It was a little pink poster that caught my eye. Posted outside the Grog Shop, the flier advertised an “Indie-Rock Singles Night” at the Beachland Tavern. It was like finding my own name on the back of a milk carton.
I had come to Cleveland after years at America’s great hipster outposts: Chicago, the land of leopard-print spandex; Minneapolis, the far-north outpost of hypercolor shirts; and Portland, a place where hipsters breed like bunnies, presuming bunnies wore skinny jeans and rode the light-rail. After years in these cryogenic chambers of cool, I came to Cleveland versed in all things ironic and proudly fitting into women’s jeans.
But after two months here, I had yet to locate the mythological children of Robert Pollard. Where do Rust Belt scenesters play?, I asked myself, as I shot Cherry Bombs with a Tri Delt at the Blind Pig.
Friends had warned me that Cleveland doesn’t have a real hipster scene. But I didn’t believe them. This is the land of Oberlin College, the preeminent factory of all things effete. There had to be some Atari T-shirt-wearing vegans somewhere.
The flier confirmed my suspicion. I was hot on the hipster trail. A cute version of Ellen Page was sure to bicycle into my life any moment.
So on the night of the event, on a chilly Thursday in February, I launch into indie-preparation mode. I slip into Swedish-made, skintight gray denim. I pull a white V-neck over my head. I tie a gray bandanna around my neck. It’s an outfit specifically designed to highlight my hippest attribute: a prominent rib cage.
My wardrobe intact, I hop into my Subaru, blast This American Life, and head off to the event, visions of asymmetrical haircuts nodding nonchalantly in my head.
When I arrive at the Beachland, I am buoyed by the sight of the good ol’ red, white, and blue. No, not the American flag — everyone knows America sucks compared to Quebec — but cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon, the ironic beer us hipsters appropriated from longshoremen.
Inside, I am greeted by the event’s organizer, who hands me a name tag. But instead of my own name, she says, I have to pick the name of an indie-rocker. I go with Britt Daniel, the lead singer of Spoon, but a pang of regret quickly shoots through me: Is Daniel too mainstream? Am I supposed to pick someone more obscure? Or maybe someone so mainstream, they’re actually cool? What’s a horny hipster to do?
I stick with Daniel, and the organizer assigns me to a table. The event apparently calls for us to play trivia, with everyone switching tables after three questions. The idea, I guess, is to force us to talk instead of brood, which really sucks, since brooding is when I’m most attractive.
But my unease is calmed by the glorious sounds of the Thermals. They’re rocking from the speakers above, allowing me to finally make small talk about something that matters. Judging by their faces, though, my fellow singles have never heard of the Thermals. This notion disorients me, like the time I met a hipster who didn’t own Footloose on VHS. I’m beginning to wonder if I have come to the wrong event. It’s as if I walked into American Apparel only to discover it was actually the Gap.
It’s OK, I finally tell myself. They’re probably just into something more obscure. But after we switch tables, I find myself once again confused by this new strain of hip. I notice that none of my new tablemates are pierced, nor are there any abstract shapes tattooed on their necks. And that’s when it hits me: Everyone at this singles’ night is straight.
I find myself at a sudden loss, much like when Feist did that Apple commercial. The hipsters I know lack any sexual orientation whatsoever. They’re all queer. Not in the gay sort of way, but in the I’ll-try-this-out-to-be-more-like-Michael-Chabon sort of way.
I try to refocus myself. Throughout the night, I’ve been ignoring the trivia questions, confused by the sight of khakis where I expected rhinestone button-ups. But then they ask a question so easy, I’m almost embarrassed to answer it: “What is the name of Ben Gibbard’s solo act?” It’s like asking for the carbon footprint of a four-stroke, 150cc Vespa — something any good hipster should know.
