Deep V-Day.

Hey, guess what? I hate Deep V-Neck shirts, and I think guys need to stop wearing them. If there's one thing that I need less of in my life it's skinny, hipster man-cleve. So please, gents, let's pack this fad away somewhere so that we can find another uncomfortably unattractive fad, K? Thx.

What's worse?

I found this in my email:




Isn't it more awkward than ironic to celebrate an alcoholic artist's achievements with an event sponsored by a website that promotes alcohol abuse? Well, if that doesn't unsettle you, then, um, well:



Classy!

McSweeney's should look into gay porn; I think I've found them a managing editor.

Jackie published on his blog an amazing missed connection he found a few weeks ago. In that spirit, I'm going to publish one that I found over the summer, which was not so much a missed connection as it was a personals ad, but it was one of my favorite things all year. It pretty much serves as an example of everything I hate. It's been passed around amongst friends through email, and I figure it's time to share it with the rest of my Internet family. Enjoy!

I hereby decree that a Gay Hipster Consortium must no longer exist exclusively within the greasy-hair-enveloped minds of Chicago's queer indie crowd. No more shall we secretly admire each other with the steely glances born out of insecurity and envy. Nay, nay: we must unite our musical prowess, our varied film interests, our nerdy bookishness, our love of the obscurely beautiful, our interests that give us the capital-I-indie status.

(But we, of course, must also be able to chortle at ourselves, calling ourselves "hip" and "indie," as though there were anything tangible in these self-definitions.)

If you are already meeting, under the cover of darkness and smoke and sweat, please welcome me into your malnourished arms. If you are dreaming of such a delicious feast of minds and music and men as I am, reveal yourselves: remove your mask of cool indifference and admit that you just want to be surrounded by living mirrors of yourself, each reflecting a slightly different manifestation of your Indieness.

Bless his little heart.

What I Want For Christmas.

Because those self-timer things are so complicated.


Related:
Self Portrait Arm (Urban Outfitters via Lindsayism)

Lunchtime Poll: Do you hate hipsters?

A few days ago Morgan and I were chatting online about how goddamn popular her blog is (it getting national press coverage and such). She had complained about getting negative comments on her posts making fun of the pictures she uploaded. (I went back and checked the post featuring my picture. No comments at all!) She said to me, "Why do people hate hipsters?"

I think there are many different level of hipsters. There are the kind who just wear clothes they find comfortable and attractive and listen to music they enjoy. And then there are the kind featured on Blue States Lose and Team Party Crash (way to go, DC brethren) who do, indeed, suck. These are the people I'm totally not interested in (even though ONCE I went to a Blue State Lose-worthy party in Wicker Park and I am NOT proud and punished myself by looking through many, many gross pictures to find this one, where at least my hair looks good. Also notice that I'm wearing pants in said picture).

Also, there are the kind of hipsters (read: rich white hipsters) who move to poor neighborhoods to escape gentrification, and then bitch five years later when their suddenly rich, white, hip neighborhoods are forcing out the poor minorities. In Chicago, see Wicker Park, Bucktown, Ukranian Village, Pilsen. New York: see Williamsburg.

Also, there's American Apparel.

So, readers, let me know your thoughts. Are you a hipster? Do you hate hipsters? Aren't, like, The Shins totes three years ago? Let me know!