Alex Stephenson Hipstamatic

Look, I know I’m a hipster. I write about things like how I see AC Slater’s hair as a metaphor for Reaganomics, and I’m aware that this is a fucking absurd way to operate. I know that using the word ‘trenchant’ as it refers to the career of pop musician Pink makes it seem like I sit atop a pile of Douglas Coupland books, listening to Animal Collective on my Zune (they’re cool now, in case you were unaware) and signing all of my cheques with fuchsia Laurentian pencil crayons. That being said, I can still be surprised by rampant hipsterism. And I can still laugh my ass off about it.

I walked into the most hipstery gathering I have ever been to this weekend. Everybody was chain smoking in this apartment with exposed brick walls, and the only furniture to be found were seven bean bag chairs. One of the people who wasn’t sitting was standing in the corner playing Devilsticks exceptionally; I could barely comprehend the tricks he was pulling off. Another guy was making a friend take a picture of himself in front of the exposed brick. Two people were discussing the styles of cardigans that they were wearing, and the person who seemed to actually live there was playing his new dub step song for us all. Later on, when a new person arrived at 10pm, he explained that he had just gotten up, and that he doesn’t pay his hydro bills so he can buy more alcohol; he chooses to sleep on his couch wearing his pea coat and Chuck Taylors while surrounded by candles. One might say this constitutes alcoholism, but this guy was also the only person in the room I never saw drinking. I guess he was being a contrarian.

I don’t know how these run ins keep happening, but I’m happy they do. I always feel a little bad about making fun of people for being ridiculous, but when you’re 28 and smoking inside while proving that you’re incredible with Devilsticks, you’re begging to get made fun of. My goal in life is to generally avoid these things, but every time I end up there I always enjoy myself. Sometimes I wonder whether or not I actually like hanging out with my friends as much as I enjoy strangers. Maybe it’s because my friends can’t surprise me anymore; when you know someone for a decade, that’s almost impossible. I know which of my friends are good at Devilsticks, and I know it’s none of them because my friends are logical. But that Childish Gambino fan sure was good at them, and I can’t hold that against him. I don’t mind these things so long as people at them don’t mind me chuckling to myself a little more than is probably polite. Enjoy your PBR, gentlemen. I’ll just be over here on a stack of copies of jPod and Hey Nostradamus!

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