To preface this, I should remind you all of one thing that you may not have known, but definitely should:

/smirk.

OK. So, Lola just drank a bottle of pinot [on a work night! *gasp*], and so she is feeling a bit saucy and self-assured. But I assure you, my dear hipster readers. It is with good reason.

You see, I recently got an invitation to blog with my very favorite blog in the world. In fact, it is the blog who’s link love in the first week of this whole blogging endeavor made me stop and think, “Whaaa… people actually read this??”

So yes, I am now going to be posting over at your one stop shop for the most hipsterlicious shit on the web:

My new blog turf

And there you have it! A blogging career based on observing hipsters in their natural habitat and slowly becoming indoctrinated by the tribe, all the whilst fighting corporate corruption and giving into it at the same time, maintaining my hipster image to blend in while doing what I can to resist full conversion—it’s all led me here.

So check me out.

Here’s my first post, which is the video that makes me happy every single time I watch it, which is pretty much daily… sometimes multiple times a day if it’s “one of those days.”

Enjoy!

<3

Lola

For those unfamiliar with the art of blogging, these are the terms people have typed into Google or other search engines that landed them at my blog, accidentally or on-purpose…

The Obvious

• “hipster”
• “Brooklyn hipsters”
• “hipster fail”
• “mgmt mccarren” – See also:
  • “lame park concerts”
  • “concert beachballs”
• “hipster pregnancy” – you may have scoffed at Howard when he wrote about this topic, but apparently it’s burning on the minds of countless young Americans. Well, actually, WordPress tallied it at 65.
• “awkward hipster dancing”
• “hipster jorts” – See also:
  • “khorts”
• “hipster mating”
• “hipster girls, cocaine

You’re Obviously a Hipster

• “what is a really good song that i should download”
• “my friends like hipster music”

LOL I Can’t Believe My Blog Shows Up When People Search For These Things

• “American economy” – I’m glad that struggling stock brokers and government planners alike now have the privilege of encountering my informative recap of the epic failing of Corporate America on their daily info searches.
• “Bushwick” – w00t! Halting real-estate hegemony in its path! See also:
  • “Bushwick 08 crime rate new york”
  • “Bushwick dangerous hipsters”
  • “Bushwick rapes”
  • “how not to get killed in Bushwick” – a very important one. I probably searched that at some point or another
  • “Bushwick trash day”
• “Fetal Alcohol Syndrome” – accurate medical research found here
• “Craigslist New York”
• “Irish plaid patterns”
• “cunt”
• “hot corporate attire”
• “why to never work for a corporation” – I hope whoever sent this query was satisfied with the answer, “Because hipsters don’t like them.”
• “Michael Phelps” – sorry to steal a microscopic smidgen of your glory, Phelpsy. (Little known fact, Michael Phelps once confided in me about how he lost his virginity. No joke.) See Also:
  • “Michael Phelps swimming chest”
  • “Michael Phelps with medals”
  • “Michael Phelps Halloween costume”
  • “Michael Phelps distracts girl
• “sports”
• “were the Puerto Ricans forced to move?” – I’m really glad that I am associated with this search term so that I am able to diffuse common misconceptions that hipsters are responsible for gentrification in Williamsburg. As you may have read in the post about thing hipsters don’t like #5 Gentrification, the bulk of the blame should be placed on yuppies and real estate agents.

I Can’t Believe People Search For These Things

• “American Apparel pregnant”
• “stuff white hipsters like” – LOL, come now. Is there really a need to differentiate?
• “hipster rape whistles
• “Los Angeles +dive +cunt”
• “bald hipsters” – and inversely:
• “hipster bangs”
• “hipster stuff for apartments”
• “i don’t want to be a hipster
• “empanada factory”
• “too many hipsters not enough crime” – aww, but lol

The “How-to” Series: Instruction Mannual Plz?

• “how to go to a hipster concert”
• “how to wear high tops like a hipster”
• “how to dress hipster, high school” – /palmface
• “how to make nonchalant hipster fall in love with me” – sad, but remember: For hipsters, nothing says “I love you” like avoiding eye contact, hiding behind people or supportive structures, running away, ridiculing your taste in anything… or just anything about you, or storming out of a room.
• “how to be a hipster ‘life’ “

Uhhhh… (wtf)

• “zodiac sexual position”
• “brutality”
• “gold bikini -ebay -leila -star -wars” – I am baffled. See also:
  • “jedi apparel”
• “hipster catatonic misery friends economy” – BAFFLED
• “chimera skull resistance”
• “webalbum bitch” – when I first read this term, I thought, “wtf is a ‘wee-bal-bum’ bitch?” It sounds like some kind of Dr. Seuss character. Google informed me that what they really meant to search for was “web album bitch,” but I’m still confused about what this is and how it is related to my blog.
• “Lola is a shitty artist” – despite this being true, I can’t imagine what somebody would expect to find while searching this term. So I put it to the test and pulled up nothing remotely containing these search phrases besides some chick’s myspace page and my blog.

