After I got over the shock, I liked seeing hipsters everywhere. They made me feel more at home. I heard the same rants about Woody Allen movies that I had once heard at SLC, but in an Irish accent. Irish hipsters even ironically emulated American culture. You could buy a ten pack of red Solo cups at Urban Outfitters for 12 euro. Everyone wanted to know what frat parties are like, if prom is anything like it was in Carrie, and how to play beer pong. I had more hipsters talk to me in Ireland than I ever had in two years at Sarah Lawrence.
One of my new hipster friends was in my Modern Horror Fiction class. His name was Arthur, but his friends called him ‘Art’ and said it like ‘work of art’ each time. I swore he belonged at Sarah Lawrence. He was smart, witty, super liberal, and had the wardrobe down-pat. He wore a beaten-up leather jacket, tortoise shell glasses, work boots, and flannel plaid shirt to class every day. He hand rolled his cigarettes and would talk endlessly about how he was going to move to Brooklyn when he graduated.
One day in class, we were talking about inexplicable events that had happened to us. I told everyone about the child ghost that lived in my apartment with me, but Art had the best story of all. On Halloween, Art went out with a few friends and came home to find that his room had been broken in to. Someone had taken a shit on his vinyl record collection and wiped his or her ass with his copy of As I Lay Dying. It was obviously a hipster hate crime.
Be warned Sarah Lawrence students, even though you cherish your Bob Dylan records, they are at risk. If we can learn anything from our Irish hipster brethren, it’s to keep your door locked, and your Faulkner safe.