After I shout the answer with all the boredom I can muster — All-Time Quarterback, duh — a cute girl walks toward me with a bowl of candy hearts. Later, I will think that the words written on those candy hearts were disgustingly un-profound and should have been penned by Charles Bukowski, or maybe Nancy Drew. But at the moment, I am distracted by the idea of a breathing woman walking in my direction, an event that hasn’t occurred since my vintage road bike and I arrived in Cleveland.
She has a sweet face, sort of like Natalie Portman in Garden State, before Garden State went all mainstream and turned Portman into a pop-princess sellout. I begin plotting my opening line, debating internally between “So I was reading some Nietzsche this afternoon” and “Can I borrow your pants?” But as she moves closer, something throws me: She looks like a real woman. She has voluptuous breasts, expensive-looking earrings, and clothes that appear to have been purchased somewhere besides the boys’ section of Unique Thrift. What the hell kind of hipsters are these?
I take my candy heart, muttering only a confused “Thank you,” and shift my gaze to the 40 singles around me. And I realize that the Cleveland Indie-Rocker is like no other I have ever seen. Missing are the Casio calculator watches, the ironic Tom Selleck mustaches, the turquoise Palestinian neck scarves. Absent are the emaciated physiques, like Amy Winehouse before she sold out and won a Grammy.
Yes, these Clevelanders like music, but they are otherwise normal and earnest. They have attributes like no other hipsters I have encountered, such as wallets and health care plans. And they are able to interact with each other without drawing animal caricatures on their napkins.
As the night winds down, the members of this curious breed begin flipping out their cell phones to exchange phone numbers. I watch from the bar, alone and sipping my Pabst, wondering if maybe I need to switch to a more ironic beer, like Tecate. Eventually, I get in my Subaru and go home. I listen to Thriller on cassette as I drive, but it just doesn’t sound the same.
This article appears in Mar 5-11, 2008.
After reading Bradley Campbell’s article on hipsters in Cleveland, I only have one question – dose he really wonder why he is single?!?
Oh, Bradley, Bradley, Bradley . . . You’re all over a pick up line when you think a chick is gonna look like a unisex tween, but a “real” woman with boobs makes you feel uncomfortable? Hmmm . . . . Might want to look into that.
Bradley,
Quick thing to know, which you almost got right; Clevelanders love music, but most of them refuse to advertise their specific proclivities by way of fashion. Sure, you can spot a throwback punk, or greaser a mile away, but just because we tend to be on the hearier side and can’t fit into our little sister’s pants doesn’t mean we don’t love to rock out to some obscure weird music. Isn’t a little weird that most ‘hipsters’ gauge their own hip factor internally, and constantly? Wouldn’t it be more cool (or deck) to not care, and do your thing? Just saying. Anyways, welcome to Cleveland. I got out and I’m enjoying the warm weather in Houston, sans introverted hipster sense.
Bradley, Keep looking man. I’m sorry the others don’t get it.
We are from Cleveland and we love our sandals with socks. Screw your scarf and short sleeve shirt fag boy!! Go Browns!!!
BARF! worst article ever. seriously? i mean, seriously? gag. i fart in your general direction.
There are plenty of ultra-skinny clothes wearing, black hair dyed hip chicks in Cleveland, but did you really expect to find them at a singles night at the Beachland? What self-respecting hipster would go to such a thing? Or self-apply a term (except ironically) as ridiculous and pompous as “hipster”? Perhaps instead of looking for a woman that will look hot next to you at a Hot Chip concert you should start looking for one that likes for who you are, rather than your ultra-ironic “war on drugs” t-shirt collection. But from what I read in your article, it seems that all you are IS an ultra-ironic t-shirt and record collection condensed into human form. So continue mucking around in the superficial end of the subculture tide pool.
I see you are half-joking in this article, but clearly you don’t get it and are about as hip as Hot Topic.