So, after posting this list that’s been burning in a Word document for the past three months, there are some things I have learned:

1) I am pretty much an expert on hipsters.

2) People search for really weird things.

3) Google is quirky.

4) I have obtained the ability to inflict innocent bystanders with my hipster commentary. Score!

An artist's rendition of my hipster dilemma.

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
(pause)
Lola: I don’t know, I’m having an existential crisis.
Howard: yeah, well
Lola: Howard?
Howard: yesss
?
Lola: i am wearing….
SKINNY JEANS
Howard: LOL
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
Howard: ha
haha
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
but UGH
Howard: but
yeah
haha
Lola: i never thought I would wear skinny jeans
Howard: same.
LOL
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.
Lola: Howard.
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.

By now, many of you may have been wondering where I am. You don’t have to write furious comments demanding my immediate blogging — I know how much I am missed.

Anyway, I have a pretty good excuse for slacking on the posting that doesn’t involve me falling into a vicious cycle of feeling increased pressure to be productive, getting anxious, letting my ADD drive me into a state of torpid procrastination thereby enhancing the pressure and worsening the cycle. Yes, it’s a much better explanation than that.

I got a job!

Not just any job, either: Pretty much my dream job. I’m working for the online section of my favorite publication managing a syndication of blogs that is the largest of its nature in the world. The company is relatively new and innovative and has the potential to drive social change in the most important of ways, so I am really happy to be there.

I know what you are thinking: “What could be more important than blogumenting about hipsters?!?!” Shh, I know. I agree with you that what I do here is important, and writing this blog makes me happy for the most part. That is why I will continue to post! It may not be as frequent as it used to be, but I should still have some free time… hopefully. You may have thought I was going to crap out. I even considered it, to keep from getting overwhelmed, but, nah. Quitting is for smokers — who are ready. And I am just not ready to quit. Shut up, mom.

So, bare with me and continue to enjoy my hipsterlicious prose!

By now, most Americans have at least some inkling that the United States is in the midst of a grave economic crisis. But after scouring Bedford Avenue and interviewing various individuals who seemed to be outwardly “hip,” I have come to the conclusion that hipsters do not have the slightest clue about anything relating to the economy, possibly less so than the average American (see graph).

In order to help hipsters understand what is going on with major Wall Street financial institutions and the American economy, I have devised a simple analogy to outline the situation in terms hipsters can understand.

Let us pretend that the major players involved in the crisis are the members of the traditional hipster family, in which we have:

• Daddy Warbucks, the successful businessman with several overseas bank accounts (the American Government)
• The two beloved children, we’ll call them Fannie and Freddy (The Federal National Mortgage Association and the Federal Home Loan Mortgage Corporation)
• The second wife (the American economy)
• The coke-head hipster stepchild (recipients of the $700 billion bailout plan)
• The hipster’s drug dealer (foreign investors)

***

From this explanation, event the soberist of hipsters should be able to piece together what went wrong with the American economy, maybe even relate it in some form of semi-inteligent conversation!

And for the elitist economists who are mocking my analogy, can you honestly tell me that’s it’s not better than the rest of them flying around (or at least less worse)?

__________________________________________________

Expert photoshopping of main image by Laine Stranahan for Stuff Hipsters Don’t Like ©2008. Graph by Lola Wakefield. Video from Splice Today. Concept and video recommended by the hipster who taught me how to roll a spliff.

Also, judging from that one guy’s medical-grade mask, the workers risk contracting SARS as well. And to throw one more bowling ball upon your shattered hipster dream, from this video it is apparent that 97.5 percent of the workers in the American Apparel factory are neither American nor do they wear any sort of stylish apparel (although one could easily smuggle out dozens of onsies and leggings at a time under those jumpers). It’s a good thing hipsters routinely get 12 hours of alcohol-induced sleep per night; they’ve got some dreaming to do.

