Patheticus Hipstericus Major
or "the faltering urban hipster." They exist. They are all around us. I found them at the UDF.
We made an embarrassing pit stop last week at United Dairy Farmers. The whole fam decided we needed to stock up on personal pints of ice cream, because we don't do sharing. We end up at the register with 3x4 plus 1 or 2 gallons of ice cream. When we pulled into the lot, part of the storefront and one entire parking space was occupied by a bunch of 30-somethings sitting cross legged or, in one case, totally stretched out across the asphalt.
Me: What the hell? Run them over.
Winston: How many points is that? If I run them over, I mean.
Me: Were they all suddenly incapacitated? Is there an Occupy UDF movement I missed? That's like, 75 points. 80 if they try to run.
Henry: Can we just go in and stop talking about it?
Anne: What are they doing? What's their problem?
Me: I have no clue. Don't look at them; just walk by.
As we got out of the car and walked around the throng of bodies on the pavement, I got a better perspective of what was going on. . A group of grown men and women, OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW BETTER, were lying around the parking lot, posturing and trying to act cool and distracted by their awesome, while carrying on a conversation. It looked painful. And complicated. We walked slowly past, trying to grab snippets of conversation...
Dude in Sailor Moon T and Khakis, with Rosie the Riveter tat
and IceMan from Top Gun Sunglasses: No, for real he bought his own house. He's not renting anymore.
Woman, in Polyester Tracksuit and Head scarf: You're joking. For real? (snicker) What's that all about?
Greek Chorus of Aging Hip Murmuring: Whatever... Fucking Banks... I'm not paying interest... Fuck Wall Street bankers, man. I'm never selling out and buying a "house" (with actual use of quotation fingers)
Hipster IceMan: No... but... it was really nice. He had me over for a barbeque...
Greek Chorus of Aging Hip: (snicker) Barbeque? Seriously? (condescending laughter) You went to a barbeque?
Hipster IceMan: Well, yeah, but he's got this really nice back yard with trees and stuff and he had a pond, like with koi fish and everything. Actually... it was pretty great. We had bruschetta.
Woman, Daisy Dukes and Men's Work Shirt reading "Bob": Koi? I love koi! I have one tattoed on my thigh!
Hip Dude, in Ill Fitting Dress Shirt and Gym Teacher Shorts: We have these neighbors we can see from our apartment that have a koi pond, and it's amazing. Very peaceful. I would totally buy if I could get a koi pond.
Greek Chorus of Aging Hip: Koi pond! Koi pond! Koi are awesome!
At this point my husband was literally dragging me through the doors of UDF, because I was now openly standing stock still and staring at them. As we loaded up in the ice cream aisle, coconut almond, chocolate cherry, chocolate chocolate, vanilla and caramel, salted caramel, more coconut, cookies and cream, chocolate chip (really, it's embarrassing) I was totally distracted by the hipsters out front. It was so sad. They were trying to cling to their hipness by lying about the parking lot, showing disgust for the traditional, predictable parking of cars. It was tragic and pathetic. I mean, they had to be 35 years old.
They were clearly losing the battle to cling desperately to the edge of edginess. I noticed one was drinking Vitamin Water. Although the guys were clearly clinging to the cult of the ironic shirt, I swear two of them were wearing Gap khakis. I imagine back in the day, they only ever wore vintage Dickies. But now, as their once lean, starved bodies succumbed to the ravages of eating ironic dinners in parking lots, I imagine they now craved the soft embrace of the relaxed washed Gap chino.
And they were glancing about, furtively, almost as if they were concerned someone would suggest they not sprawl about the middle of the damn pavement. A true hipster wouldn't care about "conventional" seating, they would be dying for someone to tell them they shouldn't sit in the middle of the damn parking lot. It would give them an opportunity to rail against the machine they exist outside of because of their advanced awesome and fringe eyewear.
They way they halfheartedly protested home ownership was the dead give away that their hip days were numbered. When they spoke the words "bruschetta" and "koi" and ""pond" I could hear the longing in their voices to escape the non-traditonal housing they no doubt lived in. ( I imagined turn of the century, third story, walk-up studios with "great light" and original plumbing. Eeeeewww) It made me feel a deep sense of sorrow for them. Because there, on the ground in the UDF parking lot, could have been one of the first people in Lakewood ever to order oversized horn rimmed glasses.
As we left the UDF, arms laden with bags of individual ice creams, the hipsters had fallen silent. They were probably imagining decks and koi ponds and barbeques and sitting on proper chairs, and refrigerators bigger than dorm size that could hold 17 pints of ice cream.
I heard them start talking again as I was shutting my car door, but I didn't catch what they were saying. My daughter stood outside the car, ignoring her father's shouts to get in the damn car already. When she got in, I said:
Me: Anne! What did you hear? What were they talking about?
Henry: Mom, you are so annoying! Don't you dare take their picture. Can we just go home?
Anne: Mom, I heard the one girl say, "I love your shirt! Where did you get it?"
Me: No. Just no. That's impossible! It goes against their genetic code to love things!
Anne: And then the other girl said, "You won't believe it, but I got this whole outfit at TJ Max."
Me: Nooooooooooo!! It can't be! That's impossible!
Henry: Oh my God, Mom. Shut up.
~dana
I've included some a graph and a chart in the interest of science.
