You’re Not Indie, You’re Annoying

You know who you are.

You didn’t pay full price for anything you’re wearing, and your outfit just asked me if I listened to Rex Orange County and then rolled its eyes when I said I didn’t or widened them in pure shock when I said I did. If I held you at gunpoint, you would eventually admit that you don’t actually know what your Instagram captions mean and you never did; it’s just some words that sound weird together.

An artist is only good if no one’s heard of her, and she dress like no one’s heard of her. Once too many people realize the artist isn’t famous and start listening, the artist realizes she is and starts to put on nice clothes, and you suddenly lose interest. Artists aren’t fun if they can afford to eat off the McDonald’s menu.

You find it strange that some people enjoy music where the singer doesn’t sound like he’s underwater and several miles from the microphone. At the last concert you went to at Elsewhere, the guy sang to you from the bottom of this really, really deep hole, and it was the best experience of your life.

You’re the person who ignored my texts for three months when I was in crisis because “idk i just don’t like to be tied down to material objects.” You like it best when everything smells like 2003 because you love to pretend we haven’t progressed at all as a society. You talk about the ‘80s as if you were there and say stuff about how people nowadays are too addicted to Taylor Swift, forgetting that people then were too addicted to crack and institutionalized racism.

The movies you watch are also indie, just like the rest of your irritating little body. You prefer to read your movies through subtitles, and you love small businesses so much that sometimes you make questionable choices, like that one time you decided to forgo soap.

But the truth is: You’re not indie, you’re annoying.