I saw you at the Death Cab for Cutie concert last night. How could I not? Standing there in your leather jacket, even though it was pouring rain. You didn’t care. You’re so apathetic. You must practice.
I really dig that hat. Brown houndstooth, in such a jazzy fedora cut? What, it must be from… the 1960s? 1970s? What!? You bought it new? It’s not VINTAGE? I’m shocked. Seriously? It looked genuine. Except for the fact that it looked like you just took it out of the little plastic acorn from the gumball machine. I cannot even conceive of how much more indie (or emo, or hipster, or nrrdcore, or screamo-indie-post-hip, or whatever-the-fuck) you are than I am. And that makes me happy.
I’m really impressed that you knew all the words to all the songs at the Death Cab show, and even some of the words to the opening band. I bet that girl standing behind you would have been impressed, too, if she could have seen you mumbling the words. You definitely hit the sweet spot - everyone knew you knew all the words, but it wasn’t a big deal or anything, 'cause you weren’t actually singing along. Just mouthing them, a little. If they could have seen you… wow! As it was, all anyone could see was your hat. Your ugly, stupid, hipster hat that made you look so uncool that you passed right through so-uncool-it’s-hip and into the region of uncool where nerds in the library mutter “Look at that fucking DWEEB.” Also, if you ever get into a fight with one of those idiots who thinks that trucker hats are cool, you’ll have the edge – because your hat is even taller than theirs. Your plumage will wow them all, believe me.
You clearly love the band a lot! Or at least you cultivate a healthy facsimile of admiration for them, because they are The Hip Indie Band right now. I could tell how into it you were by how you stood completely still during the whole show, glued to the rail in your pose, so nobody could squeeze in or around you. And you’re only, like, five-foot-six, so the girls behind you who really love the band, they could see over you! So everybody won!
…except they couldn’t see over your goddamned, stupid, ugly, titanic festering houndstooth abortion of a hat, which you were wearing in the hopes that it would make you look Post-Hip enough to get laid.
Let me break in down for you in a language I call Old Coot:
- You’re an asshole.
- Anyone who wears a fedora, even as an affectation, should know better than to wear it indoors. Your affectation of culture made you look fucking juvenile, and I wanted to frisbee your hat into the audience, except that then I would have been littering.
- Wearing a hat to a performance – any hat, to any performance – is rude, because it gains you nothing, while inconveniencing everyone behind you.[sup]1[/sup]
- You’re still an asshole.
- That leather jacket smells like a couch.
5b) A couch made of newly-tanned buffalo assholes.
- If you’re going to wear a hat indoors, at a performance, and you’re five-foot-seven, you can stand on the steps at the back and see the band just fine. Or what the hell: let the five-foot-nothing fangirls share the rail with you. Maybe you’ll get a smooch. Maybe you’ll get laid!
- Because that hat sure isn’t going to increase your chances.
- Just in case you didn’t hear me – because you weren’t wearing any kind of earplugs – you’re a pretentious deaf asshole who smells bad, and your hat is ugly.
- Okay, so there are situations where a Jewish man could wear a yarmulke to an IMAX movie, and not be rude. Happy? Good. Shut the fuck up.