Juice with Junior

I am happy to report that my friend Todd has a girlfriend. Yes, no more wondering about the size of his penis for me, because he now has someone new to share his life junk with and also, I am no longer staying at his house thereby putting myself in proximity with his life junk.

It's a win win.

The girl he's dating, whom we'll call Emily, is nice. I don't not like being around her. She can get a little flighty, and she does this thing where when she, Todd, myself, and other people are chatting in a semi-circle, she'll whisper something so only Todd can hear except we all know she said something and we'd kind of like to know what it is so we ask and she'll all "Nothing. Tee hee. OMG. Nothing. Tee. Hee." It's a little annoying.

The one thing the girl does know is her way around Manhattan (or maybe she knows her way around two things, she does have a boyfriend after all!), and she invited us all out to eat at a fancy restaurant for Restaurant Week, which is when fancy restaurants in New York City allow less thans to eat at their establishments for reduced rates (not really "reduced" as I still plunked down 60 bucks for a dining experience I'd call "meh"). Thank you, Emily.

So in preparation for an evening out on the town, I decided to upscale my look a little bit. I paired a high-necked black and white cable knit sweater with deep dark washed boot cut jeans, my chocolate colored Rockports, a chunky silver ring, and my beloved Member's Only jacket. I spent 30 minutes taming my unibrow, brushed with my Plus White, and was on my way.

When I got to the restaurant, Todd was wearing a t-shirt. Oh to not care.

Emily arrived with her friend Stephanie, who was at first a little curious as to why I was there, but then when I cracked a joke about how much I love the male body, she realized that she had in fact not be set up on a date by her coupled friends. She looked so relieved.

Anyway, we all sat down for dinner (I swear this story is going somewhere, even I am currently amazed at my ability to talk so much) and were talking about our mutual friends. But because Stephanie had never met any of the people we were talking about, we had to describe each person to her. Eventually, we spiraled around to Andrew, whom people who care about the stuff I do online and follow my Twitter feed will know is the straight man whom I'm most in love with right now. (There are others.)

He moved me into my apartment, made me a mix CD, drove me to IKEA, is flawless, and whom I refer to as "The Hotness". None of this is a problem. The problem was that we were in a deadlock over how to describe Andrew to Stephanie (who would make a cute couple, which is why they can never meet!) Emily, her flighty personality on fire, kept insisting that Andrew is a frat boy. Like I would ever want to have babies with a frat boy? Who does this girl think I am? Todd smartly reasoned that just because Andrew was in a frat does not make him a "frat boy."

Regardless of his momentary mental breakthrough, Todd couldn't come up with a better way to describe Andrew either. As he is a man I've spent countless hours daydreaming about and picking apart every aspect of his personality for proof that his sh!t literally doesn't stink, I knew exactly what Andrew was: a hipster. So I said it. "Andrew's not a frat boy," dismissive face in Emily's direction. "He's a hipster. There's a big difference."

Todd then says, "Yeah, that's right. Andrew's a hipster, like Junior."

Come now, say what?

"I'm not a hipster." I surprise myself with how quickly and forcefully I deny the label. It was as if someone tried to put a shirt from Abercrombie on my body and I chucked that sh!t to the ground all "I don't wear Abercrombie, b!tch!" I suddenly feel the need to make sure that Todd knows that I'm not a hipster so I say it again. "I'm not a hipster."

"Yes, you are," he laughs.

"No, I'm not."

"Um, yes you are."

"How am I a 'hipster'?"

I am actually saying the word "hipster" with open derision despite the fact that we just proved that Andrew, my betrothed, is a hipster. For some reason, it is OK for him to have this label but not me.


Whenever Todd discovers something about me that makes me uncomfortable, he likes to pick at it to rile me up because there is nothing he thinks is funnier. That's what he's doing. "How are you a 'hipster'?" Todd asks surprised that I'm asking. "I mean, look at you right now! You look so... trendy."

He says "trendy" the same way that I'm saying "hipster," except when these words are directed at me, I don't like them so much. I should also add that I'm having this conversation in my Ray Ban glasses but I don't own them because I'm a hipster, I really need glasses and... Wait, I see it now. Oh damn.

Todd might be right.

Ever since this encounter at the restaurant, I've been asking myself two questions: Am I a hipster? and Why did I reject the label so vehemently when it's very possible that I am a hipster? Let's make like a sexually confused 14-year-old boy, join the wrestling team, and pin this problem on the mat.

Hipsters are not new. Nor do they only exist in Brooklyn or the Lower East Side.

They come from all places in all countries. Basically, a "hipster" is any person who participates in the style, entertainment, and behavioral commonalities of people who are a part of but don't want to join, and openly deride, mainstream society.

