My hipster dilemma – part 3
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Things are starting to get weird. I’ve been waking up at 8:30 to be at work at 10 am every week day — an oddity since my natural waking time is between the hours of 2 and 4 pm — working all day every Saturday and Sunday nights. Well, OK. I usually wake up at 9:30 and get to my day job at 10:30, but nobody cares… hopefully. AND, I can wear whatever the hell I want (read: NOT corporate attire).
This workforce regularity seems to suggest I am falling away from hipsterdom. If one were to examine this piece of evidence alone, it would be reasonable to predict that, within the month, I will be going to the opera and learning to cook. However, an expert researcher and blogumentary maker such as myself always looks at the larger picture, which is best illustrated by this g-talk conversation between my good friend Howard Duesterberg and myself..
Howard: we really dropped the ball on SHDL!
Lola: seriously. it’s sad.
I’ll pick it back up in the spring or something
Lola: I don’t know, I’m having an existential crisis.
Howard: yeah, well
Lola: i am wearing….
I AM TOO
Lola: it’s only the second time
Howard: I KNOW
Lola: my roommate (who is a guy) left them behind when he moved to LA
Lola: they are from the Junior miss section
Howard:at least they’re levis 511 and not AA
Lola: yeah mine are Levis skinny
Howard: they’re nice jeans
i like the denim
Lola: yeah i dig
Lola: i never thought I would wear skinny jeans
I love how there was a 1:1 inverse correlation
between our hipsterness
and how much we posted.
As we got hipper, we got lazier.
You only posted once.
Howard’s hipsterness was never in question, though he will argue endlessly to the contrary. But me? Being on the fence isn’t comfortable and it never was (See image 1). But now it’s just awkward. My societal obligations are pulling me toward something reminiscent of yuppiedom, while some unseen force is pulling me back, as if to compensate. It’s not just the jeans, either.
I scoffed at someone the other day for not knowing who The Ting Tings are. I finally got my stuff shipped from my home town and realized my wardrobe is 70 percent thrift store items and hand-me-downs and 20 percent childhood t-shirts that may or may not be ironic; the things I bought from actual retail stores (the remaining 10 percent) are from the Urban Outfitters annual sidewalk sale or converse sneakers. Most incriminatingly, I had a fling with the lead singer of a hipster band — who i met at Union Pool. (PS: If you’re reading this, sorry! I know you don’t think you or your band is “hipster” but, well, you are and it is.)
Maybe the reason why I haven’t been posting lately is because this blog is a reminder that Williamsburg will inevitably and unavoidably draw the innate hipsterdom out of oneself, regardless of how deeply it is buried, and that maybe I am helpless to resist it. (Note: This excludes the middle-aged West Europeans who are apparently flocking here.)
I’ve been living here for four-and-a-half months, and I’m starting to think: Maybe it’s time to move to Manhattan.
Too bad I just faxed the lease forms to the landlord of the apartment I’ve been subletting for the past 2 months.