[Image Source: conservativeprincess.com]
Dear The Hipster,
I’ve been seeing a lot of you around, like, more than my kitchen roach infestation. No similarities, of course. Now that Fashion Week is over and all those editors have scurried back to their thrones, it seems like you’ve been everywhere lately, even my roommate’s bed. I told her, one gimlet is like three PBRs but there’s no helping the young and lush-y. Anyway, I snapped this shot over the weekend in Bushwick and thought you might be able to tell me why you look like such a tool.
Thanks! Almost Over It Greenpoint, Brooklyn
Dear Almost Over It,
Tell your roommate I’m sorry about stealing her jeans. They just don’t make em tight enough for guys and hers cut off my circulation perfectly at the thigh so I just couldn’t help myself. To answer your question, there are a bunch of reasons why I look like a zombie douche. The first is that I spend most of my time indoors/passed out in the doorsill of Pie and Thighs. Or at least I used to before they closed down the only place in Brooklyn where I could still smoke inside, hit on girls wearing more than six layers of shirts, and pretend to relate to the Ecuadorian line cook, all at the same time. A moment of silence, please...
All that time in dank little hipster spots that you’d never hear about means that I’ve evolved BEYOND the need for daytime vision. Like the Ozark ghostfish, but with less skin tone. Another reason my eyes are closed is because I’ve decided my online “presence” has gotten overexposed lately. Misshapes is just not safe for the anonymous elite anymore. Those piercing baby blues would give me away in a second and I can’t handle anymore traffic on my site. But if you like Winona Rider (pre-kleptomania), then I can always find some bandwidth for you.
Let’s see, the third reason is that I’m channeling Michael Jackson if he were a white dude trust fund baby with enough money to blow his weight in coke but preferred the I-can’t-afford-basic-grooming-products-such-as-Head-and-Shoulders look. You know what, now that I think about it, I may just have been suddenly overcome by the rank aroma of my armpit B.O. Yeah, that was the week I decided to commemorate the struggle of poverty by showing how showering was too selfish for the over-privleged underclass like me. I now wear Axe body spray. Ironically, of course.
Hope that helps.