Sprawling Lunacy

I have a vendetta. No, it’s not anything direly political like the one that guy in V for Vendetta has, and it’s definitely not a bloodthirsty, single-minded invective like Alice’s thing against the Umbrella Corporation in the Resident Evil flicks. Nah, my beef is just with the annoying suburban kids that dovetail under the heading ‘hipsters’. It’s irrational and kind of bigoted, but I remain stalwart in my undying distaste for the lot of them.

Let’s look at this in a David Attenborough-esque Discovery Channel manner. The hipster is a blight upon mid-Western ‘burbs, European prep schools, and the warm Australian outback alike—a planetary epidemic, if you will. They are instantly recognizable for their trademark godawful clothing, makeup, music choice, and/or hair dye. Local colonies of the hipster can be sub-divided into certain families or tribes—for example, the emo, the scene kid, and the indie kid—that can be observed following specific global trends and styles almost as if telepathically. The frequent changes to the specifics of their tribe notwithstanding, the hipster generally adheres to a specific set of ideals which vary only slightly among subdivisions, which will hereafter be referred to as the Tenets of Hipsterdom:

1. The hipster must maintain the slightest level of body fat possible at all times, including the cold winters, Christmas, and well-catered birthday celebrations—2% body fat, while acceptable, is pushing the limit
2. The hipster must emphasize his or her otherwise drab apparel with garish colours in the hair or accessories, including but not limited to: flaming red highlights; highlighter yellow Converse brand shoes; electric pink wristbands and toques; and those vulgar ‘Fuck Me’ bracelets popularized by bored American junior high students
3. The hipster must attend live concerts at local music venues, but conversely must not dance or sing along and instead bob his or her head rhythmically or sway as if drunk
4. The hipster must be, think, listen to, watch, ogle, and obsess over what is deemed ‘cool’ by the previously-established ‘cool’ hipsters: the Hipster Elite.

To be perfectly honest, it isn’t the garish colour schemes or standardized quirks of your average hipster that make me irate. Really, I could forgive all the Tenets of Hipsterdom if the hipster confessed to the throes of peer pressure, temporary insanity, or being dropped on the head as a child if it weren’t for that one thing, one last group trait that just surpasses the breaking point, that thin line splitting what is tolerable from the horrible span of that which just plain does not abide: the hipster’s tendency to assemble in large clumps in the center of narrow corridors, and to walk at the slowest pace that can still be labelled walking when they are forced to change locations. The bloody self-righteous sluggishness which I am compelled to curse with bitter and long-winded sentences. Arrogance at its peak. In polite company, one does not simply stop and assemble in the middle of the hallway—one shifts over to the wall, or perhaps a nice, quiet corner. But not the hipsters—no, sir, there is no path too narrow for them to obstruct. And is it too much to ask for the slightest bit of respect? Another person cannot ask the thicket of hipsters to shift aside to allow passage—oh no—he or she must instead detour around the perimeter of the amalgamation, or if there is no room, find an alternative route around the barricade or die trying. The hipsters, evidently, cannot be bothered to become aware of their surroundings as they are far too distracted by their Important Discussions of weight loss, cool hair, and proper head bobbing technique. Who are we to jar them from their reverie?