Am I A Hipster?

Today I became aware of a new [to me] demographic in the world: the hipster. In preparation for my upcoming trip to New York, I was chatting with my friend E. who posited that I may, in fact, be a hipster. She had very little evidence to this end -- mostly it was due to her ignorance of my wardrobe. Nonetheless, the seed was planted; I had to find answers. Do I belong to this class of people? Is there a loving community waiting for me with open arms? ... What is a hipster anyway?

Consulting the urban dictionary, I found the answer to what it is to be a hipster.

people in thier teens to 20s who generally listen to indie rock, hang out in coffee shops, shop at the thrift store and talk about things like books, music, films and art.

Hmmm, I am in my twenties. I do enjoy the occasional indie rock track. I'm not a big coffee drinker, but I can't pretend I haven't been to my fair share of coffee shops. I dropped off my old tv and Flightstick Pro at the local thrift store along with two garbage bags full of flannel shirts that my dad had given me for various Christmases over the years. Hell, my last post was about a film (although I tend to call them movies, does that mean something?). For me, this is all quite inconclusive. I needed more information.

The hipster handbook provided the information I needed. I met none of their criteria for being a hipster. None. But since they only grant me access to the first six of the eleven sacred clues, I could not yet be sure. So what about evidence that I am not a hipster ... ah ha! Right there, number six:

6. You work in an office building that has a man-made pond and a fountain in its front lot.

Yup, that's me. Right outside the front doors of my office building is a man-made fountain. A few steps beyond that are several chain restaurants, the most notable of which is Joe's Crabshack. Yummy. To complete the picture, another twenty meters down the path is the grand enterance to the giganto megaplex of power where all the local suburbanites go to see the latest Harry Potter slash Pixar slash Disney slash Lucas crapo movie. I suppose some of them might have went to see Snakes On A Plane there, but I doubt it (and, no, I did not go to the megaplex of power outside my place of employment to see Snakes On A Plane, I go to an equally awful theater closer to home). Back to the point. The point is that I have a job and I make so much money at this job that I can afford gross amounts of cereal which I consume so regularly that I stray several percentage points beyond the two-percent body fat required of a hipster.

Case closed. I'm not a hipster. This is probably good. The last thing I needed was the hipster merit badge hanging from my identity belt. I think I'll go drink a bronson and contemplate whether or not others perceive me as a shitter.