Hipsters truly have a love/hate relationship with that Swedish pleasure palace known as IKEA. While they delight in the low, low prices ($14 for a coffee table! Crazy!), delicious meatballs and cornucopia of weird food with Swedish labels, the store itself is basically one big hipster panic attack waiting to happen. What with the lack of natural light, towering ceilings and confusing products (
Where the fuck are the curtains?! What is this metal thing over here next to this pile of other metal things?! Do I really need this sponge?!
), in no time at all, the average hipster goes from skipping down the aisles, bursting with feverish delight, to rocking back and forth in the “As Is” section as Smash Mouth’s “I Can’t Get Enough of You Baby” issues from the overhead speakers.
TELEVISION
“No, I do not own a television. I feel like American society is far too focused on the specter of the TV set—it looms in the center of the living room like some great all-consuming beast that the entire family is forced to bow down and pray to each night for at least three hours. Moreover, the majority of the programming is either unoriginal or just plain fucking annoying. Maybe if the slobbering masses tore their eyes away from motherfucking hospital dramas every once in a while and read a book, our country wouldn’t be so woefully ignorant. Besides, I can watch anything I want on Surf the Channel, and I only ever really watch
Gossip Girl
, anyway…and
90210
…and some stuff on ABC Family ’cause it’s so fucking weird…and the
Wonder Years
, now that all six seasons are up on YouTube.”
—Jordie H., 28, silk-screener
FLUORESCENT LIGHTS
KASEY:
Why is it so dark in here?
MARJORIE:
Oh, the overhead light burned out, like, three months ago. I have this really awesome table lamp I found on the street, though, see?
KASEY:
Why don’t you change the bulb? I mean, how can you see anything?
MARJORIE:
I dunno. Haven’t got around to it. Anyway, I hate that fluorescent shit—it reminds me of, like, institutions and hospitals and stuff.
KASEY:
You mean well-lit places?
MARJORIE:
Yeah, but places like that are so sterile. God, why must we have the lights on all the time, anyway? You know, like in grocery stores where they leave the lights on all night? That’s so fucking wasteful. In the old days, before electricity, farmers went to bed when the sun went down because it was dark and that meant the day was
over
. Why the fuck can’t we do that?
KASEY:
Wait, you want to be a farmer?
MARJORIE:
It was a metaphor, Kasey. Whatever. I mean if I had my way, life would totally be
Barry Lyndon
, 24/7.
KASEY:
Barry Lyndon
? What the fuck are you talking about?
MARJORIE:
Kubrick. Watch a fucking movie. [The room goes dark.] Fuck! The fucking bulb burned out. Fuck this—let’s go to Sawyer’s place. He has Rock Band.
CLEANING THEIR APARTMENTS
Let’s go for a walk through your unfriendly neighborhood hipster’s digs. You’ll notice a heap of unwashed dishes creeping about the kitchen, a bathroom coated in hair, grime and curls of soap, and, underfoot, a veritable casserole of clean clothes, dirty clothes, scraps of scrawled tablature, condom wrappers and art supplies. The hardwood floor is a minefield of empty beer bottles, the inside of the fridge hosts several undiscovered species and the only things not covered in a quarter-inch of dust are the reading chair, the stereo and the MacBook Air. Why the voluntary squalor? Simple: Hipsters hate getting artificial chemicals anywhere near their precious immune systems. (Weed, tobacco and shrooms are fine because they’re
natural
.) Windex, Simple Green, even that weird canned air—all laboratory made, based on difficult-to-understand voodoo hard science, and all probably responsible for the ADD, asthma and attitude problems of today’s addled youth. True, hipsters could buy the eco-conscious green stuff, but Method’s gleaming bottles flout two principles at hipsterdom’s core: 1) Never buy into whatever marketers are telling you, and 2) Don’t spend money on shit, ever. Unless it predicates the quality of an epic, epic bender.
HOME THEATER SYSTEMS
“ ‘Duuuuude, you gotta check out my ridonkadonk living room set-up, it will fucking change your life, bro. Check it: ultra-high-resolution picture from a Sony SRX-R110 Digital Cinema Projector. Stewart 18-by-10-foot Snowmatte 1.0 Gain fuckin’ laboratory-grade screen. Audio fuckin’ perfectly balanced with solid-state and vacuum-tube amps, and yep, that there is a Sony BDP-S1 state-of-the-mother-fuckin’-ar t Blu-ray player. Notice: PlayStation 3, Toshiba HD-XA1 HD DVD player, fuckin’ Mark Levinson N° 51 DVD/CD Media Player, Pioneer HLD-X0 Hi-Vision HDTV MUSE Laserdisc Player, sick Theta Digital Generation VIII 32-bit 8x Oversampling Dual Processors and a fucking 8.8 channel audio system with fucking sixteen 18-inch subwoofers. This thing is
beast
. I hit play and chicks just
rip off their clothes
, bro.’
Ugh, the sad reality for my broham cousin is that this stupid-ass waste of approximately a year’s public school tuition will just provide a new location for him to watch
Boondock Saints
with his fellow ogre friends and like, whack off to porn in high-def. Sigh. Whoa, where the fuck is my dog-eared
Roads to Freedom
set? Who the fuck took the Sartre off my bookshelf? Liza’s coming over later and I need my existential literature in place and highly visible if I’m gonna get laid, yo.”
—Sebastian R., 28, museum docent
COOKING
BRENDA:
I am so fucking hungry. Let’s stop at the taco truck at the Woods.
ANN:
Didn’t you eat dinner? I made myself this kick-ass feast from the farmer’s market over in McCarren.
BRENDA:
Well, I tried to make dinner tonight, because, like, it felt like springtime outside and I was feeling all productive and get-back-to-nature-y and shit. At first, I totally wanted an artichoke. Like fucking craved an artichoke. So I go to five different little grocery places looking for one, but I think they’re out of season? So then I decide I totally want some Bi Bim Bop, and I’m standing in the store trying to remember what goes in it. So I just grab all these vegetables. But when I get home, I look up a recipe, right? On the Internet? And, like, I don’t have soy sauce… or eggs… or any meat… or any, like, knives to cut up all the shit with, so I’ve just got this huge pile of veggies and, like, a bottle of vinegar.
ANN:
Why didn’t you go back to the store? I mean, you can buy all that shit at the store.
BRENDA:
I used up all my fucking food stamps!
ANN:
So you didn’t eat anything?
BRENDA:
I had a few bowls of Froot Loops…
ANN:
Dude, you’re gonna get scurvy.
BRENDA:
No I fucking won’t. They’re Froot Loops, man, the name alone implies that they are an excellent source of vitamin C.
ANN:
Oh come on, asshole. The taco’s on me. Lack of nutrients has obviously addled your brain.
BRENDA:
Awesome, but… instead of a taco, could you make it a whiskey shot and a PBR? Thanks.
REAL BEDS