According to my dear sister (who is so full of knowledge these days), I, Laetiçia J. Emmanuel, am a hipster. *I was a bit dismayed myself.* We don’t know how it happened, but, less the requisite trust fund (scoff!), she says I totally fit the bill:
• deep-seeded hatred for the hipster (check!)
• dramatic outrage at being labeled as such (check!)
• living space full of old things, mostly purchased in vintage or consignment shops (check!)
• rusty bike as choice mode of transport (check times two!)
• eclectic music collection of obscure artists, underrated legends, and a smattering of Top 40 guilty pleasures (check!)
That’s as far as I got (*suck teeth*) — while I recognize the above truth, I’d say that I’m missing a few of the essential hipster elements. The most basic, in my opinion, is the hipster's ability to suck soul out of the authentic at mind-blowing speeds: from a neighborhood, to a t-shirt, to a lifestyle, they turn what is truly and purely cool into watered-down lameness perfect for consumption by small-minded mall rats nationwide. Take a look a the hilarity that is New York's brand of hipster:
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Now playing: Bilal - White Turns To Gray
via FoxyTunes
23 October 2007
On: Lettuce as Hipster?
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