Farmer Brown's Little Skillet is nonhipster heaven

You might be a bona fide hipster if you're eating lunch at SF's Farmer Brown's Little Skillet, the chicken and waffles window near the ballpark in SOMA. If you wander down there on any given lunch day you'll see a swarm of plaid-clad twenty and thirtysomethings milling around, almost as though they work for some underground movie studio which has wrapped for lunch and then forgotten to bring out the craft service. If you're in that horde,yeah, you might be a hipster, but most likely you're not.

And here's how you can tell if you're not:
1)if you knew the daily specials before you got there bc you follow the place on Twitter
2)if you chat with the rest of your coworkers about IP addresses as you eat your chicken
3)if you ask if they take credit cards
4)you can't finish your waffles and are afraid to mix your meat and your syrup

Almost everyone eating there today was guilty of one of those hipster no-nos, but you know what? It was bliss. Fake hipster bliss.

And I'm covered in the chicken grease to prove it.

RIP michael jackson.

your music, your taste in clothing, and your timeless dance moves have all become an inspiration to nonhipsters everywhere. not to mention fodder at nonhipster parties across the land. emulation, as they say, is the highest form of flattery... most of the time.

rest in peace, mr. jackson. we'll miss you.

I almost found a real hipster!

So I was fretting the other day about you, dear readers. Worrying that I am constantly telling you who is not a hipster, who thinks they are but is wrong, etc., but have never shown you what, exactly, a real hipster is so that you could compare for yourselves. I have had the privilege of adoring and embarrassing myself in front of many a douchy hipster in my time, and so am intimately familiar with the cuts of their jibs, their dirty jackets, their cigarette stench, their delicious rudeness. But I want to make sure you can know who they are, too, so you can know precisely why you and I are not one.

I've been on the look out, San Francisco. There are a few authentic hipsters out there; I encounter them sometimes smoking in the dog park near my house, grimacing. But this week, they were nowhere to be found. Then, as my BF and a few friends and I were driving down SF's financial district, I finally spotted one. Oh, man, he was perfect. Three different flat leather bags slung carelessly from his shoulder, long, disgusting curly hair, tight black jeans shoved inside tight leather boots, headphones!, and handsome, yes, handsome. We were stuck in traffic and he was walking with the brisk, heavy walk of the chosen, and so I stalked him, readers, for you, and snapped a few terribly blurry photos with my decidedly unhip cellphone.
I was so proud of myself! This is what you are aspiring to be, you nonhipsters! This is what you are failing to achieve! An air of superiority evident even from the street!

But then, oh god--I'm sure you can see it coming--he revealed his true self. As a pair of musicians walked past our man, guitars hanging over their shoulders, our supposed hipster's droopy frown vanished from his face, he bared his teeth into an absurd grin and literally turned his fingers in mock guns and pointed at them, winking his eye and giving them the old, yeehaw!

Sorry readers, I failed you. Just another wannabe, loose on the streets of our city.

thanks, yahoo.

among the millions of reasons why i'm not a hipster: i use yahoo/sbcglobal/att for my primary e-mail address. (i also have a gmail account, and i'm slowly but surely using that as my primary e-mail account... but these things take time!)

but i digress.

after my google search for the word hipster, i think it thought that it should somehow market some sort of advertising to me.

this is what it came up with:



really? that's all you've got, yahoo? a big, stupid banner that says hipster?

(for the record, this is what happened when i clicked on it. and i clicked on it solely for the purpose of this post.)

but here's the rub: i postulate that this banner is a hipster. it's clearly not trying too hard and its low-tech nature resembles that of a hipster. kind of like having bedhead, without the styling product.

maybe att/yahoo/sbcglobal is onto something.

a letter from a dutiful reader.

j in san diego writes:

"Do mutton chops and driving a VW van, a hipster make?"

good eye, dear reader. however, the answer is "no" because i happen to know that you live in san diego. the supposed hipster (or nonhipster, as the case may be) that you spotted is probably, in fact, a hippie surfer.

keep those e-mails coming, folks!

can i get a hell yeah?

today i was perusing the wide and vast internet for anything hipster related. this mainly included googling the word "hipster."

among the many (many) sites i came across was this one: portland hipsters.

say what? portland hipsters? i'm sorry, but no. first of all, hipsters don't ever live in portland. everyone knows that.

the main page of the web site is all the reason i need to flag this entire site as unhipster. the pink. the photos. the fact that it's called "portland hipsters."

but then, after a little digging, i found this link, at the top right: a hipster mom.

a hipster mom.

sorry, portland hipsters. your lists upon lists of what makes a hipster a hipster is exactly why you're not a hipster. hipster strip bars? i think not.

plus, you live in portland. did i mention that already?

Sorry for the ravings, but you have a problem San Francisco

I apologize for my previous post. I was angry and irrational and now I have calmed down.