_______________________________________________________

Video referred by Howard Duesterberg for Stuff Hipsters Don’t Like ©2008

There is nothing more humiliating to a hipster than when her thrift-store bought maternity dress stops being ironic.

Tonight, a hipster will be impregnated. Maybe she’ll buckle to the baristo at the local coffee shop, seduced by his beard and self-aware Exxon-Mobil trucker hat. Perhaps it will be that V-necked charmer at the dive bar who claims to be Ariel Pink’s tour manager. Or maybe it will just be that guy whose filthy apartment she’s been sleeping at for the last month so she doesn’t have to pay rent.

Hipsters are very torn about pregnancy. On the one hand, they don’t have any problem with abortion seeing as they got their BA in post-structuralist conceptual astrology and have endured hundreds of hours of NPR, Ira Glass’ infanticidal socialist drone lingering in their subconscious. On the other hand, being pregnant is kind of cool. It gives them some sort of purpose in an otherwise directionless post-graduate existence. In fact, some hipster girls dream of having a traditional nuclear family. They fantasize about their husband handsomely dressed in wool flannel and Ray-Bans returning home from his long shift at the record store and coddling their infant son decked out in a vintage neon Morrissey romper.

That said, most of the time they just get an abortion.

In fact, the average hipster girl has had three, largely because she is incapable of taking the pill on any regular basis due to the fact that her Pabst-and-cocaine-saturated nightlife has thoroughly obliterated her sense of time. The pregnant hipster may contemplate having the poor child and ironically raising it to be a sexually confused, blue-collar pseudo-intellectual who wears a rainbow headband and rape whistle to parties. Ultimately, though, she will realize the inevitable challenges pregnancy and motherhood present to her hipness, and, after a pensive cigarette break or two, she’ll bail out. Her musings are not limited to but include the following:

1) Being pregnant means that clothes bought at American Apparel no longer fit.

We all know that the utopian vision of Apparel CEO Dov Charney involves an America in which men are neutered, girls remain 14 years old indefinitely, the media consists exclusively of early ’80s aerobic workout videos, and no one wears pants. This vision is uncompromising and leaves no room for pregnancy.

2) The trust fund is going to have to be tapped to pay for the abortion.

An awkward conversation invariably ensues when a daughter announces to her parents that she is unintentionally pregnant. This is exacerbated when the daughter, at an age typically associated with financial independence, seeks out her parents’ help to prevent the unwanted birth. The following conversation between the pregnant hipster and her father would ensue:

Preg hipster: Hi, dad?

Father: Well! You haven’t called me in ages, dear. How is Williamsburg?

Preg hipster: I live in Bushwick now, dad.

Father: Isn’t that a slum?

Preg hipster: No, it’s way cooler.

Father: Well, why are you calling? Do you need more money? Have you used the Starbucks gift certificate we sent you?

Preg hipster: Well, actually, I’m pregnant. So, I need, like 600 dollars.

Father: Again? Well, I guess that’s the age we live in. It’s a good thing I just refilled the trust fund.

3) The prospective father is a junkie and has no money.

Given that hipster girls typically sleep with men who give credence to the perception that they are painfully bohemian, the likelihood that the expecting father will be utterly incapable of raising a child, paying medical bills, or deploying basic life skills in general is relatively high. Yes, he probably interned at Stereogum and can quote Thomas Pynchon, but in spite of this impressive resume he still pisses in the shower and has been wearing the same “If there’s no bingo in heaven, I’m not going” t-shirt continuously since he graduated from Sarah Lawrence six years ago.

4) Hipsters are far too emaciated to bear healthy offspring.

Because a hipster’s trendy, self-imposed diet consists mostly of vegan soup and cigarette tar, they are likely to weigh no more than 80 pounds. Even an additional pound of fat would structurally compromise their wafer-thin calves, snap their pelvic bone and send them tumbling to the Brooklyn pavement like a pitiful waterfowl pummeled by a thunderous volley of buckshot.

There are no doubt other issues as well, like having to curb alcoholism to prevent the infant from being pickled in PBR and emerging from the womb with FAS and an insatiable craving for Animal Collective bootlegs. Reasons like these are enough to dissuade your average hipster from motherhood. However, the long-term effects of accidental pregnancy on discouraging any future promiscuity or rampant irresponsibility are questionable.

___________________________________________________________

Photo by Christophe Legris for Stuff Hipsters Don’t Like ©2008. Photoshopping by Lola Wakefield with assistance from a friend who is the drummer of a band that hipsters don’t like.

