After doing a little more research I’ve decided to move this blog back to Blogger. My other blogs are there and I’d prefer having comments, which Tumblr currently doesn’t allow. Sorry for the misdirection!
-Matt
‘The mainstream hipster is not an artist or a musician. He has an office job, and wears one hat to work and another at night.’ Presumably, the latter is a trucker—or a porkpie—hat.
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This article, entitled “Why the hipster must die” gives a clear picture of the kind of people I see everywhere.
Read the whole thing at the Time Out page.
There’s a Levi commercial where this guy is putting on jeans except they’re so tight that he has to bunny hop to get them up his legs and every time he jumps the entire world rocks with the massive force of his bunny hop. I don’t think this is an exaggeration for a lot of people in New York because it’s practically a rule for anyone kind of artsy under the age of forty to wear pants tight enough for people behind you to count the rolls of cellulite on your butt cheeks. Since I’m a fashion bumpkin it’s easy for me to notice this dress style and even a few others you might not be familiar with.
The Hipster: The main demographic for the tight Levi jeans commercial. This group consists mostly of young, artsy professional types who also wear small t-shirts, frayed sweaters, stylishly mussed hair and glasses. You might guess they spent five dollars on their outfit or five hundred dollars and you have an even chance of choosing correctly.
The Prepster: The jeans are baggier, the shoes whiter and collars starchier with this group. Think of Kanye West or that frat guy who date raped your freshman roommate’s girlfriend and you’ll have an idea of what the Prepster looks like.
The Pan Handler: There isn’t so much of a uniform dress code for the Pan Handler as there is a uniform smell. Sometimes there are shoes, sometimes callused feet suffice. Most Pan Handlers have rolling luggage bags and a reservation at the park bench that you wanted to sit on.
The Professional: Suits and ties. Blah.
The Retired Old Person: I used to think that old people everywhere wore oversized khakis and $20 sneakers. Now I know it’s a fact. Aesthetically, the Retired Old Person’s outfit is even worse than the Pan Handler’s. Plus, wearing a belt at neck-level isn’t fooling anyone.
The Ethnic: I don’t want to be racist here but ethnic groups in New York tend to dress similarly. It’s okay for me to say this because I’m a minority. If I were white than you could legitimately call me racist, but my Mexican-ness gives me a free pass. Speaking of Mexicans, most wear paint splattered dungarees, boots, and plaid long sleeve shirts. Sometimes a baseball cap is added for a little twist. Those of the African-American persuasion like to wear baggier clothing. The Hasidic Jews in the neighborhood keep it real with tastefully somber black coats.
Right now Brooklyn is almost thirty degrees colder than my old room back in Hawaii and that’s not even counting the wind chill factor which normally only matters when you’re homeless, but in terms of heat retainment my new apartment is on par with a mesh speedo. If only that were the biggest adjustment in my living conditions.
For the last two years I’ve had the good fortune to live by myself, not counting the fourteen months I spent at home with my parents. I could leave out cans and wrappers, turn the lights off or walk around sans mesh speedo whenever I felt like it.
Now I have two roommates (four if you count squatters) and my freewheeling, mesh speedo shedding ways are out and in their place are some changes I’m not too excited about.
1) Dirt boldly going where it damn well shouldn’t
It’s a little disturbing seeing a white bathroom with white tiles, white walls, and a white ceiling and then looking down to see that it has a brown shower floor. Did I say disturbing? I meant infectious.
2) No food
I’ve barely spent any time in Brooklyn so I don’t have a clue where to eat nearby. Everybody orders out or goes out but no food survives long enough to make it back to the apartment. I found a cookie in my pocket earlier today and I’m pretty certain I accidentally ate part of the wrapper.
3) Squatters
As I mentioned earlier, there are a couple of squatters in the apartment that make life a little complicated. One guy seems like he’s legitimately here for only a couple of days. He may actually be gone already. Another guy is not gone. Apparently he has not been gone for roughly five months, taking first the couch and now a room without ever spending a single penny for rent. He sucks. If I could, I’d kick his ass out right now, but one of the legitimate roommates still takes pity on this guy and allows him to take the room that should be mine. I’m not bitter. Honest.
4) Television monopoly
I like having total remote control of the television. But it’s been days since my hand has grasped that symbol for male virility. Once again I am talking about the remote.
After living with my parents for a year, keeping myself alive has never seemed like such a chore. Since I landed in New York I’ve had a cup of hot chocolate and half a cookie from Starbucks (I dropped it on the floor and wasn’t quite hungry enough to finish it off), a steak sandwich, a slice of pizza, and a beer. That may sound like a lot but it’s all I’ve eaten in about three days. I fear what my stool will look like, or even worse, how it will feel coming out. Ugh.
Despite my unintentional dieting efforts I haven’t felt super hungry until right this minute. Probably because I’ve been walking around in a semi-delirious state thanks to some awful weather and a head-cold, not to mention the expected jet lag. Thursday’s rainy weather might have been tolerable if you’re from Minnesota or Russia, but it wasn’t that great coming from Hawaii. Friday was pleasantly sunny but with cutting winds that knifed through my shirts like Rosie O’Donnell parting the line at an all you can eat buffet.
Technically, I’m still unemployed but even in my weakened state I’ve made progress on that front. I’ve started an internship at Next New Networks which is a fun and innovative company and they aren’t paying me to say that (not that they’re paying me for anything at this point, but moving on). NNN is the home of some truly entertaining and original content with “channels” comprised of video podcasts, blogs, and heavy viewer/reader participation on everything from green living to do it yourself fashion to the best of sports blogs. My humble duty is to assist with the planning and editing of the different channels’ written blog entries. I haven’t learned the details yet but I’m sure to find out once my first work day begins next Tuesday.
It may not be obvious yet but I’m planning to keep this blog a lot less structured than my other babies, The Spoon and The Athlete’s Footnotes. I think it makes sense that my life’s blog should be just as scattered and frantic-looking as I am.
Join me next time at My New York Times to find out if I’ll ever eat a full meal or find a job. Personally, I’m dying to find out.
Hawaii may be a paradise but since my dreams of becoming a hula dancer ended horrifically in the sixth grade (don’t ask), I always knew my future lay elsewhere. With the support of my family and the encouragement of my very small army of blogging fans (hey guys!), I packed my bags and boarded a plane for New York. My goal is to get some real world experience before enrolling in a Journalism graduate program and beginning a career as a super bad-ass writer. This blog will be my man-diary for the strange, fascinating, and absolutely-not-tragic events that happen along the way.
