AMERICAN HIPSTER: A PARODY

Ezra Silverstein is twenty-six and lives in Williamsburg; he is attractive (in a non-conventional sense, obviously), sophisticated, intelligent and completely uninterested in anything you’ve got to say. He is also a hipster.

Set in 2012 Brooklyn, American Hipster is a bleak, bitter, black comedy about the hipsters we all recognize but do not wish to face. . . for fear of being judged on what we’re wearing and our terrible taste in music.

American Hipster is a hilarious parody/mash-up combining the style of Bret Easton Ellis’s American Psycho with elements of “hipster culture”.


Bored, I grab Noah’s iPad and type in my Tumblr address and then hand it back to Noah who looks at it and stops speaking to the waiter mid-sentence. “Ezra, what the fuck is this?”

“New Tumblr,” I shrug. “Can we get some food?” I ask the waiter, who nods and then hunches over to look at the iPad—to admire my Tumblr.

“Not bad,” drawls Noah, obviously impressed. “Have a look.” He hands the iPad to Frederick.

“That’s a free theme, too” I mention. “Didn’t pay a cent.”

“Not too cluttered,” Frederick says. “Nice side bar. Easy navigation.”

“It’s a minimalist theme,” I say. “Helvetica.”

“Well . . . obviously,” Frederick snaps. “Jesus, Ezra. Helvetica is so fucking played out that even American Apparel are steering away from it.”

“Aesthetically, I guess it’s fine, Ezra,” Noah says, “but let me show you . . . ” He takes it back from Frederick, types an address and waits for something to load. “This.”

Everyone leans over and stares at the screen. Noah’s Tumblr is now displayed and Leif says, “Woah, now that’s nice design.”

I feel like I might vomit as I notice the customized HTML and the endless scrolling. I try to remain calm as Noah says, obviously gloating, “Notice the Proxima Nova typeface?” He looks at me. “You like it, Ezra?”

“Nice design,” I admit. The waiter is looking at me strangely.

“Fuck,” Leif says, holding the iPad, scrolling through Noah’s blog. “This isn’t bad. How did a tasteless philistine like you get so many followers?”

I look at Noah’s Tumblr again and can’t believe that Leif prefers Noah’s shitty theme to mine.

Nauseated, I finish my drink and massage my temples.

“Hold up,” Leif says. “For we haven’t seen . . . ” He types an address into the iPad and everyone at the table waits with, like, fucking palpable anticipation for Leif’s Tumblr to load. Black and white images start appearing on screen. “Mine.”

I have to admit it’s a thing of fucking beauty. Can a Tumblr . . . be . . . art?