My Hipster Experience

(somewhere in Azkaban)

So I was invited to come to a Hipster party on Saturday.

"Dress up or be shunned," the invite read. 




 

Instantly a thousand excited little brain cells danced around a fire that blew exotic green and blue smoke, fumbling over each other and clouding conjured images of warlocks, dragons, turtles, and other mysterious beings encountered as I raided my closet.

100% Hipster

What I found was:
One droopy beanie with "Spalding Auto"
embroidered on the back. One pair of 3D glasses. One sailboat necklace made from real coconut. One blue v-neck shirt. One pair of tight fitted jeans. One Orange/Gray/White/Red Plaid button up. One Thumbs up. One 

mother's scarf. One father's brown leather shoes.                                         

                          My Hipster outfit was complete!

    I rolled in through a slanted wooden gate, flimsy at best and entered a house via a wooded porch. The room was hot, but filled with seclusion. I felt the presence of eyes on my front and back and from all sides, but most disappeared if I so much as tried to make contact with them.

                       Wow, we're all just a bunch of Hipsters, I thought to myself.

If this was any other circumstance, everyone here would socialize and get along, and maybe a fight would break out. But because the idea of being a Hipster became involved, socializing and getting along meant staying clear from one another and avoiding eye contact at all costs. Many many groups, but none intermingled. Hipsters laughing to themselves, talking to themselves, becoming silent as I neared them. It was like a great responsibility came bundled with the droopy hats, non aesthetic rag-hag clothing, and 3D glasses. The idea that as soon as I entered that room I somehow became a part of their game seems outlandish to me, but strangely enough, I found myself interlocked right there with them, and I too began to ignore people. I played my part of a hipster quite well, but I was acting--they weren't, and that was the problem. Somehow between fitting into their tight jeans and adorning themselves with rusty trinkets, they became so immersed in their characters that they lost sight of themselves. I felt a little sorry for them, but mostly I drank hot tea, flashed quirky dance moves (the kind that didn't fit in with any cultural norm), and observed being observed and judged.

Hipster Ball

    Two hours earlier I showed up to SFCC to watch a production of The Good Woman of Setzuan, a Chinese teaching drama preaching goodness, fully adorned in Hipster clothing. Not only was I astounded that no one gave me so much as a dirty glance or even a double take, but people were even acting overly friendly to me. It's like our culture isn't phased by Hipsters anymore. The thought surfaced:

 Am I the only one who thinks Hipsters are just really weird?

    To my left was an old man. To my right... a hipster. I smiled on the way out. I learned a lot about people that day. How even pretending to be something, made you somehow that something, and I wondered what it was that made people incline towards that. Maybe we're just all great actors...or maybe when alcohol is served people will believe anything. Mostly that they're something they're not, but also that secretly they make fun of people because they just don't understand them. I drank tea, of course, and in between sips couldn't help but realize that beneath all of that makeup, Chinese Gods are actually just Chinese Hipsters.

Chinese Hipster Gods