Why Can't Hipsters Just Love Me Like I Love Them?

Today at the Pavement concert I learned something about myself and I'm not very pleased about it. I don't fit in with hipsters. They just plain don't like me. And it doesn't make sense because we have all the same things in common! We like the same things. We hate the same things. We're both ironic. I am so ironic! I just don't understand why they won't accept me. I want to be right there with them when they talk about "how totally lame" it was when Jenny Lewis covered Minor Threat. One hipster said to another "It's like Sesame Street covering Black Flag." Hahahaha! Why can't I be there with you laughing. Why can't I talk about which Pavement album is my favorite? I can talk about it. I can talk to you about Russian literature. It will be awesome. I just want to be popular and well-liked and apparently this is the way to do it. Please accept me into your cadre. We can all join hands and look down on everyone together. I understand that you hipsters have standards and there is no such thing as a free lunch so I'll give you a couple of reasons to let me in.

1. My music taste is just like yours! Like identical. Look! I have proof!

Look at that! That's so hip. It's unbearably hip. It's topped with Yo La Tengo who are three middle aged Jews playing rock music. If that's not hip I don't know what is. You know who would be proud of this chart? Pitchfork. From my exhausting study on the Hipster I know that Pitchfork Media is somewhat of a demigod to the hipster. It is like the Bible. The Koran. It is hipster lore that Michael Stipe wrote the very first post before ascending to the Heavens from the Dome of the Rock.

(If you looked at the artists this week then... Look, I can explain. My preference for Justin Bieber is almost ironic. It's almost there. I only genuinely like him a little bit. Okay, like 50%. Okay. 75%. You got me. But, listen, I have a contingency plan if this Justin Bieber love is ever found out and it goes as so- I'll just lie about it. My research has told me that it is cool for hipsters to have "issues" and for one of those "issues" to be a "sociopath" and "sociopaths" are "pathological liars." That can be my thing! It's like the next best thing to having "Asperger's Syndrome." I can lie a lot! Like so much that it's endearing! It's the problem that humanizes me. It puts me on the same level with everyone around me. I can be a self-tormented pathologically lying artist. I'll be like Kurt Cobain, it'll be awesome.)

2. I own things from American Apparel. I own things from vintage stores. I own many pairs of leggings. I own plaid. I own shirts and jackets in dark blues and greens. I own Cowboy boots. I own these things. You know what I do when I wear them? I go sit in bookstores that AREN'T Barnes and Noble and drink free trade coffee and read anarchist literature. What do you think about that, assholes? Yeah. I said assholes. Wanna know why? Because I stand up for my beliefs. My super important beliefs. Like net neutrality! And cops! I have opinions! They're super free trade. (PLEASE LIKE ME.)

3. I come from a upper middle class Jewish family but I don't like to talk about it. Yeah, man. Who wants to talk about money? Money is evil. If it was my choice I wouldn't have a cell phone because I don't want to be dependent on technology. But unfortunately the times call for one. So I do. It's an iPhone.

4. I know! An iPhone! Just like you! We can play Words with Friends. It'll be awesome. But, like, don't get the wrong idea- I don't like talking about material things. I'm more into existentialism. If it wasn't for the constraints of society I would be on a farm right now reading Thoreau, growing my own grapefruit and not giving a shit. Not that I'm a vegan. I'm not. Ew. Hippies. Am I right? I love dead animals and beer. I'm getting a deer head for my room. It's ironic.

5. I'm white.

So, there you have it. I think I would be a great addition to your hipster group of friends. There isn't much to not like. So, invite me to your next hipster event. I'll bring the PBR. Ha. Ha. PLEASE ACCEPT ME.