And admittedly, for once, its not the hipsters’ fault. My current hipster-related annoyance is that it’s become abundantly apparent to me that the great majority of Americans who live outside a subway ride’s distance of Williamburg are confused: They know not what constitutes a hipster. Yet they toss the term about in loathing tones, applying it fairly universally, it appears, to anybody who is under age 30 and chooses the current trend over classic style.
I have no idea why this irritates me so, but it does. I’m a stickler for narrow and accurate definitions, apparently. And I have to believe it irritates the hipsters. They put enormous effort into being the right amount of unique; too little or too much, and you just won’t fit in. (Which, yes, is hilariously ironic.) It must be bothersome to them that, in most Americans’ eyes, I can waltz right into their elite club by virtue of something as simple as owning a pair of skinny jeans.
And so, to the hipster-confused in my readership, I offer a tale that I hope will help you understand: As you know, America went shopping last Friday. And after ticking off a litany of Black Friday horrors (Trampling at a Buffalo Target! Kids locked in a car while Mom shopped at a Connecticut Walmart!), our friends at Racked NY note that New Yorkers were, comparatively, well-behaved.
But while the rest of the country has to contend with gun-toting lunatics, Macy’s Herald Square shoppers had to deal with hipsters. 21-year-old East Village hair stylist Sophia Sklansky and her boyfriend waited all night to shop at Macy’s *ironically*. “We just thought, ‘How funny would it be to go to a Black Friday sale?’”
And there you have it. The uniform, you see, is but one facet of being a hipster. And a relatively minor facet, at that. Any schmo can buy some majeggings and pull a slim-fit hoody over an insanely over-priced vintage Motley Crue t-shirt.
No, the defining characteristic of the American Hipster is the sort of shit evident in that little quote above. It’s the hyper-awareness of one’s own magnificent awesomeness. The necessary flip-side of this, of course, is the painful knowledge that everyone else (especially Middle Americans, God help them) is lame to a magnitude that deserves — indeed, perhaps even necessitates — derision. And who better to provide that public service than the hipster, who, by definition, believes she possesses an absolutely hilarious knack for social commentary.
This, people, THIS is why hipsters are annoying. Who the hell cares how someone chooses to dress? It’s how they act that matters. Ugh. But since I’ve started it, I might as well finish it: For those of your who are curious, the final characteristic of hipsters is that they must possess fairly dreadful taste in music and beer. And they have to be skinny, I suppose. Normal-to-high levels of body fat are anathema to both the hipster uniform and the kind of misplaced confidence required to act like an enormous asshole.