Stuff Hipsters Hate: A Field Guide to the Passionate Opinions of the Indifferent

Stuff Hipsters Hate: A Field Guide to the Passionate Opinions of the Indifferent

Brenna Ehrlich, Andrea Bartz

Language: English

Pages: 160

ISBN: 1569758212

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


"Depressingly astute."

--The New Yorker

"Wickedly funny."

--The Frisky

From the dive bars of Brooklyn's Williamsburg to the dirty alleys of San Francisco's Mission, the urban hipster has redefined American cool with a sighing disdain for everything mainstream. Hipsters are easily identified by their worn-out shoes, fixies and PBR tallboys, but until now no one had investigated beyond the hipster look to the even more hilarious hipster psyche. With personally researched articles, revealing illustrations and helpful charts and graphs, Stuff Hipsters Hate exposes the bottomless well of impassioned scorn that motivates the ever-apathetic hipster, including:


♦buying you a drink


♦texting back in a timely fashion


♦high heels


♦being asked about their tattoos


♦full-time jobs

♦knowing their bank balance


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intense summer heat. He will come to enjoy the feeling of suffering, and of disdain for anyone who wastes the copious electricity necessitated by central air. The lack of this amenity becomes a badge of honor, and the hipster decides he does not, in fact, need such a frivolous nicety.20 Besides, by the time he works up the energy to actually make it to Target, winter has come and his apartment is shrouded in a cold chill. At this point, he begins the process anew with such amenities as space

Why didn’t you go back to the store? I mean, you can buy all that shit at the store. BRENDA: I used up all my fucking food stamps! ANN: So you didn’t eat anything? BRENDA: I had a few bowls of Froot Loops… ANN: Dude, you’re gonna get scurvy. BRENDA: No I fucking won’t. They’re Froot Loops, man, the name alone implies that they are an excellent source of vitamin C. ANN: Oh come on, asshole. The taco’s on me. Lack of nutrients has obviously addled your brain. BRENDA: Awesome,

Sexy: Dude is a barista at your local coffee joint by day. By night, he attends college, where he is going for his Ph.D. in postmodern American literature. He lives in a loft in Bushwick in a “room” that he built out of plywood, and wears the same filthy plaid shirt on an almost daily basis. He subsists on hot and sour soup and whatever beer his pitying friends are willing to supply him with. D. Extremely Sexy: Dude tends bar by night while laboring over massive installation pieces constructed

concave chests. The males act aloof, steadfastly refuse to offer the female any form of sustenance and (much like the choosy females of most known species) bypass opportunity after opportunity to mate, delaying copulation until their partner initiates it. And, in the days following roughly the third encounter, one of the pair proceeds to “ghost.” If pressed to explain his/her actions, the ghoster cites illness, fear of his/her oh-so-intense emotions or a potent (albeit anachronistic) case of

the initial selection of this elite group. In order to be tight with a hipster, you must, in a metaphorical sense, bind a blindfold across your bloodshot eyes and let him or her lead you into the dark of the night, trusting that something “fun” will materialize. Hipsters are the Merry Pranksters that Tom Wolfe chronicled in The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, frolicking children who while away the hours in the darkness of the woods, completely losing track of time until their rumbling stomachs

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