Thus, sarcasm toward the mainstream is very prevalent, as is the adoption of items that are considered regular by mainstream standards becoming mythic to hipsters: Ray Bans, mustaches, bow ties, old TV shows. The last part of the hipster definition is embracing anything that is new because it has not reached the mainstream. The newest movie, band, store, place, blog, meme is coveted until it is sullied by too many people knowing about it, hence becoming a part of the mainstream. Why do I have such a problem associating myself with this label? I'm a gay, black man. I'm definitely marginalized outside of mainstream society, but no, I don't like it. Why? Before that, we have to do something basic, we have to figure out if I'm actually a hipster or not. Let's see. We already covered the Ray Bans (p.s. I'm getting my eyes reexamined and getting new glasses soon so this will be off the list). I do love LCD Soundsystem.

What else? I do emit copious amounts of snarkery on my blog (two in one sentence!) I have said the sentence "Sometimes I think about just moving to Paris. Just giving up everything and doing it, you know?" I wear Converses. I think every car should be a hybrid. I love me a plaid shirt. I mentioned IKEA. I would gladly move to Brooklyn or Austin or Seattle if I had more money. That's another one, I don't have any money. I spend most weekends in the East Village or the West Village. I watch "Portlandia." I write depressing fiction. Um, I'm never satisfied with anyone or anything. I mentioned the Member's Only jacket. I love Sufjan Stevens inappropriately. I used to love "30 Rock," but now I'm obsessed with "Parks & Rec." I call it "Parks & Rec." I never remember the name of the restaurant I just ate at and to me the middle of the country is where cows live... and people go to die.

This is some pretty damning evidence if I do say so myself. However, I refuse to call myself a hipster. Firstly because you can't call yourself a hipster. The whole point of hipsterdom is that you like don't care about anything really so if I was an actual hipster I'd never say so, because I'm bored. Secondly, I refuse this label because I honestly don't think it's true.

Again, I have two reasons. First, I don't think I'm cool enough by any stretch of the imagination. When I think about the hipster, I think about the Beat Generation, your Allen Ginsbergs and Jack Kerouacs of the 1950s. Those thin men who smoked cigarettes and wore little hats and could spend hours talking about The Man and who sucked up all the cool and didn't leave any left for future generations. I am so not that. I am RIDICULOUSLY goofy. I couldn't pull off cool if you poured it over my head slowly like the honey in that cover of that album by the Ohio Players. I can fake cool if necessary, but after an hour or two, the cracks will start to buckle and the goofy will rise to the surface. It's hard to be effortlessly cool when you're sucking in your stomach, arching your back, trying to speak two octaves lower than your natural speaking voice, and look disinterested all at the same time. Eventually, I will bust my a$$ while trying to model walk down 7th Avenue and everyone will see how not cool I really am.

The second reason I don't think I'm a hipster answers the question of why I reacted so negatively to the label in the first place. The anti-mainstream is now so mainstream that it's pushing people like me (dark, gay, poor, those who don't care that much) to the fringes. I can't accept that. Most annoyingly, because of the hipster desire for all things new, there is a constant competition to find the latest thing, like the latest indie movie, support the latest cause.

I'll give you an example. So Andrew and I have been doing this thing where we'll recommend music to each other because we have the same hipsterish tastes. He'll send me a link to some band I've never heard of who's playing music in Williamsburg using dental floss and garbage can lids ("They are gonna be big in five years!" he'll say), and I'll send Andrew an indie band that I like. However, he never seems to respond about my band choices. On this last go-around, I asked him -- about a band I thought NO ONE knew about because I practically made them up -- if he knew them or liked the music.

This is a paraphrase of what he said: "Oh yeah, I saw them two years ago at Coachella, and then last year at Bonnaroo. I really liked them until their album came out and I bought it on vinyl and Pitchfork gave them a rave, but then Stereogum said it was derivative and their last show at SXSW was a disaster because they were sponsored by MTV2. Ew. So now I put them in the same pile as Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and Cold War Kids." It's a loose paraphrase, but you get the gist.

I can't. I love him, but I can't. I have a life, hipsters. I have to eat food (not Irish-Pakistani fusion that gonna be big in two years), and go to work, and live a life. I can't constantly shuffle from hot trend to trend making sure I'm ahead of the curve. When I said I liked LCD Soundsystem, what I failed to mention was that I started liking them last year. I know. So not trendy.

So I'm disagreeing with Todd. I am NOT a hipster. Unless, you disagree with me in which case I'll hear your argument. I guess this means Question Time:

Do you think I'm a hipster? Are you a hipster? Are there any things you like about our current hipster culture? Style? Music? TV? Dislikes? How are we going to explain to future generations why we were dressing in 2012 like it was 1956, 1976, and 1996 at the same time? Should I say "hipster" again?

Hipster. There I said it.