Detained By The Hipster Police

For some reason, I am often accused of being a hipster, despite the fact that I don't spend nearly enough money on clothes, and don't listen to nearly enough bands.

But my detractors sometimes have a point, as this past weekend proves. Also, I was recently busted by the hipster police - more on this below.

This weekend, I managed to make it out to the LA Derby Dolls' monthly female roller derby event, and the artLA event in Santa Monica. Roller derby is cool - the girls have truly fantastic names like Jihad and Amber Alert, and fully embrace pugilistic nature of the sport. Multiple injuries and penalty ejections. And to see a fast jammer deftly weaving her way through a crowd of blockers inspires a certain amount of instant hero worship. All of my fellow derbygoers, none of whom had ever attended a bout, found ourselves deeply in the thrall of fandom for the lead skaters from each team.

The artLA event - an attempt to replicate the Art Basel phenomenon in Miami Beach - was somewhat underwhelming. I guess I'm lazy, but I like my art to be fully vetted by curators and critics before I step into a space. I want to be blown away by everything in the room, and that's clearly not going to happen in a gallery full of emerging artists. The highlight was a small city bus that an artist had thoughtfully crumpled and left sitting in the center of the space.

My friend GP said I should have gotten a tattoo to top off the weekend.

Speaking of hipsterism, while I was in Dallas over winter break, my brother and I naturally went down to Mockingbird Station to peruse the offerings of Urban Outfitters. I was equipped with a messenger bag that featured a hammer and sickle, with the word "Moscow" imprinted below the Communist icon in a Cyrillic typeface. This was a bag I purchased on clearance (from UO, no less), because I needed a manpurse when visiting Dallas. I concede that the bag, as an accessory, is more than a bit of a hipster statement.

As I looked over a stack of denim, a female voice behind me said,

"Are you Russian?"

I turned around to reveal my face and the evident fact that I was not Russian, finding a girl looking at me.

"No," I said.

"Your bag is misspelled."

"Really? How?"

"I'm Russian," she said, "And the last letter should have a double loop, which is the 'W' character. This is the 'B" character. Your bag basically says 'Moscob'."

"Oh. How embarrassing."

"I like the bag, though."

She walked away. I told my brother about what happened, and he said, "That means you can't ever carry that bag again."

"I don't know, dude," I said. "Russian chicks are stepping up to holla at me. I don't know if this is negative reinforcement... or POSITIVE."