The summer’s blissful oblivion has finally come to an end. You’re changing your fuzzy, buzzy lo-fi beach rock to a more overcast Elliott Smith acoustic sound. The damp ground and lush green rainforest of Spencer Butte seem just as organic and revitalizing as that Kombucha you’re drinking. Your choice of Oakshire Harvest Ale is sure to elicit swooning approval from the ladies and jealous scoffs from your fellow altbros at the next housewarming social. School’s started. And that’s a semi-downer, but mulling over all these perfect things lends a sense of everything being “in its place,” a sense of belonging …
All of the above is true. If you are a hipster.
Lucky for you, the University’s definition of “Discriminatory Harassment” doesn’t say anything about uneven haircuts and V-necks that border indecent exposure.
That said, it looks like hipsters are coming in powerful numbers to the University. Outright discrimination just wouldn’t be civil, nor as effective. I suggest a much more strategic and subversive means of laying a mind on one of these characters. The following is a short outline of “helpful suggestions” as well as personal experience that will help you cope with these hipster-sorts in your day-to-day interactions.
I’m not trying to get under anyone’s skin here.
No one with a fixie and a sour attitude has ever gotten under mine, but there are some precautionary measures that should be taken to protect yourself and your loved ones by either fully sidestepping or stubbing out spiteful glares, degrading remarks and any other witless irony they try to throw your way.
“These” people, first off, hate recognition of their irony. I mean they’re literally caught in-between trying to relive a bygone era for fun and the seriousness of a classic style. It must cause some serious self-doubt and internal conflict. But try exploiting this. Probe the guy locking up his purple fixie outside Gerlinger before his obscure, esoteric literature grad school class that he’s auditing for “personal enrichment.” How ‘bout:
“Hey bro, that’s a nice English ‘stache there.”(Exit before reply)
You’ve just planted a seed of destruction. For the remainder of the day, hipster bro is asking himself how everyone else knows more about the style designation of his mustache than he himself. Self-loathing ensues and the rest is history. The same can apply to the fairer sex. Those feather accessories: Timucua Indian. The fact that those little feather shenanigans so ridiculously predate the modern, white hipster just makes them that much cooler.
A final suggestion at our departure: I’d suggest investing heavily into your hipster harassing. Perhaps someday there might be a “hug a hipster” day or some other type of formal recognition of these people as a previously discriminated minority. But for the time being, it’s wise to take advantage of this legal ambiguity.
Really, it might save you from enduring monologue treatises on Pitchfork’s music reviewing philosophy or other torturous accounts of self-exploits.
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