Does wearing leopard spandex and neck scarves make you cool? Funny, I thought it was being unique, creative, or fun to be around that make one “cool”. One of the things I like about Cleveland is that its young music-loving population doesn’t care too much about what fashions they are wearing. They prefer to radiate the cool from within. So if you want to meet people like you, you might have to actually talk to them instead of judging what they are like from their outfit. Unfortunately, it seems like the clothing part of the hipster equation is all you have going for you.
you know, the best way to make friends isn’t to write an article about how much the hipster ‘scene’ in cleveland sucks. perhaps you ought to take your lady jean wearing, lame free-lance writing bum right back to the city from whence you came.
This article is tongue and cheek, & it made me laugh. I also live in Portland, Oregon.
Mr. Campbell, should I feel like I should apologize for not satisfying your expecations of the Cleveland Indie Rock Scene? Absolutely not. Sure, the “Indie Rock Scene” isn’t as predominate here as it is in other cities. Sure, we have one of the highest crime rates in the nation. Sure, we are one of the most impoverished cities of the country. But you don’t have to rub all the negative things in our faces that we already know. Yes, Mr. Campbell, I too can name fancy cities that I’ve lived in where the Indie scene mirrors the Ellen Paige’s who read about what Indie band to listen to from what Indie rock magazine is deemed as the indiest of the indie. But, Clevelanders are genuine in their interests and don’t follow a fashion magazine to tell them how to dress to fit into a certain scene. From my recollection of a music scene, it isn’t about what you wear. I’m sorry you’re false expectations put so much preparation into getting ready for an event that disappointed you so much. Maybe we can learn something from our mother’s lesson of “if you don’t have anything nice to say…” in that if you don’t have anything nice to say about Cleveland, then why are you here? Way to disconnect with your Cleveland readers, Mr. Campbell.
Mr. Campbell,
I would have liked your article had you included the necessary fact that we Clevepeople drink our Pabst with our pinkies erect and at a 35 degree angle from the can. All your talk of lady jeans is true, but without the mention of the rigid pinky, all is lost. Please talk to your editor about getting the pabst-drinking hipster style correct before he/she/it assumes you know so much. Move back to the west coast without hesitation. That is where you belong.
P.S. I like guys…gee whiz. Gall.
I don’t understand why anyone is mad at this article. It seems more that he is parodying himself than he is poking fun at Cleveland. I’d rather be called earnest than pretentious any day.
And didn’t you hear? Unhip is the new hip.
That was a good article. Given the circumstances, you know, being an outsider of the scene in Cleveland, the writer made the best of it and drew his own rational conclusions all while poking fun at himself and others (much more the former). But seriously, you want hipsters? I’ll tell you what man, Girl Talk isn’t playing house shows in Collinwood. The University Circle area has the art-school kids, the american apparel store and all that shit. The students and the rich east side kids are pretty much the only demographics from which you might draw the FANCY big city hipsters.
Furthermore… the term Indie-Rock gets confusing, I guess. Those hipsters which you seek are perhaps not as much into Midwest-styled “indie-rock” (GBV, Built to Spill…whathaveyou) as their affiliates from Chi or Minn…they are probably more apt to turn up at gallery openings and dive bars in dodgy, seedy parts of town…where they will indeed be drawing pictures on napkins (good call!).
Also, to agree with a previous comment, yeah, who would really come to one of those things? Probably the more hunky-dory show going 20-something who works too much to keep up with things like skinny jeans, french electro pop and attracting the opposite sex (or whatever).
So, again, that was a fun article. I like to see how people perceive this town. I’ve been pretty much everywhere and I’ve learned that the hipster element is, well, everywhere. Everywhere! No city lacks this group…you just have to know where to look…and they are usually too cool for places where you’d expect to seem them!
You are an elitist bastard
“ My friends warned me Cleveland doesn’t have a real hipster scene.” Your friends must be just like you buddy, 15 years old riding the bus to high school. .
This article doesn’t even piss me off because you are hating on Cleveland. You aren’t really hating on Cleveland. You are just being egotistical, and high and mighty.
