Are You a Hipster?

Judging from their faces, I just lost my key demographic.

“‘Incapable of understanding?’ So we’re stupid? You just lost your Uzbekistan audience.”

The first rule of being a hipster is: Don’t talk about being a hipster. For those who haven’t seen Fight Club: “The first tenet of being a hipster can be explained with Scripture, for it is written: “They shall know you are hipster by your subscription to vinyl of the month clubs.” Certain portions of my demographic (namely, southwest Uzbekistan) are incapable of understanding either of those references, so I’ll state it bluntly: You are not a hipster if you say you are. In fact, the true hipster, that shining model of alternative perfection, that god of vinyl, that king of pretentiousness, will never once utter the  self-description of hipster. It just doesn’t happen. Indeed, they’ll even deny it vehemently, waving whatever they were pickling last in anger.  It’s not that the entire city of Portland is in denial. No, 93.78% (the percent has a decimal, so you know it’s true) of the real hipster population is well aware of their hipsterness–they just won’t admit.

I was told there'd be organic coffee?

I was told there’d be organic coffee?

The trouble is, if you admit you’re a hipster, you admit that you are part of a relatively large subculture; a fact which inherently contradicts your individualism (your individualism basically is a carefully subscribed to set of rules defined by said subculture, but shh). However, if someone else describes you as one, you aren’t saying you’re a part of some arbitrary societal paradigm: they are. If you are “hipsterized” by someone else, then you’re only “falsely” grouped into that hipster paradigm by a product of mainstream society, a victim to the thoughts of the “totez un-deck” majority, but not a martyr-by-suicide like you would be if you  classified yourself as such.

Never, never, even upon pain of death, admit to being a hipster. The second you do is the second you no longer are one. To conclude, please enjoy the wisdom of that great Canadian sumo wrestler Oscar Wilde*:

“I want my food dead. Not sick, not dying, dead.”**

*fact checker on honeymoon.
**quote relevancy checker is the fact checker’s wife.

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