“Have you noticed that Hipsters have all the latest technological gadgets that come from a company named after a fruit, but they like vintage things? And scarves. Why is that?” my roommate pondered out loud the other day.

“I don’t know,” I said, as I scrolled through my twitter feed on my fruit-company produced phone. “I guess they think it’s ironic or something. You know, the dichotomy between old and new.” I stopped for a minute to re-adjust my cashmere scarf, and then propped my feet up on the steamer trunk I use for a coffee table.

As I continued scrolling, I started thinking, “I like vintage things, I have a fruit phone, I am wearing a scarf right now . . . what! No! She couldn’t be?”

“Waaaiiit a minute,” I protested, catching the accusing twinkle in her eye, “are you calling me hipster? I am totally not a hipster! I’ve only had this phone three months. Besides, I liked vintage stuff way before the hipsters.”

Then the roomie started laughing at me. Because I had just uttered the words that would confirm hipsterishness more than anything – I liked ____ (insert whatever it is you like) before _____ (mainstream popularity).

“But I did!” I wailed, “I’ve collected vintage and antique stuff since high school!”

“You own a fruit-computer that you keep in a vintage-book-looking-case.” The roommate continued.

I was going reply that, “I got the case before anyone else knew about them.” But that didn’t sound convincing.

Is it true? As we speak there is a Kombucha mushroom dying a slow and painful death on my counter because I haven’t fed it in a while, but I started the scoby from scratch on my own. And there are Keifer grains in my fridge. Am I a hipster? Nooo, it can’t be true. I love pearls, high heels, and Chanel perfume. I am not a hipster. And I don’t own a bike. There, see that is key, I don’t own a bike. I am not a hipster. And I like Cadbury eggs and black jelly beans which are probably the most processed foods you can find on this green earth. And Cheetos. I love Cheetos.

“Hrumph,” I said, “I am not hipster.” My roommate just continued laughing a me. I think I need to start wearing more preppy clothes or something, loose the scarves for a while. Maybe take sailing lessons. . .

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