An Incident with the Poseurs of Park Slope - Part 1
- I've recently become friends with Brady, the 10 year old hipster who lives on the first floor of my building. We like having intellectual debates over whether or not Clap Your Hands Say Yeah is over already and whether everything I touch turns to shit (which he reminds me ALL THE TIME). He's such a kidder!
Anyways, we are people watching and eating Dippin' Dots--the ice cream of the future--on the stoop of our brownstone when he announces, "Poseur alert!"
"Where?" I shout, craning my neck.
"Over THERE--look at those fucken poseurs," and Brady directs my attention to a gang of suburban white dudes in skull caps across the street. One is drinking 7-Up. One is beckoning another, "Dawg, you gotta listen to my new ringtone—it’s a Top 40 hit on the Billboard Charts right now!" All are decked out in gear from the sales racks of a Midwestern store called Value City.
"THOSE aren't poseurs," I say to my little friend, dismissing his claims. "No no no. These guys over HERE are poseurs!" I point to a nearby syndicate of 35 year old skaters taking turns grinding off the bumper of an abandoned Ford Bronco. They each have asymmetrical hair bangs covering one of their eyes and all are dressed in Pretty Boy Floyd jean jackets. Before each grind attempt, their video camera operator gleefully goes, "Skate or die, dude! Skate or dieeeeee!" Then they try to ollie onto the Bronco and fall down.
"Hey you dirtbag gaywad poseurs!" Brady hollers. All the poseurs stop what they are doing and glare at us. I try to cover Brady's mouth with his cup of Dippin' Dots. What is he thinking? He's going to get us killed!
"How does it feel to be fuckin poseurs?" he continues, in between gulps of the Dots.
The poseurs from the '80s and the urban subversion poseurs filter into a poser posse and begin pressing towards us!
To be continued!