But the reason is I got so upset is that Guidespot.com article is EXACTLY WHAT IS WRONG WITH US, SAN FRANCISCO. No, not everyone can be a hipster. Perhaps this mindset is leftover from California elementary schools that taught every kid that he or she was special, when clearly, one was funny, one was fat, one was pretty, one could shoot snot out his nose and suck it back up, and the rest were just nothing spectacular to speak of.

This "you can be anything you want to be and you want to be a hipster" attitude is precisely why I end up sitting in a darkened bar having to listen to myriad nonhipsters go on and on about how hipster they and all their friends are. And I think to myself as I stir my dirty shirley temple, if all those beautiful boys I pined away after in New York could hear this they would be turning over in their graves. If they were dead. Which they aren't. Which is totally a hipster thing to be: alive and unabashed about it, that is.

Guidespot.com (whatever that is) claims anyone in SF can be a hipster

Wrong. Oh my god, wrong. I'm having heart failure it is so wrong. Dear readers, allow me to parse the offending opening paragraph with you (I couldn't read further; my bowels wouldn't allow it).

Anyone can be a hipster. All you need is an elitist and disaffected attitude, a few pairs of skinny jeans (maybe American Apparel's unisex pant, which come in many colors, or a pair of Cheap Mondays, a Swedish brand that got huge two years ago but is still selling at Urban Outfitters), some ironic thrift store t-shirts (the cotton has to be worn really thin so that they are an aura of 'authenticity'), a huge collection of music (note: vinyl > mp3), an apartment in the Mission District, a non-corporate job (bartender, barista, retail clothing associate, non-profit), a MySpace profile that has more than 1000 friends, some scuffed up canvas sneakers (NOT Converse), a neckerchief (bandanas on your actual head are so two years ago), a pair of 80s-era sunglasses, and a few visible tattoos. And while it's not necessary, it might be helpful to stop eating meat and to pick up a drug or alcohol problem.


That fucking list makes no sense, Guidespot. Let's go through it point by point and refute each claim with proof:

Skinny jeans does not a hipster make: I know this bc I have friends who are hippies who wear them. That, and my mother has a pair and she's 60 with a knee replacement, bitches. (Though she does look great.)

Ironic thrift store shirts: You know who else wears those? Nerds. And geeks. And EVERYONE.

Huge collection of music: Huh, this is a shocker. Way to be original Guidespot, trying to play into our "people in a band who like music are hipsters" bias. But I see right through it, bc you know why? In order to be a hipster you can't just HAVE a ton of music, you have to be a dick about it. But you are correct that hipsters would have vinyl as opposed to MP3s (thank you hipsters, for keeping our meager record shops in business). But simply having much music does not make you a hipster; it makes you cultured (which is totally not hipster, btw.)

A Mission apartment: I guess this is just assuming that a) no families or coporoate people live in the Mission, also and b) no hipsters live anywhere else.

A non-corporate job: Maybe the only thing you got right, Guidespot. Though if by "retail clothing associate" you meant salesgirl, then, uh, yeah--why'd you make it sound all corporate if that was the opposite of your point?

A MySpace page: I won't say anything, dear readers, bc I might soil myself with rage. Just no. No.

Sneakers: Whatever. Who doesn't wear sneakers? The badassest of hipsters are SO done with them, anyway, and are totally wearing crocodile flats and old-fashioned leather tuxedo shoes. Yeah, sneakers are just so everywhere these days.

A neckerchief: First, fuck you for using that term. And second, no, bc Rachel Ray wears that.

'80s era sunglasses: You know who else wears those? Marina girls. And rich people.

Tattoos: Nice, Guidespot, way to steal what is rightfully punk rock's and hardcore's and attribute it to the disaffected white youth. Nice.

Vegetarianism: Too lame to be hipster.

Drug problem: Too Lindsey Lohan to be hipster. At least, publicly. All the best hipsters snort drugs, and handle that shit! No rehab for them, bc they are livin' it.


Jesus. Wow. Sorry.

Oh New York Times, you know disgusting when you see it

Yesterday, The New York Times published an article entitled, "Walk a Mile in their Droopy Cardigans," which beseeches the public to feel the pain that is the hipster condition and stop giving them such a hard time. So, they are beautiful and annoying in their grimacing and perfect skinniness? So what? Lay off!

Then there was this little delicious tidbit:

So, hipsters: go ahead and crowd the city in your cute outfits and messy hair. Just smile more often, and maybe stop wearing those deep V-neck tees. They’re gross.

Agreed. See, one thing about San Francisco quasi-hispters is they already smile. That's a telltale no-no and would immediately disqualify them from the group on the streets of New York. Even the Times knows that! And the thing about low-cut V-Necks: well, for one, hipsters here don't really sport that look too much, bc even if they try to, the cold air and fog requires they cover it up with some Member's Only Jacket or pashmina they ripped to shreds. Sometimes we are lucky that summer here is chilly, folks.

