It’s Okay to Hate Hipsters

Folks, while I don’t consider myself a raging, clueless nerd, I’m definitely no hipster.

Lane Cummingsby Lane Cummings

In fact, I avoid certain neighborhoods, like LA’s Los Feliz/Silverlake area just to avoid being around hipsters, their Elvis Costello glasses and V-necked American Apparel shirts. Oh, and the unwavering look of disdain on their faces.

Before writing this article I checked out the Hipster handbook which defines being a hipster as “One who possesses tastes, social attitudes, and opinions deemed cool by the cool…The Hipster walks among the masses in daily life but is not a part of them and shuns or reduces to kitsch anything held dear by the mainstream. A Hipster ideally possesses no more than 2% body fat.”

Perusing this website, it turns out that some of the criteria that makes one a lowlife hipster also over overlaps with the things that make me, me. Like for example, I went to “You graduated from a liberal arts school whose football team hasn't won a game since the Reagan administration.”

But what separates me from hipsters, is that I don’t treat mismatched rags as the epitome of fashion and people don’t often want to punch me in the face on sight.

Usually, I’m against discrimination, but with hipsters I like to bend the old rules. This week, let’s embrace some real reasons to hate hipsters and toss those messenger bags into traffic, laughing as they scramble after them.

The damn glasses. I don’t know about you, but I’m sick and tired of looking at those Elvis Costello glasses. Hipsters wear them out of fear, as a shield to protect them from the rest of the world and to stake their claim in being “bookwormy.” I think it’s okay to dislike someone based on the way they dress, judge them on that and dismiss them forever. For example, if I said I hated chicks who wore Juicy Couture sweatpants (with the Juicy logo on the butt) would anyone blame me?

The sense of superiority and importance. I once went to a party of a friend who was a hipster. He and I ran/run in different social circles and I just wanted to stop by, say what’s up, and move on. When I got there he was nowhere to be found and the apartment was crawling with hipsters. Yes, I felt like I had been thrown to the wolves. Hipsters are a crispy crowd; too busy resting on their laurels of delicate condescension to embrace a new lass to the group. In fact, I even heard this hipster ho talk down about blondes (I’m blonde, folks), tossing glares in my direction, 6 inches away from me (apparently hipsters are a dark haired race, if you think about that— it’s mostly true).  Finally, I found some nice non-hipster people who staked out a corner of normalcy for themselves and they welcomed me. Thank god. Because these hipsters were as exclusive and excluding as an Ivy League eating club.

Lack of hygiene. Listen, even I don’t shower everyday in a general sense of “What’s the point of it all?” but I don’t see my occasional grubbiness as “the way forward.” Hipsters revel in their greasy hair, shooting looks of contempt at the rest of us with our sparkling faces and scrubbed armpits, deeming us simpletons and sheep who don’t question the necessity of the morning rinse. How dare they? I consider my morning shower (when I take it) a service I provide to others, providing the nicety of not smelling rank, and hipsters can’t be bothered to provide this to the rest of the world. How about we take this one step further and say it’s okay to hate them because their clothes and shoes have holes in them and they’re trying to make that look chic? I say that’s fine. We have people in America and round the world who can’t afford new clothes and have no choice but to wear dilapidated clothing. Hipsters are mocking the privileged society from whence they came and are invalidating the plight of millions of people around the world.

For shame.

Look forward to part two of this article tomorrow.