I used to write a lot about personal stuff on my blog, but I kind of shied away from it over the years. Hipstercrite started as a sort of journal for me, a place for me to chronicle my adventures moving from Los Angeles to Austin and post passive-aggressive notes to former boyfriends, but it’s slowly become a depository for my commentary on society and pop culture. I still write the occasional personal piece, but my reality has become much more boring. My life is normal and happy- all the things I hoped for when I was the angsty twenty-something who started this blog. Reality also comes with sadness; life deals you some tough blows as you age, and I guess I decided that Hipstercrite was going to become a strictly fun place. With that being said, I thought I’d write a post about my year, which entailed some ups and downs- as most years do.
Dear People Who Live in Fancy Tiny Houses,
Do you actually love living in a fancy tiny house*?
You look so freakin’ happy in that Dwell Magazine article or Buzzfeed post, but c’mon, you can’t tell me that you don’t lie awake at night, your face four inches from the ceiling because the only place your bed fits is above the kitchen sink which also acts as your shower, and think, I’ve made a terrible mistake.
Look, I’m not criticizing you. I commend you for making this giant leap. Since we humans seem comfortable with pillaging Mother Earth of all her resources, I believe more people should think like you. But 250 square feet? What the hell happens when your tiny house partner farts Mexican food farts, huh? Where do you escape to? Nowhere. You have nowhere to run. All you can do is walk three feet to the other end of the house and pray.
Or maybe you can run out into the tiny forest surrounding your tiny house.
I f’ing (more…)