Yes to the salt thing. In fact we had to do that at Thanksgiving because my friend didn’t have a salt shaker (which I found very weird).
And about the forks, one in each hand, tines down I suspect. Instead of cutting the fish, you are tearing it apart.
I’m having a good giggle remembering my early pretentions (and enjoying everyone else’s, too).
The summer after I graduated high school, I spent the summer laying on the beach schlogging through Mein Kampf in German, absolutely positive that someone brilliant and worth knowing would spy it and be instantly drawn to me.
I wandered through art galleries, loudly proclaiming nonsense about works of art, thinking it made me appear intelligent (“It’s typical of the rigid dogma of slavish imitation.”)
I wore a beret.
I drank lapsang souchong tea, even though I didn’t particularly like it.
I called people anagars.
I ordered obscure beers in college bars, simply because I knew they didn’t have them. I would then turn my nose up in disgust, mumble something about heathens and ask for “water, just water”.
Gawd, I must have been an annoying little s**t.
Same. I also picked it up from a third grade teacher, in this case a European teacher’s aide who showed me that after she corrected me from crossing my “t’s” in cursive.
Like many, I had a lot of mildly pretentious issues as a youngster - I still wince thinking of some of my more idiotic pronouncements in my late teens and early 20’s. Like proudly blabbing to a much older ( and smarter ) woman how “feminism is one of my hobbies” during a discussion on gender and the brain :smack:. Ugh.
And of course my current cats are named ‘Oliver Cromwell’ ( “ollie” ) and ‘Prince Rupert of the Rhine’ ( “rupert” ). Some pretentiousness just sticks with you :p.
Back when muscular guys were still rare (early 1990s), I used to imagine my (modest) workouts were turning me into an actual bodybuilder. So I’d wear tank tops and do The Walk (ya know, with the elbows jutting out to the sides 'cause you have so much muscle). I hope everybody I knew then has forgotten this.
^ post/username 
Same here. I still cross my Z’s and put little hooks on my x’s. I also would have rigidly followed apostrophe rules in the preceding sentence, but that would be pretentious 
My contribution…in college for a time I used quill pens and brown inkwell to take notes in lecture. I thought it would ‘lend integrity’ to my notes.
Heh. I thought of Tool when I composed my post. They remain one of my all time favorite artists (yes, I said artists. Pretentiousness never fully goes away, ya know). It’s just now I don’t feel the need to listen to it loud enough to make my ears bleed.
:eek: I would be absolutely positive that conspicuously reading that book would attract the attention of someone not worth knowing. :smack: I’ve always been nervous of reading books with a swastika anywhere on the cover, even well-known novels where the Nazis are unambiguously the bad guys, lest someone glance over and see the swastika but not the rest of the cover and jump to conclusions. Fishing for such a reaction seems, well, something more than merely pretentious. :dubious:
What, pray tell, is an anagar?
I used to attend church services barefoot.
Perhaps I should consider myself fortunate that no one WAS instantly attracted to me due to my reading material back in the day, then. 
As to anagar? It would help if I were a better typist. The intended word was ONAGER and an onager is a species of Asiatic wild ass.
In college, when I was dating my Brazilian wife, I was so proud to be studying Portuguese, and I made sure everyone knew about it by carrying around Brazilian literature, and (struggling) to read the books in clear view of others, such as before a physics lecture, as one does.
You know what’s sad?
Realizing that I still do things that others have mentioned.
Yes, I wear a beaver felt fedora, and I pair it with my A-2 flight jacket in horsehide.
Boy that sounds pretentious. I cling to the distant hope that perhaps, as a graybeard, I might be able to rock a fedora properly, and I always get complements on it, but who knows how many folks snicker at the dude with the fedora.
Through most of the 70s, I sported a big-ass waxed, handlebar mustache. It was, like totally cool with my, way too cool Stetson cowboy hat and my 28 inch Jordache jeans over my, way too cool SHARKSKIN (as in actual right, off the boat Sharkskin) cowboy boots. Hey, I rode a pony once.
Working-class chic: I couldn’t brag about my backpacking trips through the Himalayas like my affluent classmates, so I bragged about hopping freights across Iowa. I wore Goodwill castoff mechanics shirts with the “Jerry” and “Marty” patches still on them, smoked roll-yer-owns, drank the local swill like Fox Delux, washed with Fels Naptha and brushed with baking soda. It was only good enough for me if it was the cheapest brand. When generic “word on white can” brand came in a few years alter, I was on fire.
In high school, I began just about every other sentence with “Actually, …”.
People are still wrong about pretty much every goddamned thing that comes out of their mouths, but I’ve gotten better about keeping my trap shut. Except here, of course.
Using big fancy words that most people didn’t know the meaning of. Then I could be all smug when they had to ask what it meant.
Worked great until I used a word in the wrong way and looked a fool. So I stopped doing that.
I used to walk around with a mouth full of wasps.
Hey! I was a clove smoker too. Cloves certainly work because, as you state, although they were easily obtainable, few people smoked them. The smell of their smoke is distinctive and somewhat pleasant. When you light one up in a crowded bar or cafe, everyone starts to look around to find the source of the aroma. So, they are perfect for when you want to inconspicuously read your Sartre or write down notes for your novel. 
As a side bonus, Djarum cloves used to come in tin that doubled as a cigarette case. The tins were great for carrying hand-rolled cigarettes, which are one step down on the pretension scale.
Guys, not so much Although I was insufferably androgynous for a while after a girlfriend told me I looked like Mia Farrow.
Point of clarification: There’s nothing wrong with crossing 7s & Zs if you were taught that as a child or its necessary for your line of study to avoid errors, etc. Just like there’s nothing wrong with reading the Communist Manifesto for your PoliSci paper.
I, however, picked up the habit purely because I thought it somehow made my writing (and me) more special.
From the age of kindergarten onward, I adopted the voice, affect, slouch and facial tics of William F. Buckley Jr.