Dear Hipsters…

Hipster MeDear London Hipsters,

I’m writing to kindly ask you to please just stop. Just for a while. Please stop being so achingly cool and reminding me of how daggy I am in comparison.

Look at you, on your little fixie bike. Look how cute it is. I rode one of those once, and nearly fell off it. I need bikes with gears and brakes just to make it to the shops in one piece.

Look at you, with your moody fringe and vintage jumper. (Or is it American Apparel? I can never quite tell.) I can never get the whole fringe look quite right. When I’m not pinning it up out of sheer frustration, I am awkwardly angling my head because the damn thing grew too long again. How effortless you look with bits of hair dangling in your eyeballs!

And look at you hipster boys, with what I can only presume is a small rodent on your face, because surely people don’t have the time to dedicate to proper beard-growing. If I were a boy, I’m positive I could only manage a bit of fluff on the end of my chin, and even then it would  disappear in a light breeze.

Of course, lets not forget where you live. Is it a flat? Good grief no, it’s a WAREHOUSE. You and your ten flat mates can smoke inside and paint on the walls and in the cookie jar you will find assorted pills leftover from last weekend. At least one of you is a DJ, and you all To be perfectly honest, that sounds nothing short of exhausting. Where do you go when you want to be alone? The communal shower?

Being uber cool sounds like way too much hard work. I’ll take my three flatmates and a cat for company, thank you very much. We can be cool, too. On Wednesdays we wear pink.

Yours affectionately,


What Bill Watterson had to say on Hipsters. God I love Calvin and Hobbes.

P.S. Even if you’ve already seen it, this is always worth a watch. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you:

The Bondi Hipsters in ‘The Life Organic’


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