How I Finally Came To Accept My Hipsterdom

Hello people that apparently still read this charming little blog of ours.

Poncho here.

I had a moment of awakening this week, one that's been coming for a while. There was an afternoon when I had some free time and I may have spent it in a coffee shop. Nothing funny about that, or there wasn't until I pulled out my reading material for the next hour or so....

The fact that I was drinking a basically black americano was bad enough, but really, did I have to bust out the Kafka? The little black paperback copy of The Sons with the rather minimalist and ever so abstract cover art?  It was like I could see myself through everyone else's eyes and what I was seeing was something akin to a giant red flag with the words Closet Hipster jumping garishly off the fabric. And the worst part was that I still can't think of a better way to have spent that hour. The Sons is rad by the way, I highly recommend it to you all.

At this point I took inventory of the rest of my life in that moment.
Wearing a big sweater? Check.
Drinking coffee?  Already established.
Reading sad foreign literature? Again, predetermined.
Listening to obscure-ish indie music? Double check.

It was hard to argue with these cold, hard pieces of evidence. Especially since this is what my iPod looked like at the time:

Laura Marling-I Am A Master Hunter; I Speak Because I Can
St. Vincent-Marry Me; Cheerleader
Tune-Yards-Gangsta
The Shins-Simple Song
Johnny Flynn & the Sussex Wit- Hello Hello
The Vaccines-Norgaard
Deerhunter-Helicopter
Discovery-So Insane
Emile Millar-Honey I'll Try
Of Montreal-The Party's Crushing Us
The Smiths-Girlfriend in a Coma
etc...

Welcome to my virtual coming out party. I'm a mild hipster. Style glasses, knitwear and all. Thank god this blogsite spellchecks...the word mild almost came out milf. A milf hipster sounds like a deadly combination.