It is my great pleasure to introduce a new literary contributor to SHDL, Howard Duesterberg.

Howard hails from Silverlake, Los Angeles, an area known for its dive bars, palm trees, shady motels and rampant population of Cal arts graduates. He was an early inspiration for this site, and rose to prominence after having his picture posted on The Cobrasnake.

Keep an eye out for Howard’s posts, which will surely be ripe with perceptive hipster commentary!

___________________________________________________

Picture of Howard by The Cobrasnake.

We reached the awning-less front entrance and realized the Realtor who was supposed to meet us there had not yet arrived. Desperate to get out of the rain, we yelled over to the apartment next door where a Hispanic teenage boy was perched on the porch and asked if we could wait there with him. He shrugged, so we dashed over and joined him.

We caught our breath (while simultaneously lighting cigarettes), and the journalist in me began to formulate questions to ask this young Bushwickian. He eyed our disheveled trio with skepticism and amusement. I started off asking him a few general questions to get a sense of his receptivity, and he told us he lived there with his family and he liked it well enough.

“Is this neighborhood dangerous?” I asked him.

“Over here it’s not too bad,” he replied. “But over on the other side of the train you’ll get mugged if you walk anywhere alone at night.” I glanced at the JMZ as it passed above the street of our potential new residence 50 meters away. Woo. We had landed in the Bushwick green zone!

Then I asked him something that would probably change his life forever: “Are there a lot of hipsters around here?”

“What’s a hipster?” he responded. He seemed confused and slightly embarrassed that he was unaccustomed to this term as he noticed our amused reactions. We laughed good-naturedly, although I was secretly disappointed because I knew hipster scouting would be much more of a chore in Bushwick.

“No really… what is it?” he prodded. I opened my mouth to explain, but knowing that this question often sends me in philosophical spirals, Dustin, the po-mo Realtor interjected.

“Well, a hipster is someone who… dresses kind of like me,” he said, showcasing his slip-on Pumas, V-necked shirt, and home-made khorts. (Note: khorts = kakhi shorts, a variation on the hipster favorite, “jorts”).

“Ooh!” the young local exclaimed with that satisfying realization that math teachers live for. “You mean white boys.”

Perhaps it was the knowingness in his statement that sealed my understanding of gentrification once and for all. “Yeah… I guess,” Dustin said.

After chatting about Bushwick hipsters for a bit longer, my roommate prodded me to double check the address. Turns out I had inverted two digits and we were at the complete wrong location. We bade our little friend adieu and started off to find the correct address.

As we passed underneath the elevated railway, I took comfort in the fact that I didn’t have any money in my wallet.

The actual apartment didn’t have nearly as must character as the rat graveyard. It kind of looked like something one would use for a stage set: a two-dimensional panel that I could have pushed over. The Realtor still wasn’t there, so we went across the street to a gas station, which I think is the first gas station I’ve seen in the whole time I’ve lived in New York.

Inside, my roommate and I entertained ourselves by examining a display of air freshener trees that would scent one’s theoretical car. I don’t know who exactly they were marketing to, since hipsters definitely don’t like driving, but we found one particular flavor highly amusing. Out of the 84 different varieties that all had their titles orderly printed on the bottom of the tree, this one had its title printed askew on the plastic packaging:

To whom this company thinks it is marketing this item in Bushwick, I do not know.

Once inside the apartment, which reminded me of the movie Betelgeuse for reasons I can not verbalize, our po-mo hipster Realtor friend called the Realtor trying to sell us the place out on various faults and shadiness as my roommate and I feigned interest.

I’m sure by now you are wondering why I have been referring to Dustin in this manner. You see, Dustin is only a corporate-attire wearing real estate agent by day; by night he is a khorts-wearing, binge-drinking singer/song-writer/guitarist who performs at venues like Pianos in the Lower East Side. After discussing with him the state of his hipsterdom, he told me that he only started making an effort to dress like a hipster after he was accused of being one. By acknowledging the hipster condition and realizing its stereotypes in an over-the-top manner, he effectively claims the title of post-modern hipster. Also, Dustin’s secret dream is to be a model for American Apparel and siezes every available opportunity to conduct spontaenous photo shoots for practice.

Work it...

If this doesn't make you want a gold headband, nothing will.

These pictures were taken in a hallway of Supreme Trading while waiting for me after the Mr and Miss Williamsburg Pageant. So you see, Dustin has the ability to pose in the most chaotic of environments. Here are some of the highlights from his personal collection:

New Year's Eve chic

Jock chic

Dramatic Butterfly Admiration

The Owl Whisperer

And my personal favorite:

Sensual Penguin Harem

Choo choo! All aboard the S-Train, hipster real-estate seekers!

