Hunting the Urban Hipster

(Whispering, intoned sotto voce) Today we are at Wegman’s on the hunt for the lone Eastern Pennsylvanian Hipster or Coolus obscurus.

Our guide is big game hunter, Mookie Robinson. Mookie is a tough, white, fearless hunter who has chosen to live in the violent, unrelenting world of millennial, urban life, where only the ironic survive.

We are currently established in the organic food isle of the Wegman’s grocery store. It’s quiet. We first see a beatnik pass.

Suddenly, Mookie crouches to examine some hipster spoor. Chuck Taylor All-Star tracks and a Pabst Blue Ribbon bottle cap. The hipster is close.

Mookie puts out a box of organic gluten-free grains with the label “sustainability” printed on it to lure the hipster out into the open.

We hide behind crates of imported cheeses and wait.

Suddenly, Mookie spots the hipster we’re after.

And there it is! A truly magnificent specimen. The hipster looks to be about six feet tall, with a plaid shirt, bowtie, tight jeans, Sylvia Plath cardigan, and Buddy Holly glasses. The beard weighs two pounds and is easily capable of sopping up a bowl of lintel soup. From the looks of the hipster, it’s probably into knitting, veganism, urban beekeeping, and bookbinding classes. The real embodiment of postmodernism as a spent force, revealing what happens when pastiche and irony exhaust themselves as aesthetics.

The hipster slowly approaches the box of organic food. Two more strides and the hipster could reach out and touch someone with its beard.

Mookie raises his rifle. For the past few months, he’s been rehearsing this moment in his bedroom closet in Brooklyn, aiming, reloading, aiming again. He shoots. The rifle’s thunder is somehow insigni­ficant. The shot catches the hipster in the appropriate place, in the iPod.

But a hipster iPod is a big piece of equipment—it can include thousands of songs from obscure 80s and 90s bands that you’ve probably never heard of, all on continuous shuffle.

Mookie’s bullet did not apparently disrupt the iPod enough to take down the hipster in a single shot. It shakes its head, as if to wag away the pain of distorted indie music. There is a second shot that strikes it in the earbuds. It turns to flee, probably towards its fixed gear bicycle, but its right foreleg has buckled. It drops its iPod. It strives to stand. It steps on the iPod. The earbuds pull it down. Right in the middle of Bob Marley’s “Get Up, Stand Up”. The hipster falls without realizing the irony. It’s a success. The hipster is dead. But Mookie must make sure. He fires a final shot. There is nothing more dangerous than a wounded hipster.

But the hunt is not over. With well-practiced skill Mookie skins the hipster. The beard of a full grown male hipster can in fact fetch anything up to $4 on the open market.

The long day is over and it’s back to base camp for a night’s rest.