Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Coming To Terms With Being A Hipster

Friends, I’ve recently had one of those revelation things I keep talking about. This one, however, made me snigger and roll my eyes, instead of the usual tears and anxiety that follow. I’d call that progress? 

I realised that… well…. 
I’m a hipster. 

There. I said it. There’s not going back now, I guess. 

My friends have been accusing me of being a hipster for years, and I’ve always vehemently denied it. I’ve pointed out how I couldn’t possibly be a hipster, because I don’t have an iPhone. Instead, I have a 3rd hand Blackberry that works as it pleases, not as I please. 
Apparently, shunning the iPhone only makes me more hipster. Great. 
Nonetheless, in the last 2 weeks, there have been too many signs of my hipsterdom to ignore any longer. Some of them were: 

- I don’t own a TV, and can’t relate when people talk about the awesome or lame ads they saw while watching 7de Laan or whatever. 

- I crochet. I give crochet as gifts, I sell my crochet goods, I wear my crochet goods. 

- I sew, and people come to me for advice and help with sewing and related topics.* 

- I lived alone, save for my cat, in a gorgeous studio cottage with no security. I stayed there because it’s pretty, despite 3 break-ins. 

- I live on sweet tea, popcorn, and frozen veggies. (Not all at the same time, though!) 

- I’m divorced. I’ve been divorced since just after I turned 28. 

- I know what a Saturn Return is, and I’m in mine. 

- I paint and sketch, and display my work proudly on my wall, as well as gift it to friends. 

- My wall-of-art left a bona fide hipster speechless, and she wanted to steal the idea. 

- I have dozens of files on my computer that are filled with story ideas and actual unfinished short stories, novels etc. 

- I drove a clapped-out old car, put plasters on the bumps and scrapes, stapled the fabric back when it fell off, and I named her FrankenCar. Frankie, for short. I sold her the other day, to fund my move, and now rely on my Moses Wheels: 

These shoes have seen things I can't even remember. The best takkies EVER!!!

- I regularly ran out of fuel for Frankie, and kept a 5l bottle in the car in case of such emergencies, as well as having my friends on speed dial in case it happened at night. 

- My friends asked me to be their social media person for their band, because I never shut up about the beauty of Twitter and Facebook. 

- I know ALL the festivals. (I haven’t been to many, so that loses me hipster points, but hey.)

- I have retro-ish glasses, with solid black frames

- I have a weird-ass, creepy-ass, huge-ass tattoo that has mystical meaning. 

- I carry a notebook wherever I go. It’s a Moleskine. And when I am without it, I start getting separation anxiety. 

- I’ve had pink/purple/turquoise/blue hair, and an undercut. Sometimes simultaneously. Before the mommies started doing it. 

- I have totem jewellery, and feel totally lost without it. Because of this jewellery, I can’t sneak around anywhere – I make too much of a racket. Friends comment on this constantly. 

- I worked at a creative company, which was great. Now that I’ve left, I am doing random part-time work to keep me out of too much trouble while I figure things out. 

- I use the phrase ‘Figure things out’ in reference to my life. 

- I’m uprooting my entire life and moving across the country, with no solid plan, and I’m more excited than afraid. 

- I am ridiculously uptight about things like grammar and spelling. It’s worked out, because I got a boy’s number after a rant about spelling in his bar, but still. 

Incidentally, the same place has the BEST spelling mistake EVER on their menu!

- I’m an epic geek. Whedonite. Shelockian. Tolkeinist. Throney. And soon-to-be Whovian, once I free up space on my hard drive, I suspect. (Yes, I’m late to the Whovian party. It’s ok, though. I’m getting there.)

- The staff at my local Cash Converters know me by name, and greet me with hugs and fist-bumps. 

- I loathe trendy places like Billy the Bums, I think Greenside is becoming too popular with piepie jollers, and I will always love dodgy old Melville, and the Doors in Edenvale. 

- My friends can’t see how I haven’t been able to see my hipsterdom. 

- My style trademarks are slouchy beanies (usually made by moi), t-shirts (back to 42 at last count!!!), and scrappy old shell toe takkies (Moses Wheels, as above) I’ve been wearing since I was 19. Also: I own a fedora woven out of recycled paper, and everyone knows it’s made out of paper, because I can’t shut up about it when I wear it. 

- My dad’s greatest fear for me was that I’d give it all up and join Greenpeace. This is still on my bucket list. 

- I celebrate random things like Earth Hour and Ice Cream Day. Alone, usually. 

- My own mother called me a hipster last week, and is trying to set me up with a bona fide hipster boy. 

- I have a blog. Everyone knows. They call me my blog name as much as my given name. 

- I'm editing this blog in an internet cafe in Melville. While wearing my Moses Wheels, and a beanie I made. It doesn't get more hipster than that, does it??

Now, none of these things has been done with hipsterdom in mind. As I say, I’ve spent a large amount of time vocally denying any hipster tendencies I’ve exhibited over the years. So I’ll call a compromise… I’ll accept being an accidental hipster. It’s not something I set out to be. It’s just something I’ve gradually become. But when you hear it from half a dozen people in the space of a week, I think the time for denial is over. 
I’ve done the anger, bargaining, depression, and denial. So the next stage that I’m working on is acceptance, and staying vigilant about avoiding douchey hipster traits. Wish me luck, Boolings! Who knows? I might even get myself a vintage bicycle when I get to Cape Town?**

* I intend to start sewing again when I get to the Mother City, so look out for awesomeness at markets soon!
**You have my permission to make endless fun of me if I do.

No comments:

Post a Comment