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Pulling At The Fringes: The Strange Case of L.A. Hipsters

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Affect is that of just waking up from a drug-induced coma, being the victim of a blow to the head by a very large object falling from great distance above, or borderline autism.

Growing up in Southern California, I'll admit that I used to get crushes on arty girls like those that are in abundance in Silverlake and Echo Park - those girls with their slender, tomboyish figures and mismatched clothing from overpriced secondhand stores. However, after some interaction with this subgroup, which I used to refer to as "indie kids" before the term hipster arrived, I realized that they are not like the arty girls I met in college at all.  In fact, I find it physically painful to sit in a coffeeshop and listen to these sorts of people as they continually spout out cliche hipster nonsense that they seem to think is intellectual thought, but really isn't anywhere close to it.

It's as if the entire generation that these late-20s, early-30-somethings come from is completely emotionally detached, intellectually stunted, and politically and socially disengaged, yet they somehow remain completely self-absorbed. I mean, self-absorption was once solely the domain of the intellectual and artistic elite – Einstein and Picasso, for instance – but has now filtered down to those who don't even have a reason to be self-absorbed. Hell, with the seeming nonexistence of rational thought, pragmatism, emotional maturity, or any sense of the world outside, I'm not even convinced there is a self to be absorbed in.

After walking down the street on any given afternoon, a reasonably intelligent guy, one who is currently single and available, for instance, might ask himself - why do girls go out with these hipster douche bag males that have become as ubiquitous to the suburban LA landscape as 7-11s? And this is a serious question, one that has caused several friends and I to ponder far too long now.

In case you're confused about the male hipster model, I'm talking about these cretin-looking fellows with pants that are either too short, too tight, too colorful - or a combination of the three - for any normal adult to possibly feel comfortable in. The haircuts look like a parody of bad '80s movies, but with the addition of sketchy facial hair. Shoes may resemble house slippers. Social skills limited to incoherent mumbling, which could be mistaken for ironic detachment. Affect is that of just waking up from a drug-induced coma, being the victim of a blow to the head by a very large object falling from great distance above, or borderline autism. The warm weather even brings us the glorious sight of guys wearing what once were called ladies' capri shorts.

Now, there are several potential explanations here:

1. It's a clear-cut 'fuck you' to any and all intelligent, expressive males within the greater metropolitan area. It's done with impudence by females who obviously have been burned by some guy in their past and are now trying to get even by flinging a huge middle finger up at the entire remaining dating pool.

2. Dealing with an intelligent, expressive male scares you so shiftless that you'd rather confine your relations to those with the mentality of small children. It is far less threatening. True interaction and real intimacy seems so far out of your grasp that you can't even be bothered to try. It's too close to the realm of adult living that you perceive as being very far from your own dysfunctional existence. Essentially, beyond your obvious outward beauty, there is nothing. And the thought of someone discovering your true hollow self frightens you so much that you seek to cover your eyes with such ridiculously over-sized sunglasses that all the attention is drawn completely away from any characteristics of your personality or lack thereof.

3. You have no idea what I'm talking about. You think those over-sized sunglasses actually complement your face. Detachment really is ironic and cool. Skinny jeans look awesome on portly, bearded dudes.

4. Conforming to strict in-group guidelines soothes your anxiety. Anything that reeks of authenticity or earnestness is to be avoided. See #2.

After seeing places in this world where people live in tin shacks with no electricity or running water and literally eat the sun-baked gravel for survival of the barest degree, I find the lifestyle and values of these hipsters to be reprehensible. And the fact that there are so many publications and facets of the media – like the LA Weekly, for instance – that seem to not only cater to this subgroup, but lionize and proselytize about the shitty music and faux-art that they produce, must be a sure sign of the impending downfall of the U.S., if not the Western world as a whole.

We here have been given everything; there is no excuse for ignorance and apathy. None. Take your shitty music with no balls, your mumblecore films and sub-Warhol pop art bullshit and go back to Oregon, Washington or Minnesota. And tell your hipster douche bag boyfriends to buy a razor, a comb, and some pants that didn't come off the girls' rack - you fucktards. I hope those ironically over-sized sunglasses at least offer decent UV protection, you'll need it when the last spark of a dying culture flashes on your iPhone background. Thanks for pissing an entire generation away.

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