You're not as cool as your dad and you never will be.
He killed it back in the day. You probably can't imagine him as anything other than the time-tamed man who raised you, but there's a whiskey hell beast inside of him. From his late teens till when you were born, he was a flannel badass with a killer lip-scarf. There's a reason you'll never reach the upper echelons of being life-awesome like him - laws were established to prevent it. Each day he shook the world with how he lived and further cemented his position in the hall of legends.
Then you showed up.
Endless summer ended because he had to raise you. Double fury fists of PBR became double fists of baby bottles. Motorcycle seats became mini van seats. And, late night parties became late night diaper changes. You even ruined all of his pristine wears with your baby fluids. But, he took it all in stride and gave it all up because he loved you.
So hipsters, when you're walking around with the smug feeling that you're the most original person in the world and blatantly plagiarizing your dad's swag, at least admit this for Father's Day...
Your dad was the Original Hipster and he's been killing it since back in the day.
Now, lets all take a moment of silence, remove our cycling caps, crack a High Life and say thank you to our amazing dads for everything they've done.
And, I just want to take a moment to say something to my dad. I love you. Thank you so much for teaching me how to be a man and how conquer any challenge that comes my way. I'm proud to say that I copy you because when I grow up I want to be exactly like the amazing dad that you are.
Brad Getty is the author of Dads Are The Original Hipsters [Chronicle Books].
You dad wore jorts before you did and he's got the short frayed denim to prove it. Living the three Rs, he Reused his life-wrecked jeans by Reducing their leg length and Recycling them back into his wardrobe as stylish Danny Dukes. Now every pair of faded favorites could have a second life as his favorite pair of shorts. <strong>SO HIPSTERS,</strong> next time you're riding a fixie in attire you claim is strictly functional because you can carry your keys and U-lock without having your leg movement constricted, remember this... Your dad wore them because he was helping to save the environment before saving the environment was cool.
Your dad had a mustache before you did and he's got a warm upper lip to prove it. His homegrown facial bow tie was the envy-inducing expression of masculinity that confirmed his omega status within the manly community. Looking like two lost caterpillars on his face, that lower nose Picasso got him discounts at hardware stores, heavy machinery rental companies, and lumberyards. <strong>SO HIPSTERS, </strong>when November rolls around and you're splashing Rogaine on your pathetic 'stache or dyeing it black with Just For Men to make it appear fuller, remember this... Your dad has more testosterone than you will ever have and the proof is sitting on his face.
Your dad had unkempt hair before you did and he has the snarled strands to prove it. Long before looking like you just rolled out of bed became fashion-able, your dad's locks were just as out of control as he was. He didn't spend hours meticulously disheveling his hair with $40 product, he earned his look. His lengths were styled with motorcycle joyrides, fistfights, and a touch of "I don't give a fuck." <strong>SO HIPSTERS,</strong> next time you're running your fingers through your nappy strands in front of a dirty mirror in your studio apartment, remember... Your dad's hair made him look so gnar that people assumed he'd killed a man and gotten away with it.
Your dad wore tank tops before you did and he's got the sunburnt shoulders to prove it. As the noncommittal middle ground of wearing or not wearing a chest covering, these shirts screamed summer harder than the bead of sweat dripping down the sunbathing backside of a Daisy Dukes-clad undergrad. He was a true follower of Bauhaus and lived a "less is more" life style every time he slipped his slender frame into one of these lady magnets. SO HIPSTERS, next time you're calling yourself Rave Heart while dancing the night away in your sweaty party tank, remember this... Your dad was a tank in tops. P.S. Your dad ironically ate luxury food when he was poor before you did too.
Your dad wore ugly sweaters before you did and he's got the embarrassing weavings to prove it. Since before Cosby was a prefix for it and parties were themed around it, your dad was rocking these glorious machine-knit pieces. His collection of knit Pollocks and wearable Warhols were the mullets of clothing, formal enough for work, yet wild enough to party in. <strong>SO HIPSTERS,</strong> next time you're digging through the racks at the local thrift store looking for the perfect Cosby sweater for your annually unoriginal ugly Christmas sweater party, remember this... Your dad's awesomeness poured into that sweater first and you're tainting the fibers that once touched greatness. P.S. Sweaters + dance party = holy shit I can smell that hipster before I can see him.
Your dad squeezed into skinny jeans before you did and he's lost the leg circulation to prove it. His physics-defying denim clung to his skin closer than ladies did to his side. Doctors could check his pulse by watching the rhythmic beat of cotton across his femoral artery and his pockets couldn't hold anything more than spare change. <strong>SO HIPSTERS,</strong> next time you're struggling to get into a pair of 511s, remember this... Your dad's jeans were so tight they make yours look baggy.
Your dad wore neon sunglasses before you did and he's got the $10 knockoff Ray-Bans to prove it. Like a highlighter hugging his eye sockets, his shades were the awesome accent that made him stick out in a crowd. He was a life salmon that swam downstream when everyone else was trying to go up. <strong>SO HIPSTERS, </strong>next time you're hating on the sun with lime green, purple, bright orange, or pink ray blockers that you bought at a gas station, remember this... Your dad stood out, but you just stand in with the crowd.
Your dad wore deep Vs before you did and he's got the plunging collars to prove it. He used his chest hair like a Venus flytrap for lady gazes and made them hotter than a Louisiana summer. SO HIPSTERS, next time you're pulling on a neon American Apparel V-cut shirt, remember this... Your dad was the only man who could ever tell a lady, "My eyes are up here."
Your dad topped it with fedoras before you did and he knows where a killer haberdashery is to prove it. Unlike the 75 IQ baseball hat scarlet letters of the bro class, he insisted his headwear look as intelligent as he was. He could speak with his hat--a quick tip saluted fine honey dips and slight readjustments shunned half-wits. <strong>SO HIPSTERS,</strong> next time you're trying to dress up your skull with some thing other than a beanie, remember this... Your head's way too big to fit into your dad's kind of style.
Your dad was into American Apparel before you and he's got the plain shirts to prove it. He was a monochromatic madman who didn't rep any brand other than his own. He knew all the Pantone numbers and looking into his dresser drawers was like looking into a kaleidoscope of fashion sense. <strong>SO HIPSTERS,</strong> next time you're listening to Sleigh Bells in the dressing room while trying to look indifferent in the mirror, remember this... Your dad inspired the store that millions of you find your basics at. P.S. If millions of people shop at the same store, doesn't that make the store mainstream?
Your dad kept warm in a peacoat before you did and he has the anchor buttons to prove it. Long before you ever strolled into a surplus store to buy your own navy-issued bit of sex appeal, he was making blue wool look hot. <strong>SO HIPSTERS,</strong> next time you're flipping up the collar on your stolen-style outerwear while smoking an American Spirit and looking indifferent to the climate, remember this... Your dad is the reason cold looks hot. P.S. Fat hipsters with beards who wear peacoats look like Paddington Bear.
All photos and slideshow text courtesy of Chronicle Books.