Hipster Fasciitis

"Standing stoic, eyes like bright statues against an emotional undercurrent; the intellect is what binds."

  Yeah, something like that. I'm standing in a grungy basement surrounded by people I refuse to associate myself with; a very definitive hipster dilemma, I would say. The band my friend and I are here to see is (the) Melvins, but I can't pull myself out of my head; it's a pretty normal thing for me, so I'm not worried.
  Looking around at all the arms folded across chests, these arms covered in tattoos, everyone wearing painted-on jeans and shockingly similar eye wear. There's a couple to my left who coordinated their outfits well, tonight: the ubiquitous skinny jeans on both sexes, tattoos, "hipster glasses" and identical Adidas footwear. I throw up in my mouth a little.

  I don't know, I guess I've always had some sort of issue with conformity in one way or another, and even when I did (conform), I could reason to myself and others logically exactly WHY (I thought) I stand/stood out. Most times, I only have my ridiculous theories tested and dissected, leaving me a bit like a sullen adolescent. It's hard to be original these days, and even when you are you run the risk of becoming a schtick; you cease to be human and instead exist as a living, breathing gimmick. You could wear a meat suit or light yourself on fire but then it just becomes shock and awe for its own sake, a pitiful cry for attention in a world where no one is listening.
 
  But they're talking. And soon, meat suits become all the rage.

  I will try all day long but ultimately cannot deny my interests and tastes are decidedly "hipster". This is my generation, so I guess I might as well stop fighting it and just laugh; at myself, and others. Quietly though, hipsters probably offend easily.

  So now what? Where do I go from here now that I see my fate? Ok, I guess I should get back to being  somewhat present at this show, since I did pay money and drive two hours to see..

  There's always those who have a good time, no matter what, no matter who is playing. And there is always the other 3/4 of the audience (whom I've described earlier) scrutinizing the band howling and gyrating onstage like they were some strange bug caught up in scientific documentation. It's like that for us hipsters; I do it plenty. It is, however, interesting to watch and I turn that scrutinizing eye not only on my fellow audience but myself, as well.
  No one moves. Magically, the Melvins come on and everyone's heads and necks become instantly unglued, teetering and bobbing back and forth to the first four seconds of the opening drum kicks. It's amazing stuff, and if you've never noticed it, well, then just keep reading my stuff I guess.

  The 30-year vets of eclecticism lurch through a set that I have no idea of the exact length; I'm drunk and busy watching hipsters but losing myself in the double-drummer attack all the same. I never see the band once, except for the occasional glimpse of the frontmen through armpits and under chins.

  It's ok. Really. Sometimes its better to just close your eyes and be a hipster like no one's watching.