The Nod: Plaid is King

The Nod: Plaid is King

So the first shock of a new university environment has worn off. I’ve made the requisite friends necessary for midnight study companionship and after class beer drinking, I’ve discovered exactly where and when it is best to study according to my preferred level of comfort/concentration, I’ve also found the best labs to find free computers in the afternoon when the conventional spaces are all full. It’s nice, I feel like I conquered the castle and now I’m living cushy all up in it (see what I did there, busting out my hood slang?). But…

Okay there’s one thing I haven’t conquered, the thing I am not a part of, and the desperate socialite that hides underneath the enormous rock of sarcasm that acts as my brain, really wants in. I’ll often be walking around campus, looking as at home there as I could without actually moving in, and I feel good about it. I see scared freshers running around looking as wide eyed as bad anime, while I know I look suave. But every now and then I’ll see an exchange, something that happens in societies where paths cross and mutual respect is a thing, and at tertiary education institutions it is a massive thing. 

The nod. 

The ‘hey, I acknowledge your presence because I respect you’ nod. This new campus is huge, thousands and thousands of students are here, running around the place doing their thing all day every day. I didn’t think the nod would exist here, but it does, and I want in!

The first time I noticed it was the third day of semester, a Wednesday afternoon around four. I remember because I was walking to my first historiography class. I was passing the hulk of a library that dominates the central domain of the campus and I noticed the girl walking a step or so ahead of me. I liked her outfit, plaid jacket pumpkin skinny jeans and scuffed leather ankle boots, bang on trend. Then I glanced up and saw a second girl walking toward the girl in front of me give girl number 1 the nod.

It was brief, barely an ‘I know you and you saw me so I have to acknowledge you.’ nod. But it was a nod none the less. I looked at girl 2 a bit longer as she passed, to see if I could discover a possible source of motivation for such a scant action, but I could discover none and girl 1 climbed the stairs to the library as I continued to ALR:10.

I know that this exchange wouldn’t stay with most people, but social interaction is important, and knowing how and why it happens in a new place is just about the most important thing to learn upon arrival, so I was giving it plenty of time worth of mulling over. I started absent-mindedly writing notes for my historiography class, trying not to remark out loud that my new professor could probably have applied for the role of Professor Trelawney in the Harry Potter movies and felt very confident of getting the part… and then it happened. The moment of same-ness, the common element, the silent accord that had passed between the girls by the library. The reason for the nod. Plaid. 

Girl number 2 had been wearing a plaid shirt under a black demi-vest over mustard jeans with oxfords. I can’t believe I missed it! But now I have my in… I have to find some plaid to wear.

I am not a Hipster!

Hipster: though this one seems to be rocking hipster/redneck chic.

I would like to say I’m not a hipster. I find hipsters just as annoying as everyone else, in fact I thought hipsters were annoying before you even knew what a hipster was!

I’d like to say I’m not a hipster and for that to be the truth. I don’t really know if it is though. I don’t want to be a hipster because my dad is a rock musician; because I like actual rock music, despite my fascination with Belle & Sebastian; because I think prescription looking glasses should be worn solely by people with eye problems; because I think the term ‘vegan-leather’ is utter bulls**t; because I like Rockwiz; and because I really freak out at being type caste (note: the play on cast/caste is intentional).

But here is the thing, I like old looking bikes; so I have an old style bike that is perfectly back with quirky saddlebags that are way to new to belong to a hipster. I also ride my bike to op-shops to buy old clothes; most of the clothes I buy from op-shops are designer labelled or cute sundresses. The things I buy at op-shops that aren’t designer labelled or sundress-like are over-sized knitted jumpers and eighties trousers. I like the brat pack, but I didn’t like the prom dress from Pretty in Pink. I like felt hats. I own a jumper that I expressly can’t wear with loafers without socks because guys wearing Buddy Holly glasses, cardigans and too skinny, too short, acid-washed and pre-ripped jeans start hitting on me.

I am mostly certain that I’m not a hipster. But. I took a facebook quiz a few weeks ago, probably the first one I’ve done since first year uni, and it said I was a hipster. I have had nightmares. I walk the streets in fear of a trilby accidently falling from a hipster window and landing on my head while I’m wearing an oversized cardigan. I met with a friend last week wearing one of my favourite overly large cardigans, not with boat shoes or vintage looking boots… I wore it with very modern German (not even remotely hipster-looking) knee high boots, yet one of the first things I said to my darling friend was “I’m not a hipster, I just like oversized jumpers!” She laughed at me.

I’m not a hipster.

I just like oversized cardigans.

And vintage-look boots, that I try to avoid wearing with oversized cardigans.

I liked Mumford and Sons before you even heard of them.