Hipster Paradise

I recently traveled to Northern California to visit a few friends. One of them lives in Berkeley, CA and the other in Davis, CA.

I departed from my beloved Boston, land of the polo shirt, and landed in Oakland, CA. I immediately sensed that something was amiss. I couldn't place it at first, but when I got off the BART and walked onto the streets of Berkeley, I knew that I had traveled to a completely different sphere.

Gone were the Martha's Vineyard pastel polo shorts, ribbon belts, boat shoes, and Longchamp purses. The J.Crew wearing, sweater vest donning, cable knit crew of the East Coast was nowhere to be found. Instead, only the scent of irony and unwashed laundry hung in the air.

I had arrived in Hipster Paradise.

I immediately felt out of place wearing my jeans, boots, and a blouse that did not have holes in it. My pockets were not longer than my shorts, nor did thick rimmed glasses perch on my nose. I felt dirty for buying my new-looking clothes at a store instead of a really expensive wannabe-Goodwill looking attire.

I walked to Berkeley campus to find my friend's office. I arrived at the designated location before my friend did (that's ironic isn't it?). I opened the door, and entered the room, only to catch the reflective glare of non-prescription thick rimmed glasses.

"Who is it?" spoke a man with glasses, wearing a striped shirt and capris.

"I'm looking for Jennifer," said I, after noticing that I was the only person in the room not wearing a black and white striped shirt and a scarf. "We're supposed to meet here at 3."

"She's not here," spoke a girl in a second striped shirt, "we haven't seen her all day."

They then shot me looks that I guess were supposed to be intimidating, but really, who can be intimidated by people that wear fake glasses?!

I explained that she told me to meet her in that location. I then asked if I could stay there for a minute until I figured things out.

Silence. They responded with silence.

I just placed my things down on a chair, and took out my phone to figure out what happened.

"Hey!" a third striped shirt angrily exclaimed, "You can't sit there. I need that chair."

One of the striped shirts explained that I, in fact, could not sit anywhere because they were expecting students to stop by.

The next few seconds were the longest and most awkward moments of my life. While I stood in the corner and texted my friend to figure out where she was, the three striped shirts just glared at me, and exchanged annoyed looks among themselves. I found it rude that even though no students were coming in, and there were clearly enough chairs to go around, I was such an unwelcome guest that I was not even allowed a seat.

Within the first 30 minutes of arriving in Berkeley, I somehow managed to evoke the wrath of the hipsters simply by occupying space.

The trip was uphill after that. My friend found me few seconds after I took out my phone.

I have vague memories of walking on Telegraph and seeing a guy wearing three dresses, and another man wearing yellow rubber overalls. And what is the point of wearing ripped tights underneath denim shorts?! I don't understand.

There were also stores with ironic names (C.R.E.A.M = Cookies Rule Everything Around Me, which was an ice cream sandwich shop), someone tried to talk to me about the dance theory (I have no idea what that is), and I saw flyers for an anarchist association. There were also lots of feminist takes on everything.

I am happy to report that I survived my brief safari into Hipster Paradise. I am happy to be back in the land of the pink polo shirt. Although my clothing still smells of irony, I think a heavy dose of East Coast preppiness will wash that out.