Black square framed glasses. Pabst Blue Ribbon. American Spirit cigarettes. Samantha Wyman. One of these things is not like the other. And you probably guessed it. Me. Well, allow me to correct you, my friends, because I definitely fit in to that mix. Or I did. For one week anyways. Bored of our mainstream lives, and living in Los Angeles with ample inspiration, my friends and I embarked upon a weeklong hipster journey. And what’s more hipster than blogging about being hipster? Nothing. So allow me to elaborate.
Beginning with a simple pair of black, square framed glasses my mom had sent me as a joke after I began blogging, our hipster week instantly took flight. Wearing a pair of purple skinny jeans, black lace up vans, a totally retro old school vans crewneck sweatshirt
I had received for Christmas, the infamous
black glasses and my hair in a high bun, I joined Jaclyn, who was styled in
pink high waisted shorts, a crocheted top, fringed boots with headbands and
feathers galore. We began our day at coffee bean – I know, so mainstream – but
at least we walked there, so we deserve some hipster street cred, right?
Probably not. But it was our first day. And we definitely looked the part,
which is really all that matters anyways. After we brushed up on some hipster
lingo and perfected our we tried so hard
to not look like we tried at all attitude, we headed to BevMo to pick up a
few bottles of wine. That we definitely carried out in brown bags. Our labels
of choice – Twisted and Irony. Because it’s ironically twisted.
Day two we were really hitting our stride. Jaclyn sporting the typical, smart hipster get up in glasses and a loose beanie hanging off the back of her head, I opted for the grungy Kirk Cobain inspired hipster in a floor length black maxi dress, oversized raglan, jean jacket and fringe boots. We met for latte’s at Urth Café in Venice on Main Street, which is ironic because Urth is totes becoming mainstream - I told you we worked on the lingo - where we were joined by our hipster boyfriend who showed us the ropes. But unlike us, hipster was his way of life, not a week long adventure. Wearing an actual vintage t-shirt with authentic rips and tears, we headed into our hipster haven – American Apparel. Lured in by the “Buy 2 of the same shirt and get the 3rd free” sign in the window, it was perfect for our trio. Until we realized who wants to wear the same shirt as two other people? Obviously, hipsters are all about originality and individuality. So we headed somewhere more unique, like Urban Outfitters.
Like any Wednesday, day three we hit a slump. Getting bored of our typical scene, we took our 1967 Subaru hatchback as far as it could make it to The Curious Palette, an entirely organic, farm fresh, and local hipster haunt. Obviously. Doing my best hippie hipster, I paired my wide leg bell bottoms with a lace leotard and pancho, with plenty of bangles, beads and headbands to go around. Jaclyn revamped her pink shorts with a mesh black cutout tank and fur booties with her hair in a high bun. We chilled on the sidewalk, hung out on fire hydrants and parked cars, and drank soy lattes. Traveling up the street for libations and live music, we met our nonhipster friends in Venice. Our angst reached an all time high when the bar didn’t have PBR on tap so we settled for Stella, which totes is the alternative of choice for Los Angeles hipsters because it’s, like, not mainstream but, like, ironically totally trendy and over priced, which is basically our mantra.
Thursday was like out of a dream. Or a movie. Let’s go with an indie film that never came to theaters, but got super fantastic reviews at Sundance. You probably haven’t seen it, but you most likely have the soundtrack. I’m guessing it’d be loaded with Death Cab, Black Keys and Sleigh Bells. But obvs the title track is something Passion Pit or Mumford and Sons – who were way cooler before they were so accessible and all over the radio. Ok, so now that you can see how epically hipster Thursday was, I’ll tell you about it. With our hipster posse growing, we headed to Silverlake. Yes, Silverlake. The hipster capital of Los Angeles, and maybe even the world. Grabbing our usual lattes at The Coffee Table, we hung outside at mosaic tables with buddah fountains contemplating life, fair trade produce, famers markets, next years’ possible Coachella lineup, and the origins of all of our entirely unique and authentic bangles. So incredibly peanut butter and jealous of the braided bracelet given to Jaclyn by a homeless man, made from the hairs of his beard, and bewitched by the tarot card reader on the promenade. Her dad's lucky neon pink wristband he used to wear when he played beach volleyball in the early 80's. And the silver beads representing every tear she's shed thinking about our beautiful friendship, strung together by the strands of a unicorn tail. Obviously Karissa never leaves the house without her golden monkey bangle that was blessed by monks while she was backpacking through Tibet, her chain of PBR pop tops from every can of beer she drank in 2010, or the American Apparel bow tie she ironically ties around her wrist instead of her neck. After covering all the bases, we got down to business. Stopping at the neighborhood 7-11, we grabbed the essentials – tall cans of PBR and American Spirits. Loading them into our fringed bags, we headed to Echo Park where we drank, smoke – not really mom – and contemplated life, fair trade produce, farmers markets and next years’ possible Coachella line up – seriously though, splitting it in to two weekends? I don’t think so. All while attempting not to get shot, shanked, or mixed up in a drug deal. Mission successful on all accounts.
After a sunrise yoga practice on Friday morning, we ended our weeklong road trip through hipsterville with a pool party at the Shangri la in Santa Monica. Rocking headscarves, bikinis and bangles, and drinking blended ciapirinhas - which are uber exotic, right? - poolside, the day was pure perfection. As the sun set, we moved our growing crew to my house for tapas and red wine sangria prior to playing around in Venice at The Other Room, a spot that only serves beer and wine, which is like, not mainstream, but ironically totally trendy and over priced – our mantra, remember? Wearing neon banded skirts, studded combat boots, red lipstick and cut off t-shirts (mine said nonviolent with a picture of a gun – totes ironic, right?) we were bored and full of angst every time our efforts at requesting Mumford and Sons was scoffed by the DJ. Too cool for the scene, we eventually rallied our crew for the after party, celebrating our successful soirée.
Once our nonhipster friends could no longer tolerate us, we returned back to our normal, everyday lives full of Hollywood drama, bad reality television and processed foods. But not before capturing and documenting every moment with the iPhone instagram application – which is basically the most essential aspect of hipster life and our generation’s pathetic version of the Polaroid, instantly giving all of our photos an
authentically vintage feel. And when it comes to life
as a hipster, vintage is crucial, which is exactly why my Gap jean jacket circa
2005 was so key. Six years is vintage enough, right? I mean, its either that,
or the over priced Kain t-shirt with holes precut to give the illusion of
vintage that you actually purchased at Madison in Malibu last weekend, or the
pair of Levi’s vintage revival high
waisted jean shorts you found at Urban Outfitters on the promenade. I’ll go
with old clothes from high school.
Ok, but really, why did they split Coachella in to two? And who do you think will headline? Ugh, I get worked up just thinking about it. Whoever it is, can I get a ride? I don’t think my ’67 hatchback with make it all the way to the desert this time around. Ok, I’m gunna go protest something somewhere, get mad about someone wearing the same American Apparel t-shirt as I am, and hang outside on the sidewalk with my friends while we take totally candid photos of each other in deep thought. I need a latte already. God, why isn’t there a Ritual Coffee in Venice?