angeles. I mostly confined myself to the safe harbors of the LBC, but while I did my stint in the SFV I occasionally weaved through the automobile infested 110 into Down Town Los Angeles. It was there we first met. When I say we, I mean the Hipster semi-culture and myself. I had to admit I loathed them at first. The upper middle class suburbanites attempting to be hip and lower middle class with an aire of pseudo struggle.
Artist without canvas. Musician attempting to strum the easiest Morrissey song they could memorize. Filmmakers who swore up and down Wes Anderson was the Second Coming and Lucas as the Anti Christ, yet never so much as pointed a camera phone at anything interesting.

It was the attempt at cool without looking as if they were trying. These beings became my social repellent to the Loft regions of DTLA. I could take the wanna-be-actors of the Valley. The stench of struggle and invisibility couldn’t be washed off without work. I could take the almost writers on the Westside. Even if they are successful, they were writers enough said. But the Hipsters hit me in a place where I couldn’t apply mental ice and heat therapy. I sought to destroy them at any cost. I became their biggest detractor. The Ying to their Yang.
A couple years later while living close to the LBC Corridor: I spontaneously grew a Pompadour. I loved the Rockabilly sub-culture and the style became my newest intoxication.
A year later the Beards saturated the faces of the sub-forty aged men in the Southern California confines. In retaliation I grew a thick mustache and applied handle bars. Why you ask whomever you are wasting you spare seconds to give this work a gander. Cause I could. I wanted to exhibit some sort of rebellion again the cookie cutter, Reality TV imitating, Obey wearing, Mockumentay watching masses that called themselves – in the know. The news of one more Kardashians doing anything: would’ve driven me to the sharp objects.
Yet, still I could stomach the sheep. The Hipsters would never have gotten a pass. Later that autumn, they evolved into some sort of Lumberjack hybrid. I’d backed off my plan to destroy the Hipsters and let them be. I was too busy with my BMR, Paul Thomas Anderson films and had the ATL LIT writers (if you want to call them writers) squarely in my crosshairs.
One night recently someone said the horrible syllables that formed the word H-i-p-ster but applied it to me.
“You look like a Hipster!” they playfully chanted.
I pulled back and spouted softly shocked.
“I’m not a Hipster.”
“Well that makes you a Hipster. Hipsters always say they are not Hipsters.”
“But I hate Hipsters.”
“All Hipsters hate Hipsters! That’s what makes them Hipsters.”
I paused wanting to throw my Galaxy Mobile against the wall. The very people I’d reviled captured me and held me hostage with my own piety and self of artistic entitlement.
What an evil trap!
I had to take her word for it. She lived in Echo Park, which was next to Silver Lake the unofficial or maybe official Hipster kingdom.
I humbly reclined reflecting on the events of the last three-year during my battle with the Hipster culture.
Okay one-sided scrum seems more accurate.
Today I decided to call a truce. So to all the Hipsters out there: we are again on good terms. Not that you knew we were on bad terms, but the battle is over and you have won for now.
I’m just waiting with baited breath to attack the next trend.

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Comments
  1. vivalaViv says:

    ‘The Ying to their Yang’.., love it!
    You make Hipster even more interesting no matter you like them or not!! What a good story!!

  2. vivalaViv says:

    Also love your humour on fashion/style/urban culture… You should do it more often! 😉

  3. Kent Johnson says:

    Ha, love this one. They stole all my ideas from years ago, though sounds like the LA types don’t actually have any!

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