Ok, so research on this happened a few months ago (I only just learned how to blog, don’t judge me, I already judged myself so back off), but I want to share some thoughts on the hipster-unity in Atlanta, Georgia. So I was visiting friends in Hotlanta when I was dragged to Little Five Points. I say dragged because yes, I’ve been there before, and no, I never wanted to go back, and after this day, I stand by that lack of desire and will more vehemently refuse the next time.
For those of you who are not familiar with the city of Atlanta, there are many different subsections, which could not be more different in populations than if you were to compare Billings, Montana (shout out to A!) with Tokyo, Japan (oh hey Maomix, didn’t even mean to bring you into it, but here we are!). Let me give you a brief rundown, my brother lives in Reynoldstown (sibling shoutout!) this is the up-and-coming area with a lot of potential - just like that H.S. basketball star trying to shake his gang-associated past. It does have the cutest little dog park/coffeeshop though, where there may be potential for respectable hipsters, but I am still not sure, you'll see why shortly. Moving on, my friends used to live in Midtown, this is the center city-city area, walking distance to clubs, bars, parks - but also attracting the problems associated with such easily accessible establishments. My friends now live in the Highlands, this is the wanna-be-yuppy area - you’ll see a lot of “young professionals” here, along with the Jews (shout out to myself!), Emory kids, and various other of the like. Additionally, there are about 10 million other areas, but let’s get to the hipster-haven that is...
Little Five Points. Where do I begin? Imagine you are watching a documentary on meth-heads, and you’re here. The documentary subjects are indistinguishable from hipsters in this tiny block of vintage stores all selling you the same Lady Ga-Ga knock off glasses (fine I bought some, but only because I had to have something to bring me joy during this horrible adventure). And nowhere on earth makes me want to pursue my hipster-dream less than this disgusting mecca of drug-induced hell. You might think I’m exaggerating. You’ll say “Hey, wait a minute, I’ve watched enough Man vs. Food to know that one of the best burgers in the U.S. is located right in the heart of that place.” And I will say, “Yes, fine, give your order at the Vortex while I wait in the car, it’s not worth it to me.” Because here, you climb over the scabbed people on the street only to get to a bar so disgusting you’ll long for your time back outside in the gutter.
That bar is called Elmyr. Listen, I appreciate and support all dive, hole-in-the-wall, off-the-beaten-path places as much as the next hipster-in-training/former college student. I can usually find at least an ounce of good in a bar offering me $6 pitchers of PBR, $3.50 Red Stripes, and endless chips and salsa. But not this time. I am sorry, the stench of what seemed like months of chain smoking Marlboro Reds in a building without a single window was too much. I might be spoiled by LA’s restriction of such activity, but I also grew up in a household where ¾ of the population there within engaged in such practices (not to mention my later roommates - Greaseball and Pluggy shoutout!). And I can promise you, it didn’t compare. Ok fine, you say, “Hold your nose, get over it you prissy-jerk.” I tried, believe me, but then there are what qualifies for hipsters in Atlanta in attendance aka some of the grossest men I’ve ever seen in my life, in clothes that have clearly never been washed since they got them from Goodwill four years ago (not counting the 5 years they spend in-store). And again, I usually find the good in grime, it's my type (hey, every guy I've ever obsessed over shoutout!), but no, alas, again I cannot. I know I have, and will continue to, offend a lot of people with this post, so I’ll take a brief moment to give props to the real Mohawks these dudes sported (no fauxhawks here), but that does not make up for their other poser-ways. First of all, nice mass-produced Metallica shirt, well done, I had the same one and so did that creepy guy down the street from me growing up. Secondly, I don’t even know. I have reached the quota of things I have allowed myself to remember from that day. I thankfully have since employed my selective-memory-blackout-the-bad-stuff-he-did-to-me-mommy talent successfully. But I do remember my friends, trying to tell me it “wasn’t that bad,” and me, sitting there, gagging, replying “yes, it is, it really is.”
So lesson of this (what was supposed to be brief) post is: not all hipsters are treated equally. Atlanta-hipsters, I don’t want any part of your lifestyle. No thanks, I’m good. And if I move there one day, don’t worry, I won’t be bothering you. Keep your meth and cigarettes to yourself…
Next scouting mission: NY-hipsters, and maybe one day, I will search for the elusive, endangered South Florida hipster. But until you give me reason to believe again, I’m done with the ATL crowd.
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