Published: August 25, 2010

Hipster Nation
Mostly Greenwich Village
New York, NY 10012

Dear Hipster Nation,

After a few good years and many style changes, I’ve finally had enough. I thought I could put up with (and maybe even enjoy) your overly style-conscious existence in my New York City life, but by now I’ve realized that we’ll never be able to put aside our differences. I’m sure you’ve been thinking the same about me, especially since I refused to go to that concert for the band that nobody’s ever heard of, but you still deserve an explanation for this break-up.

Of course, there were the little things that everyone warned me about you, but that I learned to live with: your oversized glasses with the lenses removed, the beard you never shaved and, I suspect, never cleaned, the too-tight pants, your refusal to read anything but the Village Voice, how you thought wearing a Pabst Blue Ribbon case as an item of clothing was the funniest thing in the world. After a while, I started to notice subtle contradictions in your lifestyle that defied logical explanation. How am I supposed to believe that you love shopping at thrift stores when you only buy leggings from American Apparel? What about those $100 combat boots you wear in the summer? I could have sworn the tag said Doc Marten and not Goodwill. I thought you hated corporations and chains, but now I realize you just hate the idea of them.

Which brings me to the main reason why I have to end this relationship: you hate EVERYTHING. Honestly, whenever I would tell you about something that I like, you would always shoot it down for being too “mainstream” or tell me how you liked it way before it was popular. I thought you would appreciate that I got the new Kings of Leon album, but of course you just scoffed and called it their pop sell-out album. You even found a way to make me feel bad about liking puppies. God only knows how you turned the most innocent, lovable things in the world into another arm of the capitalist oppression of true emotion. Really, it’s impressive. I never realized until then the burning passion you have for hating everything about life.

As for your passions, hating stuff seems to be about it. I thought you liked finding underground artists, but you really just like to tell people that you like them. You and I both know that Communist Cacophony Children is a terrible band, you just think that liking them makes you better than everyone else. Wait, what’s that, Lassie? Making a big deal about liking bands that nobody’s ever heard of just makes you an attention-seeking loser? Wow, thanks girl!
You don’t even really like the clothes that make it so easy to distinguish you on the streets. There’s no way you could be comfortable in cutoffs that cut off blood flow to your crotch region and hair you haven’t washed since Clinton left office. I even heard you complain once about how you saw some preppy brat wearing the same ironic T-shirt as you, and how your clothes are becoming too popular. To this I ask, why don’t you just wear something else? But of course, you’d rather just go on hating everything than make any changes for the better. If you really cared about looking different, you’d wear athletic shorts and sports team shirts like me. Nobody wears that these days, which by your definition makes me more hip than you! How hilarious is that!? I hope that makes you hate yourself as much as you hate everything else in the world.

Having realized all this, I have now outgrown you. I’ll admit you were fun at first, introducing me to a whole new world (I know how much you hate Disney for being the leaders of mainstream America) of cultures. I even liked joining you in venting my frustrations with stupid people, but now I realize that you are one of those stupid people. It’s time for you to grow up, learn how to contribute positively to society and get a life. One without me in it.

Good luck,

Harry Huggins