Have you ever woken up and thought “Today – today is the day I’m going to be a real writer”?
No? Fair enough. I didn’t so much have that as much as “My room is far too messy for me to concentrate in it, and I actually can’t remember when I last left the house.”
So I packed up my notebook and netbook (ironically smaller than my notebook..) with some pens and good intentions and grabbed the next bus to find myself the perfect little nook in the middle of East London.
Despite my love of vinyls and vintage posters, these are all personal hobbies that I keep in my room. It’s the difference between baking cakes at home and being the embodiment of cake in public. This is how I see hipsters.
Here are some very good reasons as to why I could never been an East London Hipster Writer (ELHW), and I’m not even sorry about it:
1. I have no idea where to go, and at this point I’m too afraid to ask
I want to feel inspired, and as comfortable as the seating is, in Starbucks I feel a bit like a sell out. And also I don’t want people to confuse me with the “My screen-play is almost at perfection” writer.
But I don’t know where to go. I spent about half an hour this morning googling “quiet cafes to write in” and then decided to be a true writer and throw caution to the wind. I’ll just hop on a bus and get off when it feels right – get lost in my own city and find the best cafe.
Unfortunately this is not a movie and I am not one of those people who has magical adventures when doing anything spur of the moment. I was hoping I would get off the bus and instantly find a fairy-lit-den of awesome.
What I found instead were a large amount of cool looking bars and cafes with a bunch of people already way ahead of the game and taking all the sockets.
The ones that I found that weren’t completly maxed out with man-buns and macs were decorated to ensure that the writer would not stay for long periods of time. Painful pews that, though look awesome in the church-esque-ness of the place, offer me no comfort. My time of zen to compose my existential insta-classic is marred with thoughts of
“Ow, my ass.”
2. My computer is way too corporate to handle the likes of the Small Niche Quirk Cafe
In order to be a ELHW you have to have your staple unconventionally cool, totally original Macbook or other Mac/Apple product. Because how else will everyone know that you are a unique, creative individual who steers so clear of mainstream culture you don’t even own a TV?
“My mac? More like my mind. This is what my mind looks like bro. It’s not beat up it’s distressed” – yeah and so am I for having somehow ended up in conversation with you.
Nothing says “I work in an office that uses bean bags instead of chairs and has a ball pit” quite like a Mac. To be fair I know that Macs are great for illustration software and other types of programs required by the creative industry, so I automatically fail in this respect rocking up with my Lenovo netbook trying to connect with my Windows 8.
I’d have better luck with a typewriter but that’s taking it one hipster level too far.
3. My wardrobe
I do not have the time, patience or fashion degree to spend 3 hours de-constructing an outfit made up of mismatched patterned velour and reclaimed, recycled vintage patchwork in order to look like I had just got out of bed.
I do not own pants that say I’ve just got back from a Buddhist retreat in Cambodia, where elephant pants are the way to go because “it’s just more practical when you’re on the beach, ya know,” – unfortunately less so in the middle of Walthamstow.
Yes, my fashion sense already throws me out of the running.
4. The fact I actually want to complete my work
If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?
Not, apparently, if you wish to be a ELHW. Nope. The only way you can be an ELHW is if there are people to recognise that this is what you are. Which is infuriating to anyone who is longing for your socket whilst you chat up the waitress telling her about your new Vlog post that you’re currently editing even though we can all see you’ve been watching episodes of Buffy. Which, hey, I’m not hating – you watch Buffy, but don’t sell me a bullshit sandwich about “work”.
Despite everything I’ve said up to this point, the main purpose of this endeavour was to find somewhere, anywhere – literally anywhere- that I could just sit, write and exist. I finally have the time to express myself and I just want to do that, in nice surroundings that make me feel warm and inspired. And a latte.
5. I do not have the energy
Let’s get one thing straight. Being a hipster, as in people who take on this as a trend, is not a “way of life” it’s a freakin’ job. There are rules. It requires time, resources, effort in order to be this care-free, vintage-loving, alternative living, nouveau hippie. A lot of effort.
I’ll be honest. I ain’t got time for that.
There are lots of things that I love about the hipster culture and movement, it’s great because it’s in, making the things I like cool and they are now a lot cheaper and easier to find. Win-freaking-Win in my opinion.
Being cool is so hard, it’s such work. And, as has been made glaringly obvious – I’m not a fan of things that require effort. I am a cat. Just pet me sometimes, feed me and let me nap in the sun on your couch.
I’m just not unfathomably cool enough to be considered an East London Hipster Writer.
And I am so okay with that.
Because reasons 