I knew that Hipsters had finally condemned themselves to becoming the new Emo Kids when I saw a Hipster working at my local grocery store over winter break. I live in a rich suburb of Boston, and I could tell just by looking at the kid that he wasn’t working for some extra pieces of macaroni at the dinner table. He was working, because, again, I live in the suburbs in Boston, where if you want to try to be one of the cool kids, you beg your parents to drive you to Harvard Square, because that’s where Urban Outfitters is, and it just so happens that Urban Outfitters charges money for their graphic tees. If you get a part-time job to try to fit into a group, that group must exist. And since his clothes weren’t from Urban Outfitters’ black section, he was part of the other group that shops at Urban Outfitters—the group we call Hipsters. So don’t fucking try to tell me that Hipsters don’t exist.

I get why Hipsters try to delude themselves into thinking that Hipsters don’t exist. Because all Hipsters are are artsy kids who are bad at art. If one of them actually gets good at art, they’re no longer a Hipster—they’re an artist. That’s how Duchamp got his start. Unfortunately, dearest Hipster, sitting around the art room at lunch playing your 12-song mix tape (7 written by Lou Reed) and talking to other people while they actually make art is not going to make you better at art. It’s going to make me call you a Hipster.

I know this, because that’s exactly how I spent 10^th grade. Well, to be completely honest, that’s how I would have spent 10^th grade if I hadn’t been so intimidated by the kids who did spend 10^th grade like that. I also didn’t have enough money to be a Hipster (requires too much music downloading), and, for the third time, I come from a rich suburb of Boston, so I was still too spoiled in 10^th grade to even think of getting a part-time job.

But I totally get how the whole Hipster thing evolved into the overblown fad that it did. If anything can fool people into respecting you, especially in High School, it’s contrarian confidence. And if you get a bunch of people together who aren’t qualified to keep up with the crowd they’re trying to keep up with, they resort to humor. Unfortunately, Hipsters only have one joke. One day, some kid ran out of laundry, found a clean Care Bears shirt at the bottom of his closet, wore the shirt to school, and told his friends it was “ironic.” The boost of confidence he received from successfully pulling it off led our Hipster friend to use the word “post-modernism” for the first time and unfortunately you know the rest.

But now, the joke finally isn’t funny anymore. Thank the fucking lord. But of course, we still have plenty of failed artists, and it seems that they’ve found a new joke. That same kid is still wearing the Care Bears shirt—not because it’s “ironic,” but because he actually “likes” the Care Bears, which makes the shirt “post-ironic.” Come on man, even Carrot Top has more than one prop. I understand how Hipster irony is on some basic level post-modern, but the bullshit has finally caught up with the ever-growing army of teenage consumer whores, because post-irony is not post-post-modernism. Post-post-modernism is a body of work that comments on post-modernism; post-irony is a collection of tee-shirts that used to be ironic, but since irony isn’t cool anymore, people are going to pretend to actually like them until someone comes up with a better shirt.

Theoretically, if we want to take these fuckers at their word, post-irony is simply not irony, or anything else for that matter. If you’re wearing a Care Bear shirt because you like the Care Bears, that’s all you’re doing: there’s no philosophy, no joke. It’s just pure fanboy consumerism.

Unfortunately, if this movement wants to define itself by being genuine, it’s come too late. The quintessential “post-ironic” album has already been written: Art Brut’s Bang Bang Rock and Roll. The first song, “Formed a Band,” is composed mostly by word repetition: “Formed a band/We formed a band/Look at us/We formed a band.” It goes on to explain how happy the band is that they finally got their shit together. When Hipsters hear this album, one of two things could happen: either A) they learn their lesson, stop fucking around, and get around to actually doing whatever the fuck it is that they want to do, or B) talk about how “Formed a Band” is “soo post-ironic.” In our pop-culture, pop-culture commentary has become a pop-culture phenomenon, and I pray that this will change before Hipsters rediscover this album (as much as I enjoy writing this column).

More likely, they’ll just continue to search for other pieces of post-irony. First they’ll make it to Seinfeld (“it’s about nothing”), then “I Want to Hold Your Hand” (“it’s about everything”), and then they’ll get to Grunge. Generation X was the first American Generation without a war, so while their parents and their parents’ parents just wanted peace, Generation X was left with nothing to want. But they wanted desperately to want, so they expressed this want through Grunge. Our generation, on the other hand, got our war. It’s not fair that we have to deal with Hipsters, too.