Drop your band names, Casio calculator watches, Tom Selleck mustaches, turquoise palestinian neck-scarves, emaciated physiques, Tecate beer, and your Thriller fucking cassettes. Drop your lady jeans, your Swedish-made skin tight grey denim, Subaru car, PBR beer drinking, Thermal listening, cassette playing, Garden State watching, (maybe not anymore because it became too mainstream,) Nietzsche, Michael Chabon reading, Vespa riding, Footloose VHS watching, rhinestone button-up expecting attitude.
How many more examples do you need to give to prove to everyone that you are the king of hipsters? You’re just proving that you’re self-conscious, and concerned with what everyone thinks of you.
You are what you are hating on.
Sorry that Clevelander’s try to contribute to the community and the economy. Working to afford health care plans is pretty amateur I guess.
Why would that be something to condemn?
Your entire column relies on name dropping, styles, and brands to prove that you are a “hipster.” The reason this shit doesn’t go down here is because Cleveland grew up. We don’t concern ourselves with the stereotypes that ended in high school.
Grow up and don’t rep Cleveland. You are from Chicago. Make that well known to anyone you meet. We don’t want to associate with anyone who’s major concerns have to do with dance movies on VHS and 1980’s music on cassette.
Dear Bradley,
I’m a single girl who actually attended the Beachland event. I read your article and the accompanying comments. Don’t worry; I wasn’t offended by your article in the slightest. Irony is delicate and difficult to pull-off. You took a risk, and it failed. While, there were moments when I did laugh, I also cringed a little while reading. Even understanding the intended humor, I knew that the calibration wasn’t right.
I am a curvy, “earnest”, and fairly attractive girl. And, I would never consider myself to be a hipster under any circumstances. (As you point out in your article, a singles party isn’t exactly a hipster’s ideal outpost. At a singles party, you might be expected to talk to someone instead of brooding and drawing on a napkin.) In fact, coming from a hipster breeding ground of skinny boys with dark-rimmed glasses, I take great pleasure in mocking them -just a little. Accordingly, I laughed at the childish self-referential irony of the piece. However, even while laughing, I couldn’t help but hear a stupid voice in the back of my head that asked, “Is he calling me fat??”
Lesson: Make sure you have a couple readers/friends take a look at your piece before taking such a risk. The miscalibration of tone ended up offending many very cool, non-hipsters who turned out. Better luck next time.
Cheers,
Carol
I appreciate what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to poke fun at all the hipster buzzwords: Chabon, Palestine scarf, tight pants! I mean, I got your references *and* I attended the event at the bequest of a friend. Maybe you didn’t notice me because I have hips?
This brings me to my point. In your effort to humorously point out that you don’t need to look like scene trash to be a hipster, you called Cleveland 20-somethings fat and earnest, something we’ve all heard before and disliked. There are reasons people go to singles events, and it’s to meet people who might *not* call us fat and earnest just because we don’t look like emaciated scene trash, we don’t respond to social stimulus with an animal cartoon, and we don’t pretend to read books because Vice told us to do so. Believe me, if you want to find scene trash, there are plenty of places to go, but I guarantee the only things they know are the things you so lovingly mentioned – Tom Selleck mustaches are deck, rhinestones are throwback rockabilly kitch, etc. Life’s real questions, are vastly unanswerable, i.e. how to balance a checkbook. (It’s not something daddy does when it’s tax time with the trust fund?)
It takes work anywhere to sift through the scene trash and find somebody actually interesting, but I’ll give you a clue. In Cleveland we’re less concerned with the angle of the dangle in girl pants and more with the ability to write good satire. It’s the little things like good satire that makes us want to know what’s in your pants, skinny or not.
