Read Stuff Hipsters Hate Online
Authors: Brenna Ehrlich,Andrea Bartz
Stuff Hipsters Hate (18 page)
“I picture a day at the stock market going down like one big fucking basketball game—but everyone’s, like, really out of shape. There’re all these dudes yelling and grunting and leaping in the air, their greed-tinged voices echoing into the abyss, mingling with the squeak of their wingtips as they stomp and pirouette across the floor. Everyone has this vaguely evil odor—like sweat (which has already soaked through their yellowing undershir ts) mixed with expensive bourbon mixed with pure, unadulterated money-lust. And it, like, permeates the mahoganypaneled chambers like the rank reek of mildew that works its way into Carson’s cabin up in the Hamptons during the off-season.
Everyone’s got their eyes fixated on this board, and the glowing numbers that flicker across it like so many wasted dreams totally and completely dictate their happiness, their passions, their fucking
loins
, man. Those dudes totally get off on it, you know. The mob mentality. The futile efforts to spear the golden ring like a child circling round and round on this motherfucking carousel called life. To win, man. If I ever succumb to anything reminiscent of that zombified state, that pure, frothing hunger to reach some horrifically bloated ideal, please put a bullet through my already-departed brain.
loins
, man. Those dudes totally get off on it, you know. The mob mentality. The futile efforts to spear the golden ring like a child circling round and round on this motherfucking carousel called life. To win, man. If I ever succumb to anything reminiscent of that zombified state, that pure, frothing hunger to reach some horrifically bloated ideal, please put a bullet through my already-departed brain.
The only thing even remotely redeemable about the whole sordid game are those fucking sweet jackets that day traders wear—you know, like with those mesh panels and kick-ass neon tones. Imagine how fucking awesome it would be to kick down Bedford in one of those bad boys. Seriously, dude, that would be a whole new level of badassery. Jonas thinks he’s such a free fucking spirit for sporting that Revolutionary War-esque overcoat he yoinked from that thrift shop in Philly. A fucking day trader’s jacket would be just the ticket to wipe the smirk off of that unoriginal asshole’s mustachioed face. Match and point, man. Match and point.”
—Gabe H., 31, cashier at a boutique and percussionist
First off, in order to have a business card, one must have a business, and, as we have previous established (see page 147), hipsters rarely do. Business cards, for the rest of society, are a method by which to make connections, to tell the world who you are, what your deal is and, most importantly, how to contact you for future business-related interactions. Let us suppose, for a wild, sweet moment, that a hipster were to take the time to have such a card printed. That he took the trouble to select the font, watermark and ever-important paper weight. Well, we imagine said card to look a little something like the below:
a. Although the hipster’s name is really Phineas Martin, this is the name that currently adorns his Facebook profile and, he thinks, best encapsulates his puckish nature. If this moniker proves too much of a mouthful for you, you may henceforth refer to him as M&M—because he “melts in your mouth and not in your hands.” Yes, that is a sexual innuendo.
b. Translation: He’s currently collecting unemployment, and sometimes his friend who owns a bar down on N. 6th lets him DJ when the regular guy gets too drunk.
c. All attempts to call M&M will prove futile, as he does not enjoy talking on the telephone, which he often forgets to charge, anyway. You’re better off e-mailing homeboy, as he is constantly welded to his MacBook Pro. Why the archaic e-mail server? Well, Phineas fails to trust Google’s “do no evil” song and dance and suspects that the search giant is plotting to totally Big Brother-out someday and enslave us all using the vast amount of information that it’s currently storing up. M&M has several other intriguing theories in this vein, which he will dispense in writing for a small fee (hey, it’s business, man!) if you choose to contact him further.
The illustration on the back of the card has no special significance. He drew it on a napkin when he was stoned and was totally stoked on it at the time.
Numbers + required use of left brain hemisphere + teachers’ dirty looks - any room for creative expression = 0 . . . interest on a hipster’s part in figuring out the bill. He’s slapping down a crumpled wad of ones no matter what he owes.
ROGER:
Hi, my name’s Roger.
Hi, my name’s Roger.
MEL:
Hey.
Hey.
ROGER:
Um, what’s your name?
Um, what’s your name?
MEL:
Mel.
Mel.
ROGER:
So, what publication do you work for?
So, what publication do you work for?
MEL:
Occam’s Needle
.
Occam’s Needle
.
ROGER:
Ohh, sounds dangerous. What kind of magazine is that?
Ohh, sounds dangerous. What kind of magazine is that?
MEL:
It’s, like, a poetry magazine for tattoo enthusiasts. Basically, the whole concept is that we should be fighting against the notion that the easiest way is the best way. Like, you should always take the bramble-wreathed path. Always. Writing is pain and so is getting inked. And we should embrace that.
