How does one set his irony meter for a hipster prom? Especially one celebrating the Williamsburg hipster kickball league. What the 20-somethings spiffed up in tutus and second-hand plaid suits—all the while slobbering drunken kisses on each other—who descended on the Warsaw last Friday night signified will be argued over in semiotics class, I can only chronicle the insanity.
Waiting near the lobby to make sure my date made it past the Polish bouncer with the Roman hands, I watched a guy in a silk white suit, white shirt and matching tie wandering frantically through the bunches of balloons and G-rated lesbian antics that crowded the dance-floor. Matt, a weekend Baptist preacher who looked like Spencer Pratt with a deflated ego, was bummed about losing his date.
“I’d love to talk about preaching,” he said, “but I can’t find my date.” Sorry, man, but how about just one quote? “I can’t find my date!”
I thought I found Matt’s date when she crawled on Tom— a member of the champion Committals teams—to make out with him. “Nah, she’s not my date bro, just some chick. I was voted biggest flirt two years in a row, and I was the second-rated pole jumper in all of New York State,” the preacher’s animus, dressed all in black and flipping his H&M fedora, explained.
“Second in the state bro,” a far more offensive character and teammate, CK Sweat, chimed in at full throttle. There was no stopping him, “fabulous is the only word for me—tight Gaultier jeans, tuxedo scarf and granny glasses, I haven’t seen anyone better dressed tonight.” Okay, what makes you a hipster CK? “First of all, I’m too much of a jock to be a hipster. Being in the top 2% of athletes excludes me from that category, but I can thrive anywhere.”
I had a question for Sarah, a pretty dark haired kickball player he had been chatting with. Is he serious? “He’s completely serious, he’s just an awesome personality.”
I went up to the VIP section, where Matt was still searching for his date, and asked Fawn, a petite blonde with a bob, what she was up to. “My team is PV and we’re not good, but it’s alright because I ate a pot brownie, drank two margaritas and a couple of beers.” Yeah but is it fun? “I’m too drunk and stoned to tell!”