Thursday, November 8, 2007

Hipster Babies

Just because you’re a hipster doesn’t mean you’re a cooler parent. If anything, you and your retarded, new age hippy parenting skills are way worse than any Midwestern, diaper bag toting, overweight, sweat-suit clad nightmare who has their kid on a leash. At least they see their child for what it is to everyone else; a pest. A pest named Billy who they keep on a leash and smack around when he acts like an asshole. I love that.

But in Brooklyn’s hipster parent world, a little shit named Chloe in a tiny Marc Jacobs ensemble wanders aimlessly around the coffee shop with her other designer clad gang of baby hipster friends named Rufus, Rex, Telulah and Blaize. They chew on mommy’s old Nano and climb onto the couch I’m sitting on and size up my clearly un-designer ensemble and loudly proclaim to their friends, “Target” in an ironic baby voice.

Meanwhile, their mothers are all gathered around in a circle drinking yerba matte, wearing slouchy boots over leggings and talking about how challenging pilates was today, oblivious to the gang warfare being waged over on my side of the shop. Clearly annoyed, but to no avail I have to suffer through this until their mothers entice them back over with a baggie full of Veggie Pirate’s Booty. Even better than that bargaining chip, these vacuous, baby holes promise their little trolls a “baby cappuccino” if they continue to be “good”. I watch the barista’s eyes rolls back in their head at the mention of a baby cappuccino and silently whisper to one another, “Not it.”

There is nothing more sickening than watching a baby hold a little porcelain, espresso sized demitasse of foamed milk. Sure, it’s funny to see babies drink other adult beverages like a beer or wine cooler that Uncle Jim slips to them, but a “baby cappuccino” is morally reprehensible.