It’s, like, a poetry magazine for tattoo enthusiasts. Basically, the whole concept is that we should be fighting against the notion that the easiest way is the best way. Like, you should always take the bramble-wreathed path. Always. Writing is pain and so is getting inked. And we should embrace that.
ROGER:
Oh… Cool… I work for a magazine called In Tents. It’s a camping magazine.
Oh… Cool… I work for a magazine called In Tents. It’s a camping magazine.
MEL:
Ah.
Ah.
ROGER:
But, you know, I’ve always been really into poetry. I would love to talk to you more about your magazine and what you’re looking for in terms of submissions. Do you guys take submissions?
But, you know, I’ve always been really into poetry. I would love to talk to you more about your magazine and what you’re looking for in terms of submissions. Do you guys take submissions?
MEL:
Yeah.
Yeah.
ROGER:
Who would I submit them to? You?
Who would I submit them to? You?
MEL:
There’s an e-mail address on the website. [Looks over Roger’s head toward the exit/open bar.]
There’s an e-mail address on the website. [Looks over Roger’s head toward the exit/open bar.]
ROGER:
Ah, sweet. ’Cause, you know, poetry runs in my family. But I’ve always been too scared to pursue it, because my cousin’s in this, like, huge indie band that’s all over Pitchfork and whatnot. He’s, like, this genius lyricist. I mean, he’s playing South by Southwest this year and basically everyone talks about him like he’s Yeats or something. So talented. It’s cool, though, because he always gets me tickets to his shows and when he’s in town we end up hanging with all the bands. So that’s pretty awesome.
Ah, sweet. ’Cause, you know, poetry runs in my family. But I’ve always been too scared to pursue it, because my cousin’s in this, like, huge indie band that’s all over Pitchfork and whatnot. He’s, like, this genius lyricist. I mean, he’s playing South by Southwest this year and basically everyone talks about him like he’s Yeats or something. So talented. It’s cool, though, because he always gets me tickets to his shows and when he’s in town we end up hanging with all the bands. So that’s pretty awesome.
MEL:
Oh… What did you say your name was again?
Oh… What did you say your name was again?
CHAPTER 8
MUSIC AND ENTERTAINMENT
[CASE STUDY]Mikey P. is what is commonly known as a “music snob.” In fact, if we attempted to explicate here what kind of music Mikey likes, those selections would already be passé by the time this volume hit the peer-review circuit. Suffice it to say: If you’ve heard of a band, it’s highly likely that Mikey doesn’t like it. (In that way, this hipster fully lives up to the reputation of the identically monikered boy from the Life cereal commercials).As a child, Mikey often suffered hard knocks for his unusual tastes. At age six, he developed a strong predilection for David Bowie, a musical selection that garnered the scorn of his classmates, who much preferred the more mainstream stylings of the New Kids on the Block. Still, rather than folding to cultural pressures, Mikey chose to “hang tough.” At one juncture, a bully pushed Mikey against a locker and exclaimed, “Don’t you know David Bowie’s gay?” Mikey merely jutted out his chin and responded, “No. He’s
bi
.”As a psychologist might predict, once Mikey extricated himself from the bowels of suburban Texas and relocated to the sunnier cultural climes of Greenpoint, Brooklyn, he took on the bullying nature of his former oppressors. Although he relents that his Pitchfork-loving, Pool Party-frequenting compatriots have “alright” musical taste, he cannot stand to let anyone else near his turntable (yes, turntable), and often spends entire parties hunched in the corner, sifting through records in order to select the perfect jam. When “partying” with Mikey, it is important to note: No requests will be taken. In fact, Mikey once ordered a close friend to leave after he asked Mikey to play Jay Z’s “Empire State of Mind.”
Recall that by very definition, a hipster is a connoisseur of the arts—at least, he likes to think he is. As loath as some people are to admit it, the taste of this sometimes insufferably selective minority strongly impacts what mainstream culture listens to, watches, reads and adopts as culturally relevant. Still, as soon as the average American gets “hip” to a book, movie or band that hipster culture holds dear, said book, movie or band is cast off like the mechanic’s jumpsuit introduced in Chapter 3 (see page 60). Why? Because the hipster often operates by the Negative Space principle: One of his favorite ways to set trends is by telling people what
not
to listen to/ read/watch.
not
to listen to/ read/watch.
While the rest of society will turn to such authoritative sources as the
New York Times
’ book list,
Rolling Stone
or The Academy for guidance, as soon as a well-known body espouses a creative output, the majority of cool-hunters rush to shun it. The trick is to discover a cultural entity before it makes it big.
New York Times
’ book list,
Rolling Stone
or The Academy for guidance, as soon as a well-known body espouses a creative output, the majority of cool-hunters rush to shun it. The trick is to discover a cultural entity before it makes it big.
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