Hipsters?

So I guess I'm a hipster now. Well what is a hipster? Just a weird kid who shops at the d.i., loves Polaroids, photography, button up flower print t-shirts with the buttons buttoned all the way up, with the tube socks, (they must be fleece) the pointy shoes, completely worn out, the half shaved hair, swept over so neat. The big square black glasses, and for the girls, lipstick so red, old ancient blouses and poorly groomed hair, and last but most definitely not least, ORIGINALITY. originality? Why is that so wrong? Stupid hipsters and their poetry and journals. Stupid creativity and isolation from the busy bees buzzing around the hive. A life of peace and quiet cold nights. We should aspire to be like these beings for being the thing that adults tried to kill. We fear all these crayons and pencils and pens! Write an essay! Read a book! Do ALL THAT WESAY. take math, sports, and science, let art be an elective. Art? We don't need that in the real world. The real world is a cold lonely place. So cliche, but so very true. The world will step on you, hit you and scratch you. It will make you bleed and do every thing they can to strip you of that creativity. That imagination and originality. That's why I aspire to be like these hipster kids. Because they know what it's all about.