I’ve moved into my new apartment but am still without proper internet. Huddling in the corner of my kitchen does not constitute as internet access. It’s pathetic. Yes, yes, I have proper connectivity at the office, but I am dealing with a major tsunami of work and have barely had time to take lunch. I say barely. I always take lunch.
I’ve been MIA for a few days, but you haven’t noticed. Heh. I love pre-scheduled posts. Suckers. Anyway, in my absence, it seems like the regulars have zeroed in on the Three New Yorks and a declaration of war against hipsters. I, myself, am not a hipster. I know this because a) I am guilty of having shopped at the Gap, b) I have health insurance, c) I could lose five pounds and d) I own no ironic t-shirts.
What is my take on the onslaught of hipsters? Well, I’m not sure if I really believe in them. Once I get to know a hipster, they seem to lose their hipster persona and become my dorky skinny friend with loud plastic eye glass frames and good taste in music who resides in Brooklyn. And I can live with that.
My favorite anti-Hipster treatise? Time Out New York hit the nail on the head last year when they published “Why the Hipster Must Die.”