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The following is a resignation letter from the most respected man in a society as secretive as Skull and Bones and as influential as The Illuminati. It was found in a place where one would expect to find such a letter—in a very secretive place few people have access to (write your own fucking joke). I’ve wanted to put it in a place where nobody would ever look, so I’m posting it here:
If you’re reading this letter it means I’ve left this wretched society. Sure I loved the exclusive perks and god-like adoration, but enough is enough.
Perhaps I’ve gotten ahead of myself; “What society is this you speak of?” Oh, didn’t you know? There’s this thing called the Hipster Aristocacy, and it’s kind of a big deal. At least, it used to be…
I’ve been a part of the Aristocracy for about ten years. We always operate in secret, seeking out the coolest things before they’re even on the buzz radar of teenage girls in LA or angsty New York Jewish boys. I’ll never forget my first assignment: scoping out Justin Bieber’s baptism. Back then, we had an eye for talent, and I would serve loyally to the pursuit of “alt.” I was behind the rise, fall, plateau, plummet, and eventually skyrocketing success of Amy Winehouse’s career (I didn’t kill her, but we knew it was coming). But after all these years of trying to be on the cusp of edginess, I woke up this morning and realized, I’m mainstream. So today, I hang up my studded Vibrams and pursue another path.
We used to be able to keep a secret to ourselves. Sure we would tell the “peons” about the next big pop act, but we had our own indulgences. Do you know what I heard in the mall when I was getting my antique watch repaired? Mumford & Sons. IN THE MALL. How did we let that one spill, guys? How did the general public get a taste of our alt-juice? You “peons” may not know this, but we were actually on Twitter in 2001, before it even existed. It was a great way for us to communicate, but now every bro can, and has, leeched off our buzz by spying on our twittersations. And that’s just the music! I can’t even count how many times I walked into a bar last month and saw people drinking PBR unironically!
I’m not the only one choosing to leave, but I am the only one willing to admit we’ve gone “lamestream.” The others have their own subtle ways; just last week I saw Alabaster sneaking an iPod onto the castle grounds when he knows that we only allow the iRiver. Speaking of the castle, it doesn’t even look buzzworthy. When we first set it up in that gentrified ghetto it was just our kind, but years after kicking the poor people out we’re now faced with a stampede of SUVs and chain restaurants. Not only that, but the pastel wallpaper looks so January 2011 and the shag carpeting on the inside is trampled to bits. I blame Tiffany for putting mountain bike tires on her 10-speed so that she could get more traction. Everyone is secretly looking for work too. Rumour has it that Geophf even applied to Urban Outfitters and spelled his name “Jeff” on the resume.
Maybe it’s time to stop being so “alt” and take a step back. The gentrification was great while it lasted, and maybe being mainstream isn’t so bad; the Olive Garden they opened up down the block has great bread. No, it’s not kosher or gluten-free, but I don’t care anymore if my chest piece tattoo starts to sag with my man-boobs. I’ll just wear a shirt and tie every day; I have a closet full of knitted ties anyway and now that Justin fucking Timberlake wore one in that movie they’re mainstream, so I guess it all works out.
It’s kind of freeing, this feeling of being stale. I hope all my brothers and sisters follow me out of their ivory towers (literally) and wade into the lame, er…mainstream.