On Hipsterdom
This post is a long time coming. From porch-side conversations with my best friend to evening phone chats with my girlfriend, a certain label fails to elude me as I continue the trek through my late twenties as a rank-and-file member of the Millennial generation. Although this label overlaps, to an extent, with the generation before (X), I have warily accepted its use to describe certain tendencies that I embrace, no matter how much I feel it eviscerates any real depth to which I hold certain of my likes, dislikes, and convictions. I am talking about the divisive label Hipster, one that has been leveled against me by my students, by certain friends, and others. At first blush this title might conjure images of a thirtysomething, tattoo-wearing, mustache sprouting, oddly dressed entitled upper middle class white person, and though there are some excellent examples of how that came to be the case, it simply doesn't describe me at all. Upon deeper reflection, there are certain areas