Hipsters Being Dead is Dead to Me

The past 24 hours have been rough on us. By us, I mean hipsters. Embrace it. Skinny pants are over.

Feministing disses on the white hipsters for trying out ghetto fab. ‘Cus that’s a privilege.


Time Out’s Hipster Must Die article that broke the mouths of hipster hell. (quote attrib Mar) I haven’t read it yet although people are screaming in my ear about it. I say, “Am I going to be so furious I won’t be able to sleep or do anything?” They say: “Maybe you’re not ready.” I brace myself, set aside a few Buds, rest up my feet, antioxidant tea for later, ciggs.

Houseboy promises massages: “Did you read the article yet?” shake head. “Not going to read it?” Silence. “Don’t you think you should read it?”

Five hours later, be still my apathetic heart, comment wars consumed between my ironic chops, I’ll be a Yipster when I’m done. Or worse, corporate.

Somebody take me back to a New Jersey mallstrip. I’m outie.