Our community garden is run by hipsters. Last Saturday, my little family and I were surrounded by very tall, very thin men and women in very tight pants. They were all wearing cool, anti-cool hats and vintage eyewear.
Can somebody tell me: WHY ARE HIPSTERS SO freaking COOL?
I went to art school! I’m a painter! I’m full of angst! How come I’m not a hipster?
I’m an artist, inventor, writer…I mean, why aren’t I a hipster?
Hipsters are like this cool, anti-cool club that only a select few are a part of…but it’s like, you’re chosen, you don’t apply. I think it happens like this: one random night a “pre-hipster” goes to sleep and they’re still just regular nerdy person and then in the morning they emerge from bed, a sparkly new hipster, complete with tight pants, anachronistic shoes, vintage eyewear and a cool, anti-cool hat. And sometimes a beard; most times a beard.
My hipster metamorphosis has yet to happen.
Sometimes I do feel pretty cool though.
I was actually on my way to hipster cool-dom this past Saturday, in the hipster garden. I was surrounded, talking, getting the “deets” (I think that means “garnering information”) on signing up for our plot. We were all laughing, they were giving me tons of advice, I felt like we were just about to move into deeper pools of conversation where we would throw out names like Nietzsche and Vonnegut and talk about other deep stuff, and I was like “Yes! I’m a hipster! I’m one of you! My sparkly metamorphosis will happen tonight! I will morph into a ultra modern yet vintage woman and be cool!!!!)
But then I ruined it all…
Where did it all go wrong? Well, we were all talking and laughing and then I cracked a little joke…but I said “pseudonym” wrong.
And while they laughed at my joke, I can retrospectively tell what they were thinking:
Me: “No I didn’t! I was actually trying to say ‘Poseidon-nym’.”
Although my sleep-deprived brain hadn’t yet caught my faux pas of epic proportions, my spirit knew and tried to protect me, because you see, I don’t remember much after that, the rest is a blur. I know the hipsters dispersed shortly after with promises of free tilling and co-op seed ordering.
But something inside of me didn’t feel right….something kept bothering me. I got in the Volvo and we drove around; my husband chatting, Little One looking out the window; Little Two on the verge of a blood-curdling scream. I kept repeating “Poseidon-nym,”….”Poseidon-nym”….”Poseidon-nym?”
Me: It’s PSUEDONYM!
Let’s just say I was a little upset to see my future as a hipster blown away like organic, fair trade, non-GMO dust in the wind.
Any advice on wading through waves of unchecked shame, so I can face my cool hipster garden partners? Any advice on facing one’s own crushed sense of grandeur? 🙁