4. Abandoned factories
I generally try to avoid writing or talking about hipsters.
When the opening act left the stage, I took a sip from my tall-boy of Narragansett and admitted to something that I had been denying for the entirety of my life: I think I just might be a hipster.
Williamsburg, Brooklyn continually cited as the most hipster city in America just got its first Starbucks.
The obsession with vinyl and all things outdated, the mad dash away from any mainstream music, and the constant mention of side-projects no one has heard of can be a bit silly. Good music is good music. People like what they like, why do hipsters have to resist so much?
I had just finished two-and-a-half years at a community college and transferred to a “real college.” The meeting with my counselor was in late November, so the variety of classes were sparse, unique ones kicked to the curb.
Hipsterdom is a scornful parody of white poverty culture, arrogantly oblivious to the adversities experienced by white people who actually live in poverty.
‘Why is our generation so proud of being useless pieces of sh*t?’
I didn’t care if John was filling in his beard with eyeshadow and he encouraged me to give in to my love of bright colors and hotpants on a Sunday and tight-fitting silhouettes.