I have recently come to harsh and sudden realization that I may be a hipster. As with many major character flaws, I realize that everyone else saw the signs before I did. First and foremost, those of you reading this are probably yelling at your monitors: YOU WRITE A BLOG! HOW DID YOU NOT KNOW THIS?! Well, denial is a powerful thing. I realize now that becoming a hipster is a process, not an event. No one decides to do it, it happens gradually. It's very much how babies are born. People get careless and mistakes are made.
That being said, I blame all of you. It started off slow. I liked their sunglasses. That's it. Then it began to pick up steam. I started shopping at Urban Outfitters and wearing clever graphic T's. I started to like bands until they were commercially successful and then would accuse them of changing their sound and selling out. I find women that wear those fake, geeky glasses incredibly sexy. I even, and I'm not proud to admit it, fashioned an ironic fascination with Matthew McConaughey (which I hope is heterosexual). Troublingly, that has since blossomed into a love of the man that is no longer ironic (or probably heterosexual).
My question is: where were my friends and family when I needed them the most? Had my drug been heroin instead of a fixation/hatred of popular culture they would have formed a group and intervened I'm sure. But they were asleep at the wheel and let me become the monster I am now. They should have sat with a professional and read out statements telling me what I had become.
Family Member 1: Those T-shirts are embarrassing to buy for you and they cost forty dollars each.
Friend 1: You are very condescending of my affinity toward Justin Bieber even though millions love him as well.
Friend 2: Kings of Leon are still a great band even though they no longer live in their parent's basements.
Family Member 2: You don't look nearly as good in Wayfarer sunglasses as you think you do.
Family Member 3: You do look good in flannel, but you insist on wearing it in the summer. It makes you look like a sweaty, uncomfortable lumberjack.
Something like that would have been incredibly helpful. Although, there is a very good chance I would have accused you all of being corporate sheep in a patronizing tone and then went home and watched a documentary about people growing their own food in Brooklyn like an asshole.
Still, they say the first step to solving a problem is admitting you have one. I will be twelve-stepping my way from hipsterdom hopefully. But none of you should expect a phone call at the "making amends" stage of my recovery.
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