But, oy. On those sunny days in Dolores park when the skinny boys start broadcasting their meager chest hair to the gathered hoards, by god, it's ridiculous. As someone whose brother has recently discovered this low-cut look, I can tell you, I'm sick of it. There is seriously nothing worse than sitting down to an already detestable family dinner and having to stare at the three curly chest hairs of your 22-year-old brother. Cover that shit up. We are eating.

for the nonhipster who has everything.

take your trust fund money and put it toward something that's both useful and fashionable. show your true nonhipster colors with this t-shirt from vig tees.

i just bought mine. when're you getting yours?

valley of the dolls and other rarities.

the weird thing about the film "valley of the dolls" is, well, everything. it's like being at a party and you're asked to bring the chips, and then you bring the chips, only to find that everyone else brought the chips. and not only that, but nobody at the party even wants the fucking chips. so you all brought the chips, nobody's eating the chips, and they're just sitting there on the table, laughing at you. the chips are. and then you all play twister and read shel silverstein out loud. that's how weird this movie is.

if i hadn't read the book, i would probably still be watching the movie, trying to figure out what the fuck and why the fuck and how the fuck.

the best part about the movie is patty duke. the worst part about the movie is sharon tate, which is also the best part about the movie, so explain that one. sharon tate in real life was married to roman polanski and was murdered by members of the charles manson "family." i learned that on wikipedia.

it's pretty obvious what makes these nonhipsters nonhipsters. the very essence of hipstersdom is harking back to an earlier time, referencing something that evokes something in something. you can't be hip without imitating what you think is hip. and you can't be nonhip without knowing that you're imitating what you think is hip.

you can't be a nonhipster without first being on the road to being a hipster.

these dolls in the valley, these dolls taking these dolls, are actually authentic. they're actors, they're snobs, they dress fancy, and they have amazing hair. and they drink a lot, not to emulate their predecessors, but because they're genuinely miserable. nothing says nonhipster less than being actually miserable and acting accordingly.

wet and wild.

usually, just being in the presence of a slip n slide--or even a "slip and slide" made of mylar and mud and wet grass--makes you a nonhipster, but under certain circumstances, you can slide, and still be a hipster.

Those circumstances include:

1. partaking in an ironic photo shoot for paper magazine.
2. you're a living art installation about childhood and america.
3. you're on the losing end of a very high-stakes betting situation.
4. you happen to look fabulous wet and on your belly.

if you're a goth

And a Trekky.

Shut up American Apparel

This weekend an honest-to-goodness American Apparel EMPLOYEE called my BF a hipster. Needless to say, I'm out for blood.

When my muscular lover dared protest, this AA rep cited his shoes (OK, yellow Asics Tigers) as proof. "Oh yeah," said my man. "How about the fact that I'm drinking this Mickey's you gave me and I hate it?" When that wasn't enough to convince the AAer of my BF's nonhipster bonafides, he brought out the big guns. "I'm not a hipster bc I majored in science, and not just so I could make drugs in my basement but bc I actually like science. Plus, I own a PlayStation and I play it. And I'm good."

And with that, the AAer was quiet, bc even if he plays video games or has taken ecstacy and wondered what a synapse was, he would never admit it. Ever.

What to do if you find yourself in an American Apparel and you're not a hipster:

1) Avoid the leggings. We nonhipster can't handle them and our cellulite is why.
2)Try on the jeans, bc they actually are pretty nice on our asses and they don't get holes in the crotch as quickly as other jeans do.
3) Leave the leotard alone. You might think it'll be awesome like when you were in that ballet class at age 3, but unless you listen to The Darkness and not just for that one bomb-ass song, you're just gonna look like a twit. Even then. Only a very certain kind of authenitc hipster can rock the leotard, and if you are blessed to be such a person, you know who you are. And if you are one of those rare people, fuck you. Seriously. Keep your freakishly flat stomach and perky breasts out of my face.


Air kiss!

You're not, cuz you're funny

Classic SF nonhipster commonly mistaken for a hipster by people who have never been to New York. Why?

Oh, there are so many reasons. 1.) He's funny. 2.) He's wearing khakis. (Yes, he is. Look harder.) 3.) He's into bikes and has a pierced (maybe gauged?) ear and it's not ironic. 4.) His hair is blond (maybe even dyed.)

If he ever went to Williamsburg he'd get his ass beat by girls wearing vintage wrong. Actually, scratch that--if he ever went to Williamsburg the real hipsters would cower in fear, bc one thing SF nonhipsters have over those puny New Yorkers is muscle mass. Score one for us.

Oh, the home team. How I love you.

(Via SFist)