Thursday, December 9, 2010

I don't own Toms.

Confession: I am overwhelmingly attracted to hipster men.
I'm not talking about the Happy Valley Hipsters that plague my university with they're matching v-necks, skinny jeans, vans, perfect hair and smarmy grins. 
These men walk around listening to sickening amounts of Death Cab for Cutie and the Plain White Ts on their ipods, which are, of course, securely tucked inside their brown leather 'vintage' bags. If asked about anything of interest (i.e. art, music, news, literature) they'll spout off on the latest article they read in this or that class. These men are of absolutely no consequence to me.
No, no, no, give me the men with disheveled hair, a nice beanie, well groomed facial hair, converse and a hint of aloofness. I want a man that's a bit shy at first, but will talk for hours about what he heard on All Things Considered, or the newest addition to his fixie, or that surrealist exhibit at the downtown art museum.

Now, here's the problem with that: 
I am not their type.
I honestly just do not look a bit like a cute hipster girl. I'm not that thin, pigeon toed, doe-eyed, beautiful hot mess of a girl that graces the american apparel ads. My hair never falls in those perfect "why, yes, I did just roll out of bed" waves and no matter what I do, I will never master the lanky, floaty walk. Nor can I quite capture that cute uninterested/shy/cocky look that they do so well.
Though I can be painfully pretentious, occasionally verging on arrogant, I can't help but feel entirely inadequate among my hipster friends.

What do I do to woo one of these lovely bohemian souls?
Help me!

This post reminds me of this song.

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