not a hipster chick

I was thinking about hipster chicks and how I can never be one.

Hipster chicks are really thin and have huge limpid Disney eyes and dark hair with retro bangs and pale skin. They have the cat’s eye glasses and the thrift store skirts and they can wear tee shirts from the little boys dept. at K-Mart because they have small breasts and narrow shoulders and thin arms and long, long fingers. They are artsy but not fartsy and they might have cats and they definitely have apartments because hipster chicks don’t live in houses. They definitely don’t play sports. They never admit to watching bad TV or big-studio films and they never admit that they secretly sing along when Justin Timberlake is on the radio, because they don’t listen to the radio, because radio is evil. They only listen to indie music, and the minute their favorite indie band makes it big, they’re on to the next new thing. They live on cigarettes and coffee and jellybeans and carrot juice and other random things that make no sense. I don’t know how they get to be so cool when they eschew every facet of modern pop culture, but apparently they retrieve these trends via osmosis from some hipster-chick database housed on a small island in the South Pacific. They like to talk about books that we all thought were boring and movies we’ve never heard of. But when they walk into a room, I always look, because they’ve somehow managed to achieve this look of aloof grace, this insufferable coolness, this quality that I will never have. And for this I secretly envy them, sometimes.

Because I will never be that way. I’ll never be graceful, because I’ll always have feet that are too big and legs that are too short.

I’ll never be cool, because I’ll always look a little bit stupid in most thrift-store skirts, and I’ll never know quite how to accessorize. I’ll still indulge in some bad TV, and I’ll always love some truly shitty films, and I’ll sing my ass off when Justin Timberlake is on the radio.

I’ll never be aloof, because I’ll always eat and drink and sing and dance and play and love and kiss like I mean it. Because I do mean it. I don’t know how to be any other way.

So I do envy the hipster chicks, in a way. But I’m mostly okay with the knowledge that I’ll never be one.

11 Replies to “not a hipster chick”

  1. Ah! I know exactly who you're talking about. There's one on The Edge staff….I'm jealous, yes. But yeah….HAPPY WEEKEND AND FEEL BETTER.

  2. I like getting to know hipster chicks sometimes if only to find that they're really dorky. I mean, you have brunch or visit the house and it's dorkville despite the decor.

    In any case, a girl that fucks like she means it will always rank higher in my book than a girl that's no good outside of your fantasies.

    if only we could kill the teevee. ;)

  3. My ex-roommate was one of those. Fuck 'em, fuck 'em all! Like you said, I wouldn't be me without my loudness and my Justin Timberlake and my Paradise Hotel and my Dude, Where's My Car? and my not liking to smoke. Again, fuck 'em, fuck 'em all. I call you later – I hope you feel better!

  4. my doctor also advised me that when my stomach rebels, I should switch to BRAT: Bananas, Rice, Applesauce, and Toast, eschewing roughage and fiber, which can unsettle a temporarily sensitive stomach. So the rice and toast would each be white, if only for this occasion.

  5. I'm sicky too. My head feels like shit. I've got Cozy Time Koala Tea with Lemon and Honey. You should come over, and we could be sicky together.

  6. smooth moves of sweet sweet love on the CommentsConeXion.

    heh. I like all chicks – all of 'em.

  7. the trouble is that hipster chicks get to hang around with hipster boys, who admittedly can be very annoying and insecure, but some of them actually fucking read and i really respect that. okay, i'm lying. it's not about respect. when a guy is knowledgeable about music and politics and dostoevsky, it flat out turns me on.

  8. My first gf was a hipster chick. She's now a lesbian, and hates for me to bring up her hipster days.

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