My friends tease me about being a hipster even though I’m not, so last night I decided to give them some more material for their jokes by hanging out in Bushwick.
Here are the latest signs I’m not a hipster:
- When I’m at a bar that doesn’t have air conditioning on a sticky, stuffy night and am sweating like crazy, I don’t care that there are pieces of toilet paper stuck to me after frantically splashing water on my face in the bathroom, and I don’t care how I look rubbing my cold drink glass all over my body to try to cool down.
- When I’m watching a really weird dance performance in a sweltering bar, and it doesn’t make any sense, I don’t pretend to understand the strange movements as some sophisticated form of artistic expression.
- When I go to a random apartment to attend a dance party and they’re selling drinks for the same price as in a bar, I don’t act like it’s no big deal to pay $5 for a can of Bud Light in someone’s living room.
- When it’s too hot in an apartment to even think about dancing, I don’t dance.
- When someone is filming a movie on a roof involving a man wearing a unicorn head, I don’t act like that’s something I see every day.
- When I have to wait in line for a half hour to use the restroom, I don’t pretend that’s just fine with me and my bladder.
- When I hear the police may be coming to break up a party because it’s possibly being illegally held, I don’t wait around to see if it’s true.
Maybe one day I will gain some hipster cred, but for the moment, I just laugh when my friends accuse me of being such a creature. And insist I can’t stand hipsters–but I think that actually is one of the things hipsters do.