When I see a man or a woman- actually scratch that, when I see a woman taking pictures of her food, it takes all the self-restraint I can muster not to smash her face in the meal and Instagram a photo of it. Hipsters and food are a match made in hell and the fruits of this relationship never fail to annoy everyone involved. Here are a few of the more detestable instances in which hipsters and food combine in the worst possible ways.
The Instagrammer: I’m just going to come right out and say it. No one wants to see what you had for lunch. You know why that is? It’s because no one cares what you had for lunch. If you honestly think that the food you’re taking a picture of is actually worthy of a photo, I encourage you to step outside. Unless the diner you’ve stopped at is in the middle of the North Korean demilitarized zone, you will most likely find something prettier than your arugula salad. If you fail to find anything outside that you think is prettier than your ha;f-eaten asparagus quiche, step a little farther outside onto a highway overpass and play hopscotch because your priorities are so far out of whack.
The Amateur Sommelier: Sommelier (noun): a waiter in a restaurant who has charge of wines and their service : a wine steward. The college campus is infested with these pretentious tools. Your amateur sommelier will undoubtedly comment on whatever you’re drinking. They come in two forms. The freshman sommelier will hastily describe their entire history with your drink of choice in a failed attempt to appear mature/cool. For example:
“Oh my God you’re drinking Four Loko? That stuff sucks! The best kind is watermelon. It usually goes for $2.50 and you can find it at 207 North Lincoln Street because they don’t card there. Remember that was what we were drinking the night we lost Stacey and we were looking for her for like an hour before we found her in our room. Hahaha YOLO oh my gosh I LOVE college but my women’s studies degree is soooooo hard.”
Now that was an exaggeration only in the sense that by that time, I’ve already thrown myself down the nearest flight of stairs. This is in contrast to the senior/grad school sommelier who is determined to make themselves appear more knowledgeable about whatever it is you could possibly be drinking. For example:
“Oh you ordered Coors Light? Interesting. Interesting. I myself prefer green bottle beers like Heineken because I find that they carry a little more carbonation than your standard Coors Light but when it comes down to it I’ll settle for any import save for Guinness because when I studied abroad in London junior year it kind of ruined Guinness for me. I find that when you get it domestically it’s a lot richer and a bit more chocolatey than what you’ll find in the states.”
This is how barfights start. I’m a college freshman so I’m too young to drink (legally) so like, grain of salt on this one. But you don’t need to be in a bar or at a party to see this species of hipster on the prowl. And honestly, anyone who dares to prevent me or those around me from enjoying food and drink is getting smacked.
My Body is a Temple: If you find that words like “quinoa”, “wheatgrass”, or “flax” have become part of your everyday vocabulary, you may fall into this category. These are the people who make you feel guilty about what you order no matter what restaurant you go to. Common side effects of being a “my body is a temple” asshole include but are not limited to, pilates, yoga, hot yoga, a food blog, an equally pretentious family who takes Christmas photos at beaches, and a “bob” haircut.
The Food Blogger: Alright. I was hesitant to include this. You have to understand that what I put out is The Onion of food blogs. This is comedy. Granted, I know a few cool food bloggers, but hipsters in this category just use their blog as a vessel to post their instagrammed glamour shots of orange-glazed scones and maple macchiatos. These are essentially instagram hipsters who have a blog to check off that requirement of being a fully-fledged hipster idiot and it warms my heart to know their boring, photo album blogs will never be as popular as the crap that comes off the top of my head and ends up here.
Bite me, hippies.
~I’ll be feeding you seconds in no time