The Boy Who Cried Hipster

IronyOnRye —  01/08/2013 —  Comments

We all like to complain about hipsters. Other hipsters excel at complaining about hipsters. Although it’s the most ironic kind of hipster bitching (and therefore also the most hip and funniest), middle aged and old people complaining about hipsters is more genuine and heartfelt. These people nurture true hatred inside of them for the liberal arts slackers they see all around them.  And if you’ve lived in a neighborhood for a good twenty years before the hipsters showed up? Well, that’s a unique kind of bile that probably causes ulcers.

So what do you do when you bitch and moan about hipsters for year with no results? Call the cops, of course. Hipsters squat, start unregulated businesses, tag and graffiti anything and everything, and party until six A.M. Monday morning  (because Friday night is like, so overdone). Some of them don’t even fill out their census! All of these are something the cops can arrest for. Looks like you could lock up all of Williamsburg.

Though maybe you shouldn’t call the police 403 times. And maybe your 9-1-1 calls shouldn’t be phony. And maybe you should chill out, gramps.


“911. What is your emergency?” “Help! These hipsters are busking in the middle of the street!”

This guy is nothing if not persistent. I can applaud this stubbornness as the mark of a true redblooded American, which is so old that it’s like, beyond kitsch and loops into something resembling the postmodern. Or maybe I’m too drunk at eleven A.M. to process how pissed this guy is at hipsters living in his neighborhood. It’s been happening for years now. Dude should have moved or at least built up a tolerance.

In Chicago, Wicker Park is crammed full of hipsters. Bucktown next door is crammed full of hipsters. They’ve started spilling over into Logan Square, traditionally a Mexican neighborhood. You know why no one does this in Logan Square? Hustle. Opportunity. The taquerias are now open 24/7. The liquor stores burn through pallets of PBR in a night. There’s a guy that has a hand cart selling Mexican candy on my street who stays there all day because once the kids go to bed, the hipsters come out and Snickers are passe.

What this guy needs is to decompress and sell something that hipsters are willing to buy in spades. They’re not going anywhere. He can’t call the cops anymore (not like it ever worked out for him, anyway).  He should homebrew or sell fixie bikes or some shit.

Bonus points: check out this quote from the article, near the bottom.

“At least one of his younger neighbors, a 28-year-old who lives on Bedford and North 8th Street, feels sympathy for him: ‘I mean, he’s been there his whole life…and this shit just starts happening all around him,’ he told us. ‘I’ve always felt bad for the older residents of this area.'”

But not bad enough to move, apparently. Or to go to bed at a reasonable hour. Or to realize that your indie folk band sucks and that you should probably stop rehearsing, since you sound like a copy of a copy of a copy of a terrible Arcade Fire cover band. Fucking hipsters. Makes me sick.



HipsterJew's resident music elitist, functional alcoholic, and hipster sociologist