Of Mice and Hipsters

It had been a while, so I took a trip to a far-off land inhabited by a population endlessly different from my own: Williamsburg, Brooklyn, land of the hipsters. The thing that struck me about the neighborhood this time around was how, seen right after Williamsburg, the people of the East Village seem positively un-hipster, very laid-back, down-to-earth, well-fed, practically L.L.Bean or J.Crew-esque. While elements of hipster style have made it into wardrobes across the country, in Williamsburg, there doesn't seem to be much room for experimentation or personal style. Every last person is in head-to-toe hipster. Women's pants for the men, hideously overdone '80s-inspired layering for the women, and greasily side-parted hair for all. It all reaches a peak in front of a coffee shop called The Fix. A huge crowd was out front, posing, smoking, and generally being hipsters, so I peeked inside to see if there was more of the same inside the place. Not so much. The action was out front. Looks like hipster really has joined preppy as a uniform-option for the very thin, well-off and white.

While the revival of leggings pleases me, I am otherwise no great fan of hipster aesthetic. Williamsburg, however, has a lot to offer to those of dubious hipster credentials. The zatar-feta pita from the place right by the Bedford stop is incredible, and the Tibetan store in the hipster mall has these really cool, shiny scarves--each of which can be had for $3. And those of all fashion preferences and persuasions can appreciate the beauty of the warehouses-then-waterfront combination, even if said warehouses are filled with things like t-shirts ironically emblazoned with photographs of Kurt Cobain or Elvis, unironic versions of which can be acquired on the much less starkly elegant St. Marks Place in Manhattan.

A weekend of mocking hipsters and eating tasty food came to a close with the unfortunate discovery of a mammalian but non-human roommate. Since all three bedrooms are already claimed, it has made its home in the kitchen/living room/dining room, and seems to enjoy olive oil. We had never had any problems before, with mice or any other creatures, but an exterminator recently made the rounds, and I guess whichever mice used to live in some other apartments in the building found this one relatively hospitable. The mouse is not long for this world. Between the Ajax, the sticky traps, and the message I just left for the super "in reference to a mouse," I may once again pour from an opened box of oatmeal or pasta with confidence in my own kitchen. The toaster, on the other hand, is officially not something I will ever use again, under any conditions.