Although I do not identify with being a full-blown hipster, I openly admit that I have some hipster traits (call me a hipster chimera if you will). One trait that I currently share with the non-trustfunded hipster (which is a much more elusive breed than its well-off counterpart) is the state of being really effing broke (moneyless!). This, coupled with my inability refusal to enter into the corporate jungle or serve others prepared food with a smile on my face (even though I am not happy to be there) presents quite a predicament.

So, with less than two weeks remaining before my sublease squatting arrangement is up, I have been grudgingly doing something that many-a-hipster has been forced to do over the past few years due to the powerful financial forces of yuppienization pushing the hip out of Williamsburg: I have been looking for an apartment in Bushwick.

In light of this, I thought I would narrate for you a brief history of Bushwick courtesy of Wikipedia and a few other sources.

Believe it or not, the area once called Bushwick used to include Williamsburg and Greenpoint too (note: good thing Bburg seceded! Otherwise hipsters wouldn’t be able to afford living in Bushwick, and that would be really sad). The all-inclusive Bushwick was founded by 14 people, including a handful of French dudes, someone called Franciscus the Negro* and a Dutch translator. He must have been a pretty bad translator though, because the English took over 3 years later, and after they “bought” parts of today’s Bushwick from the Native Americans, they chased them the hell out of there and probably took their money back and also their crops, which were mostly tobacco. (*Note: OK. I’m also just going to go ahead and say, that with a name like “Franciscus the Negro,” it’s no wonder there’s gentrification today.)

Later on, when everyone was getting big on industry in the city, the fine area of Bushwick produced staples of the American way of life such as chemicals (tobacco+chemicals… Philip Morris are you from Bushwick?), glue, oil, plaster, glass and beer.

Then, in the time when the hippies were raging, Bushwick experienced the immigration of blacks, Puerto Ricans simultaneously with white flight, which the New York Times summed up nicely in an article on Bushwick:

“In a five-year period in the late 1960′s and early 70′s, the Bushwick neighborhood of Brooklyn was transformed from a neatly maintained community of wood houses into what often approached a no man’s land of abandoned buildings, empty lots, drugs and arson.”

According to Blackout author Josh Goodman, “one out of every 8 buildings was damaged or destroyed by fire every year from 1969 to 1977.” I mean, WOAH. I’m pretty sure that’s more damage than the US has done in Iraq — and the people of Bushwick did it all without driving the country $9.6 trillion in debt! If only George W would have been there taking notes…

There were blackouts, riots, more looting, immigrant flight (which is when you know it’s really bad if even the people the whites were fleeing from had to leave), influxes of dugs, murders, rapes and more robberies — all the makings of a future “hip” neighborhood.

With this knowledge, it all makes sense now! The reason why Bushwick appears to be a horrid lifeless slum covered in trash and broken glass is because the glass factories and brewries were looted by angry minorities who smashed their contents on the streets; the city planners co-opted the plaster and glue factories, coating the streets in an attempt to keep the minorities there when they tried to leave to other parts of New York; the vacant lots and gutted buildings show that some arsonists were more successful than others; and the acid from the chemical plant killed everything living (except for cockroaches, bedbugs, AIDS, herpes and hepatitis A, B and C, unfortunately enough for residents of the McKibbin lofts).

I would like to leave you now with this passage from Wikipedia, as it does a good job of summing up the current situation:

In the 2000s, in the wake of lower crime rates citywide and a shortage of cheap housing in “hip” neighborhoods such as Williamsburg, Greenpoint, and Gowanus, an influx of young professionals and artists moved into converted warehouse lofts, brownstones, limestone-brick townhouses and other renovated buildings. And, while murders and car thefts are higher in the 83rd precinct now than they were to start the decade, property values are increasing.

Call me a conspiracy theorist but I do not think Bushwick is all that hip! I think its popularity is the result of real estate hegemony and that hipsters and yuppies alike are being lured into this neighborhood with false hopes of it becoming as cool as Williamsburg.

Well, whatevs, I guess. A slum is only as hip as the hipsters that live there. Let’s all go to Bushwick! And let’s all hope we don’t get murdered or fall victim to infectious disease spread by intravenous needle use.

_______________________________________________________

Picture from the “Bushwick, Brooklyn” entry on Wikipedia.com.