When I was 17, I got a pair of (for me) extremely hipster glasses. Couple that with a six inch chop to the hair, and I was a whole new woman! I fascinated myself, and was a little disappointed too. I didn’t pull off hipster the way I thought I would. As someone who enjoys writing and feeling her feelings to the greatest extent of feeling feels, it didn’t make sense. Why didn’t I pull off hipster?
In fact, I even went to a Bon Iver concert, wearing said glasses. This was not a total tool move, because I’m actually nearsighted, but still. Can you get more hipster? I literally saw Paul Dano. AND Bon Iver was my first high school breakup album on a continuous loop! I repeat, any hipsters in the house? No? Yeah. No. I’m not a hipster.
I’m just not hip. If we’re gonna reference some “American Psycho” slash Huey Lewis, I definitely am far more square than hip. I’ve accepted this fact, begrudgingly, but I’ve accepted it. And now, I’m proud of that angsty time. Did I mention I was also the Editor of my school’s literary magazine? The darker,
deeper, danker— the better. And still, not a hipster.