Spending so much time in the Northwest reinforced my decisive disdain for hippies. The bottoms of their jeans are dirty. Their children are barefoot hiking on trails with sharp rocks and slimy slugs because being one with nature is more important than child safety. (And I'm not sure making feather hats on the street corner has great benefits.) Their earth-loving projection dissolves instantly when you spot a dirty pack of Marlboro lights peaking out of their Patagonia hip packs. Are they really homeless or do they just dress like homeless people? For their part, they actually know nothing about pop music because their musical evolution, like their brain functionality, is really slow. They are still listening to Bob Marley. They got fucking lucky with Bob Marley.

Hippies idea of fun is driving an rusty RV from Alaska to Argentina...or String Cheese at Red Rocks.
Hipsters idea of fun is Emmaboda...or Empire of the Sun at Henry Fonda.

Hipsters jeans are clean because they don't touch the ground and need to be rewashed to reshrink. Most have homes but eat like homeless people. See also: anorexia. How the hell else do they fit into those Levis 510s? As it turns out, sitting around Ruby's all day doesn't actually pay well, so they have to take the subway to Williamsburg. (But don't think they are happy about it.) Hipsters say they detest that Billionaire song by Travie McCoy, but when it comes on, they know the words. Their musical knowledge is actually pretty vast, but as soon as pop songs turn poppy, Potrero Hillsters turn their back on them. Poor MGMT. Poor Chromeo. If Kid Cudi weren't so emotionally tormented, he'd be long gone. They do have an eye for emerging music and a somewhat wide variety that includes underground hip hop, electronica, old school rap, old school country, punk. They are still listening to the Ramones.
They got fucking lucky with Joey Ramone.

Hipsters heart cocaine. Hipsters wear Jeffrey Campbell.

After the Taliban, the SPLA and probably Hezbollah, homeless hippies are the worst human beings on earth. They smoke cigarettes, beg for weed, and make their poor pups homeless too. My friend saw one buying red bull with food stamps. True story. But if they buy regular food, they will compost. Hipsters are way too cool to get food stamps. Plus, they don't need food, remember.

Hippies are racist. Hippies [still] wear hemp.

Model hipsters make me want to crawl into a hole and die because for something so pretty their vintage Dior silk blouse is wrinkled and their zipper combat boots could use a trip to the Sullivan Street shoe saint. Hipsters with accents easily date said models. Then the club promoters love them because they are dating models and the clubs love the promoters because they tote models. And while they raise a clubs "cool factor," they don't bring in dough because neither the hipster nor the hipster model has many money. Plus, they are horrible tippers.

Hipsters hip bones dig into you too much when you're hooking up.

But I'd choose a hipster because they live in cities, so they are forced to cooperate with other human beings. They own a suit. They will take you to Morimoto (and maybe even eat with you) on your birthday. And even if they are poor, they don't talk about it because, unlike hippies, they know that discussing their financial state is unattractive.

Plus, hippies dreads kind of smell like spoiled sour cream when you're hooking up.

Or so I've heard.

Emma Dinzebach