Call me "hipster" one more time, and you'll be talking about how fucking ironic it was that I punched you in the mouth.

Hipster.

Seriously. I fucking hate that word. That word is like... evil to me.

The first time it happened, I was wearing a Super Mario T-shirt and tuning up my Les Paul for a little gig, to celebrate refugee week at my school. I hadn't taken the time to straighten my insanely long hair, I was wearing a pair of old Toms, I had a pretty ring a friend made for me in metalwork class a while ago on my index finger. I was happy, humming a B note quietly and grimacing at my slightly flat guitar.

So, pretty much, it was a normal day, in a normal week, in a normal year for me.

Then, some fucking asshole with his ridiculous ADIDAS singlet, and his embarrassingly dense entourage pops up out of a literal nowhere and screams;

"AY HIPSTER! ARE YOU TOO POOR TO WASH YOUR HAIR, YOU DIRTY HIPPIE?"

And his backup choir burst into the kind of awful, pre-written laughter you get on bad sitcoms.

So just smiled sweetly, and flicked him the bird.

I understood that maybe the way I dressed, the things I've grown to love over the short years of my life might not be what most people call... popular? I'm trying so hard to not use the word mainstream. That word makes me cringe even more. And is it really necessary to always look 100% prim and proper? Eesh.

And to be honest, I have no fucking idea what can be 'ironic' about clothing. I just wear things that look good. I don't really get what a person means when they say;

"HURR DURRRRR LOOOK AT DAT HIPSTERRR SOO IRRONNICCC HUUURRRR-"

Tell me I'm not the only one who's confused.

I was a little miffed, but I didn't let it bother me that much, because I like to think that I'm fairly relaxed as a person.

But then it happened a second time.

This time, I may have warranted it a little with my choice of clothing. I was wearing a floral pinafore, because everyone knows my complete and utter love for Dangerfield clothing, and my hair was curly and in some ridiculously high ponytail. I did have a scarf and fingerless gloves, but hey it's June, and it's fucking cold. Boots this time. I actually felt pretty for the first time in a while, and I had a content smile on my face for the whole day.

I was actually, legitimately, surfing on my MacBook at Gloria Jean's, sipping a pure, untainted black coffee, all while surfing tumblr randomly. And yes, sadly I wear reading glasses.

So yes, I suppose 'stereotypically' that's what a hipster might do, but I didn't deserve what happened next.

A very adorable pair of lesbians walked into the coffee shop, and sat down not two tables away from me, holding hands and murmuring delicately in each others ears. It was beautiful. I watched them for a few minutes longer, a smile at my lips, because damn. I want something like that. It's so lovely to see.

I've somewhat moved on with the fact that I'm bisexual. It doesn't bother me like it did before, so I felt perfectly comfortable watching these pretty girls flirt shyly back at one another. It was a like a warm feeling had blossomed in my chest, because even though I didn't know these people, I was still proud that they were so open and comfortable with their sexuality. And I know how hard that was for me, and even then, I haven't fully come out yet to date.

So it was quiet and serene for a few minutes, their quiet laughter and shy kisses making me even more happy and bubbly-warm.

Then a fucking bat-shit crazy feminist witch in high heels and a motherfucking clipboard comes swooping down with her fucking bat wings, and starts screeching at me in the fucking coffee shop.

 "WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, HUH? STARING AT THOSE BEAUTIFUL WOMEN LIKE THEY'RE THE PLAGUE? GOD, I HATE PEOPLE LIKE YOU. YOU'RE AN AWFUL, POSING HIPSTER WHO ACTS LIKE THEY'RE ALL ABOUT FREE LOVE, THEN YOU JUST STARE AT THAT LOVELY COUPLE LIKE THEY'RE DISGUSTING? YOU DAMN ELITIST. YOU'RE SUCH SCUM. SHAME ON YOOOOOUUUU, SHAAAAME ON YOOOOUUU-!!!" (etc, etc)

I quite audibly spluttered in disbelief. And the thing that saddens me the most is that lesbian couple I was watching with such admiration didn't even look angry or offended by me. They just look really hurt, like they hoped they wouldn't be discriminated against today. Then one whispered to the other, and they quietly got up, very obviously NOT holding hands now, and walked out of Gloria Jean's together.

I was on the brink of tears. I was so close to running after that couple and myself to their feet and apologising profusely, but no. They were gone. And all I had was an entire coffee shop of glaring customers, the bat-witch from hell, and a semi-warm black coffee.

I didn't really bother explaining to the bat-witch that she had it all wrong, I was just admiring them. I just gathered my things and left, and broke down into sobs on the train ride home.

The thing that bothers me is that people like to put labels on things they don't understand. The people who called me a 'hipster' didn't know me. They looked at what I was wearing, and what I was doing at the time, and their narrow-mindedness drew them to conclude that I was a shallow, insensitive, judgmental and pretentious girl with strange fashion and stranger tastes in music. A hipster.

It's not so much the word that bothers me, it's the connotations that come with it. I'm none of those things- pretentious or shallow. I'm happy, and I can't help that I'm naturally attracted to artsy things. I have strange tastes in music, but then so does everyone else. I'm simply a person. The sooner that people realise that labeling people to satisfy their need to categorise things they don't understand is what makes the human race so fucking shit, the better.

I'm not different to anybody. Not different to you people reading this, not different to your friends and family, not different to the kids that stay up late at night, quietly angsting away.

It's just I'm one of the ones who are comfortable to be seen enjoying the things that make me happy. I don't care if you don't like my music. I don't care if you think my clothes make me look awful and hippie-ish. These are the things I like and make me smile on a day to day basis, and millions of people are like me – proud enough of who they are to wear what they want, comments be damned. Wear what you like wearing, not because Hot Topic says it's what's in, so you've got to wear it. I'll take a pair of scissors to my favourite rose vest if there aren't any people out there who wear the denim short-shorts and varsity jackets, who secretly wish they were wearing floral skirts and rosette blazers.

It's a dumb thing that's been said a million times, "BE YOURSELF" and all that. Maybe I'm too old, and maybe you're too old for this shit.

Oh, and I cut off all my hair.

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