Tom said something distressing as we walked back from Loco Burrito II.
"I've reached hipster saturation," he said.
"I know . . I kind of hear you," I said. "I wonder if I look like everyone else."
"You do," he answered.
I've been worrying about it lately. I like to think I have my own style, and I'm certainly not rocker-y, but shit - I wear Adidas, and jeans, and a t-shirt, and I have shaggy hair. Fuck! I live in THE neighborhood for hipsters. I hate the word, too. The only saving grace is that there's a great joke that features that word.
But shit - do I need a new style? I hate looking like everyone else. I don't think I do, and I explained reasons why I thought I looked different, but as I said them they sounded more and more flimsy. I said, "I don't know . . maybe I'm . . maybe . ." and Tom finished, "Fooling yourself?"
Huh . . I've decided my next motif is "Preppy Gangsta". Now I need to collect the pieces.