The Accidental Hipster

I realized something today. I think I might be a hipster. Like, yesterday, I was walking down the street wearing a wool beanie, my thick rim glasses, and my red converse shoes, listening to some Hendrix, and it hit me; I might be a hipster.

Now, understandably, this is disconcerting for me, because I did not set out to be a hipster. It's not that I'm against hipsters or anything, but, it's like, if you spent all your life as a cow, trying to produce milk, and, all the sudden, someone says 'actually, you're a chicken, and you should be trying to produce eggs'. But, producing eggs sounds really difficult, especially if you don't like omelets. Like, if you're not trying to be an omelet, and you turn out to be an omelet, are you really an omelet, even if you feel like a pancake? That's how I feel (although, as a side note, if I was going to be a breakfast food, I would definitely be a muffin).

Like, I thought the whole point of being a hipster was that you knew you were a hipster and you were conciously trying to be a hipster. Like, I'm a hipster because of a serious of decisions I made tottally independently from each other. I have thick rim glasses because I need them to see, I was wearing the hat because it was cold, and I was wearing converse because they're like the only closed toe shoes I have. Because, apparently, that's just who I am. Weird, huh? If you become a hipster without meaning to be, are you still a hipster?

That's like asking how many licks to the center of the tootsie pop? The world will never know.

Just sayin' 

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