Are you, or have you ever been...?
I wrote this for a class. The instructor's comment was 'Less Hate.'
People who really know how to push my buttons will call me a hippy when
they want to annoy me. If they enjoy toying with life, they will
proceed to point out specific traits of mine, like my sandals, my
occasional tie dye shirt, and especially my shoulder-length hair. But I
would like to challenge their belief that hair length has something to
do with character. I just want to make it perfectly clear, I am not a
hippy.
For starters, my hair isn't even that long. It only hangs just slightly lower than my shoulders, in a manner which would have been naughty to the Beatles, and nigh unto Mormon missionary to ZZ-Top. Not only is my hair of a relatively modest length, but at no time has it ever contained beads, flowers, or a satisfactory amount of scunge to be deemed "hippy." It's not just black and white, long and short, hippy and non-hippy judgement one must use in order to judge me. As far as the hair is concerned, there are many shades of gray (pun not intended) in between which must be examined to determine my exact location on the road between Squaresville and Granolaburg.
To take the long-term observation approach, it's clear there, too, that whatever it is that I'd be considered is far from "hippy." Take my taste in music for example. Until the day that I die, I'll never cease to find the music of bands such as the Grateful Dead, Cream, and Pink Floyd (Oh, come on, find me a hippy that doesn't like Pink Floyd) painfully irritating. I can't help it. Perhaps I was born with some sort of "square" gene, but I just find that sort of music boring. My musical preferences usually fall along the lines of punk and classical, both almost exact opposites of groovy, lovey, happy, hippy music. Punk because it's usually angry and abrasive sounding, and Classical because it takes something more than a fetal alcohol syndrome born chimpanzee to play it. Continuing on with my external qualities, I don't use that horrid patchouli oil as a shower replacement, and I've never tried to pull off those laughable white-guy dreads. Anyone who's seen me step onto a scale knows that I'm definitely not in to organic foods.
But perhaps the biggest separator between me and hippy society is that I find almost everything they like annoying, including their general outlook. It's amazing how much somebody's promotion of peace and love can make you want to hurt and dislike them. Not to mention those strange, rainbow colored "Jerry Bear" patches that Grateful Dead fans sew all over their clothes. I can't help but find that somewhat creepy. That's the sort of thing I'd expect predatory middle-aged men to be wearing when they're trying to attract small children, just before asking them "Can you help me look for my car keys?" I don't know, maybe it's subconsciously related to a painful childhood memory involving the Care Bears.
I'm not an evil man, and I'm not entirely filled with hate. I also like to think that I'm not too uncool. Nor would I dare assume that all hippies are too concerned with recycling and thanking our earth mother to be bothered with things like bathing. I am, after all, complaining about my annoyance with people stereotyping me; I'd feel like quite the hypocrite if I were, in the process, stereotyping someone else. I have nothing against hippies. I'm just sick of people assuming that since I didn't cut my hair when it got to my ears that I'd take a bullet for Simon and Garfunkel. I am not, never have, nor ever will be "feelin' groovy" and that is exactly the way I like it. If one more random person down town comes up to me and asks if I've "got any HERB?" I think I'm going to just lose it.
So hear me now, and hear me good, peace lovers and business men alike. Hair length is in no way related to your hipster status, or lack thereof. Look at Jesus. Jesus had long hair, and have you ever seen him wearing a shirt reading "Legalize It?" Granted, I'm no son of God, but I'm also no decadent hippy rock n' roller. I'm not asking for a free membership to the Republican Presidential Task Force here, or a trip to the Arctic Circle for some good old-fashioned seal clubbing. All I ask is that you judge me not on appearance.
For starters, my hair isn't even that long. It only hangs just slightly lower than my shoulders, in a manner which would have been naughty to the Beatles, and nigh unto Mormon missionary to ZZ-Top. Not only is my hair of a relatively modest length, but at no time has it ever contained beads, flowers, or a satisfactory amount of scunge to be deemed "hippy." It's not just black and white, long and short, hippy and non-hippy judgement one must use in order to judge me. As far as the hair is concerned, there are many shades of gray (pun not intended) in between which must be examined to determine my exact location on the road between Squaresville and Granolaburg.
To take the long-term observation approach, it's clear there, too, that whatever it is that I'd be considered is far from "hippy." Take my taste in music for example. Until the day that I die, I'll never cease to find the music of bands such as the Grateful Dead, Cream, and Pink Floyd (Oh, come on, find me a hippy that doesn't like Pink Floyd) painfully irritating. I can't help it. Perhaps I was born with some sort of "square" gene, but I just find that sort of music boring. My musical preferences usually fall along the lines of punk and classical, both almost exact opposites of groovy, lovey, happy, hippy music. Punk because it's usually angry and abrasive sounding, and Classical because it takes something more than a fetal alcohol syndrome born chimpanzee to play it. Continuing on with my external qualities, I don't use that horrid patchouli oil as a shower replacement, and I've never tried to pull off those laughable white-guy dreads. Anyone who's seen me step onto a scale knows that I'm definitely not in to organic foods.
But perhaps the biggest separator between me and hippy society is that I find almost everything they like annoying, including their general outlook. It's amazing how much somebody's promotion of peace and love can make you want to hurt and dislike them. Not to mention those strange, rainbow colored "Jerry Bear" patches that Grateful Dead fans sew all over their clothes. I can't help but find that somewhat creepy. That's the sort of thing I'd expect predatory middle-aged men to be wearing when they're trying to attract small children, just before asking them "Can you help me look for my car keys?" I don't know, maybe it's subconsciously related to a painful childhood memory involving the Care Bears.
I'm not an evil man, and I'm not entirely filled with hate. I also like to think that I'm not too uncool. Nor would I dare assume that all hippies are too concerned with recycling and thanking our earth mother to be bothered with things like bathing. I am, after all, complaining about my annoyance with people stereotyping me; I'd feel like quite the hypocrite if I were, in the process, stereotyping someone else. I have nothing against hippies. I'm just sick of people assuming that since I didn't cut my hair when it got to my ears that I'd take a bullet for Simon and Garfunkel. I am not, never have, nor ever will be "feelin' groovy" and that is exactly the way I like it. If one more random person down town comes up to me and asks if I've "got any HERB?" I think I'm going to just lose it.
So hear me now, and hear me good, peace lovers and business men alike. Hair length is in no way related to your hipster status, or lack thereof. Look at Jesus. Jesus had long hair, and have you ever seen him wearing a shirt reading "Legalize It?" Granted, I'm no son of God, but I'm also no decadent hippy rock n' roller. I'm not asking for a free membership to the Republican Presidential Task Force here, or a trip to the Arctic Circle for some good old-fashioned seal clubbing. All I ask is that you judge me not on appearance.