Everyone wants to feel heard, and this guest writer was the second cousin of our editor-in-chief, so in a futile effort to resolve family tension, we let him spew out some words to feel validated. Nothing said in this article is a reflection of our beliefs here at French Onion Soup.
When I was twelve, a kid in my middle school called me "as plain as a crust-less piece of sourdough bread." That hurt me deeply and has been the opening complaint of many therapy sessions. But because I'm emotionally mature, I took that slight and let it drive me to greater heights. That's why I, Trent Mayhem, am now a coffee shop hipster.
You might be wondering, "Trent, how can I become a coffee shop hipster?" Allow me to share my journey and invite you to partake in the same life-changing moments that have brought me to this place of purpose.
It started with a dimly-lit cafe, and ended with cries of protest and injustice.
No one stumbles into the lifestyle of coffee shop hipster. It must be actively pursued. And the day I discovered the path life had set out for me was August 9th, 2018. I found myself aimlessly walking down the streets of Milwaukee, when the groaning of my empty stomach compelled me to step into a local cafe, Fresh Beans And Things. It had all the makings of a hipster coffee shop. Acoustic covers of Avicii softly played over the patrons chatter, and the far wall was graced with a hand-lettered sign that said "happy times and happy vibes." The rich smells of crushed artisan coffee beans violently hit my nostrils, and I was drawn into this unknown world.
After being passively berated for calling their 'teenie-weenie' coffee a 'small,' I wrapped my hands around a quirky mug and made my way to the corner table. At this point, I was intrigued by my surroundings, but had yet to truly encounter an authentic coffee shop hipster. And then SHE came in the doors, like a terrifying, intoxicating tornado.
Standing at 6' 8" and adorned with a knit tunic dress and messy bun, her presence was absolutely commanding. Without even batting an eye, she bypassed the 5 customers in line and strode right up to the faux-wood counter. Her gaze was piercing behind the large, cumbersome fake glasses that were perched on her nose.
Standing at 6' 8" and adorned with a knit tunic dress and messy bun, her presence was absolutely commanding.
A complex, Davincii code-like order fell out of her mouth, and I was entranced. The confidence with which she barked her demands was magical, and it made me realize that I had never felt that comfortable in my skin. The sheer idea of being able to order a coffee with that much forwardness made me more excited than I had been in 15 years. In this moment, I decided I would devote my life to becoming a true coffee shop hipster. And my family would finally respect me.
As the barista handed the Amazon her complicated coffee, I was able to see an authentic coffee shop hipster in all her glory. She looked down with disgust at the drink and became unhinged. She screamed at the employee about how he used soy milk instead of double-filtered flax milk, and that meant that he was trying to kill her because she was so intolerant to soy. The rest of the patrons cast wary glances her way as her beautiful breakdown was on full display. She threw the drink back over the counter, and my heart leapt in my chest. Such power and authority was radiating off of her. Here was a woman not to be trifled with!
Meeting my muse for the first time was life-changing.
As I saw this emotional breakdown happen before my eyes, I knew that I HAD to meet this woman. She had the confidence, the energy, the self-assuredness that I had been yearning for. While other customers parted before her like the Red Sea, I mustered up all my courage and walked straight towards her. With a quiver in my voice, I asked "how do I become like you?" Her steely gaze turned from the barista and settled on me. And the next words I heard were like heaven opening and angels singing. She peered over her chunky glasses as said, "be basic." With a quick turn of her heel, she vanished into the night.
It's like my eyes were open and the world had more color again. I had thought she would rattle off a list of unattainable quests required to reach her status. But being basic? I was as basic as they came. I was as plain as plain could be. I was absolutely uninteresting in every facet. I realized that I could become like her and command such attention, because what I needed to thrive was already inside me. As I left that glorious little cafe, I reentered the world with a new vigor.
Breaking the news to my family was the hardest day of my life.
Much like the child who needs to tell their parents that she wants to be Taylor Swift's roadie, I knew cluing my family in on this life-altering experience would be a big bomb to drop. So instead of quietly telling them over email, like I did when I decided to experiment with an all-beans diet, I decided to tap into the electric intensity I witnessed that night and planned to tell them of my hipster visions at my sister's 25th wedding anniversary party.
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The party held at the local library began as could be expected. Shaynay and Wadsworth talked at length about how happy they were to find each other, how they never wanted to spend a minute apart, and other bland thoughts. I felt ill listening to it. Here they were, thinking so highly of themselves, yet in reality they couldn't hold a candle to the coffee shop goddess I had encountered.
As Wadsworth sixth cousin rose up to make another toast, I made my move. Shoving his weak body out of the way, I grasped the microphone and began my monologue. I heard the grumblings from Shaynay and my parents, but I was ready to become the man I was destined to be: a coffee shop hipster. I laid out my epiphany and my plans to exclusively wear skinny jeans and baggy beanies. My family and their friends shook their heads as I explained how I would be putting in hair extensions so I could finally have a man-bun. I spoke for eight and a half minutes about the different types of coffee beans and why the beans grown on the southern side of the mountains in Paupa New Guinea were better for my digestive tract. My grandma looked disgusted.
By this point, I knew deep down that my family would never fully embrace me as a coffee shop hipster. They'd never understand my tribal tattoos or my filled-in eyebrows. But I also knew that it didn't matter, and that my whole life had been building to this zenith. Ever since I was 13 years old and eating worms during recess, I had gotten used to the looks of disgust. I realized that the years of friends saying that I was 'too self-absorbed and boring' had given me the strength necessary to reach my full potential and become my true self. As I chucked the microphone into the crowd at Shaynay's anniversary party, I prepared myself for the next chapter of my life. And I as stormed out of the library, I couldn't help the grin that spread over my face, because I had just demanded unnecessary attention and drama, and had fully evolved to be a coffee shop hipster.
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