Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Look at this Fucking Hipster.

Amongst many of my male friends, I'm considered to be (occasionally) a bit of a hipster. All things considered, I don't think I really am. I mean, it's really a case of the guys being quite metal, and very anti-hipster, and thus my shaved head and sense of fashion and propensity to carry a Penguin classic and Moleskine in my bag rather stands out at times. Amongst my university friends however, I don't stand out in the slightest. Apart from the fact that I'm often yelling.

So although I'm "token hipster mate" to some of the guys, it was with some relief that Dave (perhaps the most vehement in his hipster-hate) has said to me, "You're not that hip."

Anyway, this weekend just past us some friends of ours, Stefan and Louna, held a joint birthday party. Known for their extravagant parties with hilarious themes and over-the-top decorations, it was clear from the get-go that if you weren't in a costume (and an impressive one at that), you would be labelled Major Dudd.

Thus, I thought it only natural to go to said party as a superhero of my own creation: Super Hipster.

In preparation, I traipsed over to Brian's for some dress-up fun. After all, his wardrobe can only be described using words like, "black", "fashion-forward", "drapey" and "hip".

I mugged for the camera, hipster-fucking it up, all of which I'd like to say was quite horrid and painful at times. Even Brian descended into giggles, declaring that "YOU FUCKING HIPSTER, that is disgusting."

Behold:


It may be testament to Brian's superior hip-dom that I was unable to navigate his Complex Geometries. I struggled for many whine-filled minutes until he came to my aid.

 

In the end I decided to borrow Brian's Limedrop shirt/cape/thing, and to make the costume overly humourous, as opposed to just a layer-ful drapey concoction of hipster designs. I had a feeling the latter would result in the guys completely missing the joke as I'd be looking pretty much as I always do, just more black.

So I bought a shirt, I made Super Hipster's emblem (S H wearing ray-bans), I made a utility belt.
I was hip-matic, with the following accessories:
  • Hair pinned up, with sunglasses on my head.
  • Two giant bows on my pinned up hair.
  • Birth-control glasses on my face.
  • White sunglasses on my belt.
  • A copy of "Howl, Kaddish and Other Poems" by Allen Ginsberg on my belt.
  • My Diana+ plastic camera.
  • A Michel Foucault badge.
  • Some weird bow-tie I bought years ago.
  • Scarf on my belt.
  • Stupid tights ("They're pretty fucking bad." was someone's assessment.)
  • Irony mark on my arm.
  • Pouch containing a Sharpie, an iPhone and iPod.
  • Moustache drawn on my finger in preparation for glorious photo-ops.
Needless to say, upon arriving at Dave's (be-suited, as he was going as Scarecrow) he burst into disgusted laughter, declaring how horrid my get-up was. I could only agree.

We made our way to the party, picking up TD (A Ninja Turtle) and Tegan (the evil witch from Sleeping Beauty or something similar) on the way. However, we had to make a pit-stop at my place of place of employment in order to pick up the birth control glasses (which our manager had bought Brian as a joke). I scampered into the store, my utility belt accessories clanging all over the joint, and at that moment I realised I'd forgotten that customers would probably be dining there (it was a Saturday night after all). 

I burst in the door, to a utterly bewildered look from Jailbait, something between confusing and horror from dining couples, and laughter from other co-workers.
"IT'S A COSTUME, GUYS!!" I insisted.

The party itself was a roaring success. The decorations were somewhat mind-boggling, the vibe was great, and almost everyone had put real effort and thought into their costumes. There were two Poison Ivys, Harvey Birdman, some Power Rangers, a Banana Man, Scooby Doo, Duke Nukem, Hit Girl, and even a (perhaps my favourite) MacGyver, complete with a belt containing gum, matchsticks, string and some safety pins.


The reception my costume got? Considering it was a made up superhero, I at times had to explain what exactly I was ... but once I did, the reaction was invariably the same.
"UGHHHH!!!!! Oh my god, I get it! That's so bad!!!!!"
"YOU FUCKING HIPSTER!!!!"
"
I know right? Can't you tell by my book of poetry?"
"EUUUURGHHHHHH!!!!!!"

In fact, I was standing around with a mate, Aaron, showing him my various hip accessories. After a few moments he stared at me, horrified, knuckles white around his beer.
"DUDE. I think I kind of want to punch you."

What's funny though, is that at this particular party I ended up getting not one but two numbers from rather hip-seeming boys. What was it? Was the hip get up? Was it the fact that I was wearing make up for once? Usually I avoid wearing make up. It's an aversion I can probably trace back to the days of ballet, where I'd be forced to wear buckets of it, as well as entire cans of hair spray. I was all like, D: and started playing basketball instead. Anyway, I bought some bright red lipstick for the occasion, wanting to be properly immersed in my character.

Point remains though, that besides the disgusting array of mosquito bites on my legs, and the irony mark on my arm, I also emerged from the party with two potential suitors. All signs point to "HIPSTERS GET ACTION", but I don't know if I could possibly wear those glasses and those tights at all times. Or, I'd like to think that I can't.
D:



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