I have lived for 9 years on the east coast. I am a native Clevelander though. The hipsters didn’t even emerge until about three years ago, and those jeans didn’t manifest until about a year ago. In DC, there are far too many of these so-called hipsters around. They are a walking paradox. On one hand they are supposed to be on the cutting-edge of everything and so unique, but they all look, dress, eat, ride bikes and smell the same. They also get shocked when anyone that doesn’t wear their uniform knows about a band like, say… Crystal Castles. They even think they know about Hip-Hop because they only listen to Atmosphere and Def Jux. Be yourself and get rid of those tight-ass jeans and ballet shoes. Your people didn’t rock Dunks until 2 years ago. You guys are not original whatsoever. I am moving back to Cleveland for a few months. Thank God the hipsters haven’t taken over like they did in Williamsburg and Park Slope.
bradley,
did it hurt when you were shit out of urban outfitters’ ass?
ps – obviously, cleveland has evolved into something which is cooler than you and said hipsters you were so desperately trying to find. lucky enough for you, the girls you were looking to hook up with are mass produced and released in high school cafeterias, girl talk shows and independent movie theaters all over the country.
you know what would be awesome? if anyone commenting here had a sense of humor.
bradley, i would totally do you despite the fact that i hate skinny jeans, soul-tapping, and yes, hipsters. because this piece is damn funny. (my favorite is the inner-conflict at picking spoon part)
cara, you are just a hater.
Hey, those are my sister’s boobs you’re talking about!
Bradley, pink posters, erect pinkies, … it’s all good. Glad that some get your humor of o-hip-ness.
This article made me laugh. Seriously – hipster singles night? Definitely a testament to how Coventry is a shadow of it’s former self.
Great article. But, really, if nonconformist hipsters need to conform to certain attributes of what a hipster is supposed to be, doesn’t that defeat the point? Hooray for Cleveland hipster, which aren’t easily categorized!
Dude, you got it backwards. Amy Winehouse was pleasantly plump BEFORE she won the Grammy. The trappings of success with all its money, fame, drugs and alcohol turned her into the hipster cliche you’re writing about. Just as some helpful advice, even hipster chicks are real women, and your definition of a “real woman” shouldn’t be scary. Or you should have changed your tone at the beginning and searched for the Gay Indie Singles Night at the Grid- or Bounce…. can’t ever seem to get it right.
It seems Bradley Campbell has spent so much time “studying” up on how to be cool when in fact all he has done is memorize some band names and rape a thrift store. If you ask me it sounds like he focuses a little too much on his vintage record collection and how awesome he looks in his turquoise pants to be defined as anything but a douche bag.
I’ve seen your people at Now That’s Class on Detroit. Plus they have killer vegan mac n cheese and philly steak.
Pssh! Go back to the late 90’s, dweebarino! You can’t fake hipster with an outfit, or by flocking around a sign that says ‘yo hipsters!’ These days of high surveillance, police brutality and background checking, real hipsters keep it incognito – they blend right in with accountants and baristas, the delivery drivers and soccer moms. Only way you can sniff ’em out is … well, if you ain’t hip, I guess you ain’t there! 😉
Fuck hipsters and fuck the Browns.
Dude, don’t you know that all of the “Real” hipsters are hanging out at The Barking Spider and Prosperity? That’s where you can find the bicycle rack full of old Schwinn ten speeds and not a board game available. You can’t expect them to be so readily available at an organized dating event.. and even if you did you have no chance because they are all in love with their ex hipster boyfriends.
Ahh yes, Cleveland. You shoulda been here in the 80’s when Cleve still had independent bands that played original music at actual clubs – YES, it’s true I tell you!
The Bop Shop, the old Grog Shop, etc. etc AND etc!
We wore our peg-leg jeans with our zippered tennies; two different earrings (oh times were crazy) and changed our hair color with food dye (aka what people use for easter eggs).
The prob isn’t that Cleve no longer has hipsters it’s that they grew up and now are in their 40’s. What you youngsters have left is a boring Cleveland filled with nothing more than a smattering of places on W25th, Tremont and W4th. I’m sorry we failed you!
Just came across your article. I laughed many times. I love the tension between self-mockery but still being hipster inclined no matter how cliche it has or can become. Well done, dont listen to the hatera, theyre not your target audience. I am.