Pavement – No Life Singed Her
For years I’ve been misconstrued as some sort of pompous hipster. Not by definition. as many people don’t even know what the word/term/label means, but by virtue of my music tastes and the way I dress. For years, I’ve denied it…I can’t stand being called a pretentious hipster. I can’t stand being told I have a “Cudi vibe,” about me. It isn’t cute. It’s not flattering. It doesn’t make me cooler.
By my own definition a hipster is an elitist. They have a love for obscure things and strive to be individualistic to a fault. It’s OK to be an individual, in fact I embrace being an individual…but when you’re so individualistic that you can’t listen to *insert band here* because they’ve had some pitchfork recognition, you have a problem [as it does not impede on their ability to make music.] Hipster’s love vintage–vintage clothes, vintage gaming systems, vintage appliances. You walk into a hipster’s room and you may see a clock from the 30s, a NES with a bunch of obscure games, and a record player. Hipster’s don’t dance. They don’t lift weights. That’s not cool, and a hipster is cool because a hipster doesn’t try. The funny thing about a hipster is, though they portray the image of “cool, broke, and vintage,” they’re usually rich, pompous, and moronic. At least in my opinion.
But in recent months, I’ve learned to embrace hipster-dom. Embrace Kid Cudi, even though I don’t care for his music. Perception is everything [Tom is going to kill me for making that line a mainstay in my vocabulary] and if people perceive me as a hipster, then so be it. It’s better than being called a scenester [which really, what an awful label for a group of people] and by embracing Cudi-dom my friends and I have found the perfect opener to meet women [you’ll never guess how many girls I’ve met by watching my friend Scrabes go “HEY LADIES, DOESN’T HE LOOK JUST LIKE KID CUDI?!?!]
Somehow it always leads back to women, but there are at least a dozen examples I could pull…during Spring weekend of 2010 some girl started talking to me because I looked like Cudi…we kissed, exchanged numbers and found each other on facebook. That same weekend, I met a girl who I apparently did the stanky leg with. I just happened to be at a party that she was at in September…with no semblance of meeting her whatsoever.
Her: Oh my god, I know you!
Her: We met on Spring Weekend! We did the Stanky Leg together!
Me: I’m sorry, I really don’t remember that.
Her: You work at the Union, right! You look just like Kid Cudi
Creepy that she knows where I work…or remembered me 5 months after the fact? Yeah, I thought so too.
But more than anything I embrace hipster-dom. I don’t act any differently than I did before, nor dress differently…that’s beneath me as I refuse to “try” to act like anything [and maybe that’s the real inner hipster in me coming out!] The only thing I really embrace is when people call me a hipster…but why embrace something I hate? Because anyone that knows the definition of the damn label knows a hipster would never admit to being one. In fact, the first rule to being a hipster is to deny being a hipster. By admittance, I’ve somehow beat the system! At least in my head…surely young adults my age just blurt out things when they don’t know what they are all the time, and human nature tends to use perception more than knowledge. But at least in my head I’ve won…and to anyone with the decency to use knowledge over perception.