I’ve been having a bit of an identity crisis for a couple of months. I thought it was possible that I might be a hipster. The signs were all there: my love of leggings, becoming a vegetarian, my pixie cut, my love of organic shade-grown coffee, the fact that I have a blog, and the allure of black jeggings that I have no place to wear. I worried about this pretty seriously for a couple of months. Maybe for some people being a hipster isn’t that big of a deal, but I make fun of hipsters on a pretty regular basis (as do most people–check out this cracked.com post). So, the possibility that I might be one was pretty distressing. But a few months ago I decided, in true hipster fashion, that it didn’t matter because “labels” are dumb and I just stopped thinking/worrying about it.
I had lunch today.
Scene: A pretty normal day. A friend, J, and I were waiting for a conference call to start and I was eating a very late lunch in her office.
J: What’s for lunch?
Me: Toast, nutella, yogurt with granola, and a pepsi.
J: Sounds good.
Me: This might be the most hipster meal I’ve ever eaten in my entire life.
J: …Nutella and toast is pretty hipster-ey.
Me: Yeah… It’s toast made from homemade bread with organic nutella.
Me: And it’s a pepsi throwback.
Me: And the granola in my yogurt is homemade. With agave nectar.
J: Agave nectar?Wow.
Me: I’m a hipster, aren’t I?’
J: The only way this could be worse is if you made the yogurt yourself.
And it gets worse.
I’ve actually been toying with the idea of making homemade yogurt. For reals.