Such as it is the common child’s goal to become an “astronaut” or “teacher” when they grow up, it is every hipster’s dream to work at the American Apparel factory. In this fantasy, they have access to all the hand-crafted onsies and leggings they could ever want and have regularly scheduled orgies after lunch, which consists of empanadas and Colt-45. But they may want to go back to the drawing board as there is one aspect of the job they have likely overlooked — namely that all AA factory workers risk losing fingers and other extremities to the sewing machine after being startled by CEO Dov Charney rampaging through the factory in a new underwear product and Hooters tank top.

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.

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

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#17) Being forced to move to Bushwick

Thursday, September 18, 2008

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

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.

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