When I was in Jr High I was an outspoken(also ill informed!) neo-hippie, and on my binder I wrote, “I’d rather eat Humans than Animals.”
Not even kidding.
I also scrawled all of my poetry all over it, secretly hoping people would read it.
“Guys, look at how tortured my soul is!”
Please forgive me. I’m so glad no one remembers that phase.
I kept French magazines like Paris Match etc. on my bedside table so that any chick who might be unfortunate enough to find herself in my bedroom might think I could read French.
I was a douchbaguette.
You might all be a bunch of pretentious goofballs but you are bringing me much joy 
And, *onager *I figured (only because I have no life and do a lot of crosswords) but what the heck is the meaning of peremensoe?
…while you smoked French cigarettes with the black paper, and dropped euro-phrases like “a certain je ne sais pas” and ended sentences with “…non”?
How about that Pretentious Thing You Still Do?
I sit in the back corner of poorly-lit coffee joints with a Moleskine (name-brand, natch) and skinny Japanese pencils.
I have a friend in his 50s who still wears a beret. That tiny nubbin of felt on the top makes it so tempting to pluck off his *chapeau *as I run by…
You’re friends with Jamie Hyneman?
I wear Zegna suits, Gucci loafers, Brioni shirts and Corneliani ties. also British bespoke tweed jackets. Nobody actually knows I am actually poor.
Oh, and i once worked on my car whilst wearing a lab coat and tie.
Can a child be pretentious, or is it just pretending? I read way too much English literature as a kid. At one point I called my parents Mater and Pater. Of course, I studied etiquette books, had tea parties, and wrote with an inkwell and quill pen. I practiced my curtsey.
I’d write myself invitations to dine or to a ball, seal them with sealing wax and pile them on a silver tray. The next day I’d open them and answer them.
Some days I’d pretend to have had a continental education, and speak with a slight accent. Other days I’d walk like a ballerina, toes out. When I’d see a piano, I’d sigh and waggle my fingers with a knowing flourish, though I couldn’t actually play.
Later on, my high school and college affectations involved the usual stuff, like carrying around philosophy books, skipping, smoking Dunhills or cloves, and wearing vintage clothes. I was drawn to you guys in berets or smoking jackets who’d given yourselves a foreign nickname.
Back in high school, I saw a character on a TV show who claimed “I believe matched socks are a rule of society that doesn’t make sense” so I wore mismatched socks for 6 months just so I could use that line on anybody who asked.
Nobody noticed.
I refuse to call anything with beans “Chili”
I cross my 7s, too because when scribbling out a bunch of numbers quickly, it disambiguates it from a poorly drawn 1 for me (though I don’t draw "1"s with the extra stroke[s] anymore, just a straight line, so I guess it’s no longer completely necessary.)
I write my dates in Hungarian fashion, Year-Month-Date, on anything that is meant for me or in personal letters. Anything official or otherwise formal, I stick with the normal dating system. I also write the month as a Roman numeral, so today would be 2015.XII.9. I don’t do this in electronic format, though, just actual hand-written stuff. Not sure why. I’ve always liked the look of it and it makes sense to me. I also don’t like writing phone numbers with dashes, but rather periods or spaces as the digit group separator.
For a time in my twenties, I actually wore driving gloves when driving an automobile. At the time, I also had, and wore, a leather trench coat. What can I say? It was the 1980’s and I was a douche.
This made me LOL. Literally.
I did take notes in college using a fountain pen. And I cross my 7’s and zeds.
Oh, and I call a “z”, “zed”. And I’m not British.
That and the clove ciggies, and the bad poetry written…ugh. I’m surprised no one strangled me.
I found them tasty, and far more enjoyable than regular cigarettes (which gross me out).
However, the first time I had “pumpkin spice beer”, I took one sip and was transported back to 1989, clove ciggie and beer in hand. All I needed was my beret.
Me too! Except it was only the one and her mother made her stop seeing me when she found out I was Catholic
I think you may actually win this thread.
When I was 20-21 I owned a kickass motorcycle jacket. I loved that jacket and felt like the coolest person ever when wearing it. I was devastated when it got stolen (from a nightclub’s mandatory coat check no less.)
I’d never been on a motorcycle in my life.
Like a standard leather motorcycle jacket? Pretty standard rock and roll gear mostly worn by people who don’t ride. It long ago quit being a biker accessory.
No doubt. I, and lots of people I ride with, are motorcyclists and don’t wear such jackets.
But everyone assumes I’m a pilot when I wear my bomber jacket, right?
I mean, I’m just wearing it to my teaching job, but I’m sure everyone figures that right after classes I’m making a daring midnight bomber run to take out an ISIL stronghold in Syria, right?
While I was a nerdy kid and did some of the things others have mentioned, I don’t recall ever doing anything for pretentious reasons. Now that I’m the father of a five-year-old, though, I do catch myself from time to time being borderline pretentious through him. But it’s a fine line. If I’m in the car with my son and an adult acquaintance of mine, and the adult says something about the Beatles, and so I prod my son to tell the adult his favorite Beatles album…surely I’m trying to indirectly show off my hip parenting skills, but pretentious? Maybe.
I did wear a Radiolab t-shirt into a coffee bar recently where I knew there would be interesting people half my age hanging out. Is it “pretentious” when you’re just trying to use a marker to help others identify a genuine mutual enthusiasm? Maybe it depends on what you’re hoping that mutual recognition will lead to. A brief, knowing look, giving you a moment of self-satisfaction? Sounds pretentious, but what’s wrong with wanting to make a few brief human connections with strangers?