Fear Not: The Hipster Lives!

A waxed mustache. Dark rimmed glasses. A plaid button down. A bowtie. Jeans with the bottoms rolled up. He mutters something about PBR. Who is this?

This, my friends, is the hipster. There have been reports that they are a dying breed. But to quote Severus Snape, “My source told me that there are plans to lay a false trail; this must be it.” Articles as early as 2014 clamored and claimed that the hipster is dead, but I would argue that their death was about as real as Tom Sawyer’s.

As a group they are almost immediately identifiable, though (like any large collective) they have different hobbies. Some like to ironically shop at Goodwill. Others will tell you about their artisanal breads, and how gluten is the worst. You begin to wonder if they eat anything at all, for the hipster is often extremely thin.

Your hipster friend, Stan, appears so thin, in fact, that you might offer to take him out for a meal. He will then insist that the restaurant serves only locally-sourced, organic produce.

“Stop being a hipster,” you snap.

Stan looks appalled, as if you just said something pro-oil. “He normally doesn’t mind swearing,” you think. But you just did something terrible. You just broke the number one rule of hanging out with hipsters: you called a hipster a hipster.

Hipsters hate labels. They don’t like being told by Mr. Mainstream that they’re the hipster-est of all the hipsters in the hipster-dom.

When this happens, they’ll tell you that you are mistaken. They’ll cite some article or something that they read on a blog once or whatever.

Probably this one: http://www.theguardian.com/fashion/2014/jun/22/end-of-the-hipster-flat-caps-and-beards

Or maybe this one: http://mashable.com/2015/06/09/post-hipster-yuccie/#aH7q_lUcxOqa

They may say that hipster as a term is dead.

Don’t be lied to, don’t be fooled. Hipsters are now trying to squirm out of the box they themselves created. You’ve been laying on your laurels, my hipster friends. You’re now part of the mainstream—the ultimate irony—you’ve become what you hate. All your excruciating months of growing the perfect homeless beard has now backfired.

Congratulations, you’re this decade’s mullet.


Writing Challenge: Steve Harvey’s Mustache

Yesterday it happened. It’s the same thing that happens to us all in moments of darkness and despair, those epochs of woefully terrifying boredom. That’s right. I watched daytime TV.

And what I saw was awe inspiring. I tuned in to a man (likely unqualified to do so) giving relationship advice to married couples, which was disturbing albeit slightly humorous. But less disturbing was the host’s image. This man was strong, confident, and witty. He dished out advice as a lunch lady dishes out mystery meat; that is to say, with speed and consistency. And like mystery meat, his advice was wonderful at first, but once settled it gave the listener an upset stomach. This made no difference to the studio audience. And his guests nodded their heads at his wisdom, agreeing to do whatever he said. But why? Was it some sort of Jedi mind trick? Or was it simply the host’s gusto? I watched carefully to find out; and I discovered that more confident than the man was his mustache, for his facial hair was as glorious as the peak of mount kilimanjaro. The man in question: Steve Harvey.

Before you read on you must know that I think Steve Harvey is a truly hilarious comedian. So all of the following is really just an outpouring of jealousy. I’m envious of two things in particular: (1) his ability to be funny and (2) his ablity to grow facial hair.


His mustache could persuade every world power towards nuclear disarment.

His mustache is actually a black hole, destroying the reasoning abilities of anyone that gazes into its terrible abyss.

His mustache could conquer the world, but right now it’s too busy conquering women’s hearts.

His mustache was once an old punctuation mark that was meant to beget world peace, but instead it chose Steve Harvey’s face to bring about a new age of love.

His mustache grooms itself.

Alas, I could continue, but Steve Harvey’s mustache would sue me for libel. All this talk about Steve Harvey’s mustache did make me think up a prompt for another writing challenge. Check it out.

Writing Challenge: Write about an interaction with a character and an inanimate object.