Hey, fella. Why the long face? Did someone steal your fixed-gear bike? Did you spill PBR on your skinny jeans? Then you and your roommate mixed up your non-prescription eyeglasses with her real glasses, and now you can’t see so good at that dive bar in the Mission? Yeah, I’ve been there.
Seriously, I have. My fixed gear bike got stolen in Oakland (go figure), I ruined my favorite skinny jeans, and I don’t wear glasses, so that last one was made up. Really though, if you haven’t made the connection, hipsters take a boatload of shit every day for representing a style that’s accused of trying so hard to be cool that it mangles the idea of ‘cool’ itself into some twisted mash-up of pretentiousness and street cred. The word itself, ‘hipster’, is so wrought by negative connotations that the people who supposedly represent it will deny the title adamantly.
Read the first 20 definitions for ‘hipster’ in the urban dictionary (http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=hipster) and you’ll get an idea of how most people perceive hipsters (if you’re too drunk on PBR to read it, about 9/10 of the definitions are negative).
Balls to that, I said. If I have to be the first person to admit it, I will. I’m a hipster. What exactly that entails, I’m not sure. In fact, one of the first articles you’re going to see on here is an exploration of that concept. Hipster Trash SF is going to serve as my beacon of holy light in a scene so wrought with self-loathing and contradictions that it’s on the verge of collapsing like a Jenga tower at any given moment. Remember Jenga?
Check back every week for really uncool updates about really cool things that are associated with a scene so enigmatically prevalent it might not even exist: local artists and musicians, dive bars, gallery openings, “special” events, regular ass events, and all shades of alternative amusement and collective intelligence you can wrap your sausage fingers around.
NEXT WEEK: ‘So Lame’ – I’ll be venturing out into the Mission and the Tenderloin, conducting interviews in a vain attempt to discover what it means to be part of the scene, if it exists, and whether or not anyone will admit to being a hipster, or for that matter, punch me in the face and break my voice recorder because they think I’m accusing them of being one… seriously…
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