Recently, over a dinner, it came to my attention that I might be a super-pretentious hipster. Notwithstanding that we were eating in a hipster joint, I was all: it is both impossible and preposterous that I am a hipster (a case could be made for me being super-pretentious, let’s be honest).
“WTF, I AM NOT A HIPSTER,” (it was pretty loud in the bar) I complained the following week to Bryony over after-work drinks.
“Listen, Leslie. You need to get over this hipster thing. You are a freelance writer.* You are on Twitter. You are wearing a fucking leather bird brooch** on your cardigan right now,” Bryony said. “YOU ARE A HIPSTER.” To prove her point, I was also wearing Converse All-Stars at the time.
Motherfucker. Could this be? Dudes, I am in the middle of a full-on existential crisis here. Since the dinner, two weeks ago now, I continue to express my disbelief to my friends, the vast majority of whom*** are shocked that I am unaware of my hipster status. A representative selection of reaction follows.
Lisa: I’m pretty sure if you’re the kind of person who actually likes Stuff White People Like, you’re a hipster. [What? Debra gave me that book!!] She gave it to you because you’re a hipster … You know, you’re pretty into fruit-picking.
Missy, in an e-mail: Um, if you keep this up with your ironic jellied salads and time-share gardening and what not, I’m going to have to start a Jeff Foxworthy-inspired blog – “You might be a hipster if…” This probably already exists, I’m just too lazy to Google and find out, but you get my point.
Leeanne: I bet you have original Tupperware. And you didn’t happen to just acquire it. You actually sought some of it out. You have a vintage teacup collection. For God’s sake, look at your watch! Look at the FONT on your watch! Leslie, this has been going on for a long time. I clearly remember waaaaay back when you were married, you wanted to make curtains out of pirate print fabric. [Note: I think it was cowgirl print, but, either way …] In this day and age, who redoes their couch in blue brocade? I mean, I could go on.
Egad, it doesn’t look good. Worse, to this already essentially insurmountable mountain of evidence I can add all of this questionable behaviour:
- Tina wanted to do something this weekend and I suggested, hey, let’s go to a craft beer tasting. At the Brick Works.
- I intend to enter some knitting in a fall fair. Plus my knitting habit, in general.
- I rode a fixie in Ottawa, and I really liked it.
- My jam-making obsession. Especially making jam from residential fruit.
- That typewriter I bought.
- I have a wooden clock shaped like Texas.****
- My attendance at farmer’s markets.
- What do I covet most in this world right now? A ceramic fish that looks exactly like taxidermy. Obviously.
- If I still wore glasses, I would totally get a pair of those huge throw-back glasses that are in now. Or, who am I kidding, a vintage pair, from Etsy.
- I’m too cheap and lazy to upgrade my tech, so I now use my 3rd gen iPod Nano “ironically”.
- Something tells me this whole “natural hair” thing is a hipster move.
- Let’s not even get into how much I love Miranda July and Anthropologie.
- Halfway through the writing of this post, I went for a walk on the St. Clair Disaster to get some Mexican take-out. To kill time while El Rincon got my burrito together, I went to the Salvation Army thrift store next door. Clearly, I left with a ’70s enamelware fondue pot. [Leeanne, via text: You need an intervention.]
- Actually referring to my neighbourhood as the “St. Clair Disaster”.
Like Leeanne, I could go on. By contrast, the list to prove I’m not a hipster is pathetically small. I mean, I hate skinny jeans, you guys. I really, really hate them. I’m pretty intolerant of vegans, and I think almond milk is stupid. But that’s about all I’ve got. You be the judge.
* I think it’s weird that people refer to me this way, but ok.
** Hand-crafted by House of Hsueh!
*** The only person I broached this subject with who didn’t believe I was a hipster was Debra, forcing me to conclude that I have somehow closeted my hipster tendencies around one of my very best friends.
**** Inherited from my great grandmother.