Ode To The Los Angeles Hipster

The Con

What has happened to the hipster?  The used to live in secluded areas designated as their own, territory they pissed on actually so the straights would stay away.  Silver Lake, Williamsburg, Royal Oak were their stomping grounds, neighborhoods where the white v-necked boys covered in tattoos could play Peter Pan to a throng of tatted girls clothed in the latest thrift store schmatta.

But know they are not found in their natural habitat.  They have blended in to the rest of society, in neighborhoods across the cities in which they live, bringing their wide-eyed ignorance of anything vaguely to do with the culture, country and times in which they reside to us, the straights.

There are the random sightings in the Land of the Square.  It’s hard to miss the white v-neck not holding in the chest hair and perfectly kept three-day growth of beard with the adoring chick in the orange and red circa 1972 Twiggy dress.  And I love how when asked where they live, in this case say Silver Lake, they with give you a geographical location – north, east etc.  Because they want you to know they are not hipsters like the rest of the area.  After all, it’s unhip to be hip these days.

The other day, while drinking in a K-Town bar, I had the misfortune of watching two hipsters engage in their public mating ritual.  The slobber, the hair, the desire for me, a straight man, to take the poor girl out and buy her a real pair of shoes.  I was about to throw back a fourth bourbon when the boy in this show fell forward right on his face.  It seems all the Ex he took had hit at once.  The girl’s scream was muffled by the karaoke – Styx as I recall – and she was forced to tell the bouncer about her boy’s use of pharmaceuticals.

Thus I was witness to a standing overdose.  How hip.

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