Last week, whilst my kids were ‘enjoying’ their mom’s summer possession period, I thought I’d take my mind off it by taking a long weekend away with the gf. We wanted to go somewhere that neither of us had been, and eventually settled on Seattle, WA as a suitable destination. We reasoned that Seattle had a pretty hip cultural scene, and had the added advantage of being somewhat nearer the North Pole than home, and therefore a suitable refuge from the searing heat of Houston, TX, in August. This latter assumption proved to be of marginal benefit, as Seattle seemed to be experiencing a mini heatwave whilst we were there, the temperature generally lounging around the 82degF mark which, with some vertical challenges not experienced in Houston, meant that things were only marginally more comfortable than home. Were it not for the significantly lower levels of humidity, we’d have been sweating like a contestant on The Biggest Loser doing jumping jacks in a sauna, given the amount of walking we did around town.
It’s an interesting city, Seattle, with quite a few things to see. The Space Needle is obviously a big attraction, although it’s probably a little less impressive a feat of engineering today as it was when it was built 51 years ago, but still… At least it is actually in Seattle. The (impressive, Gehry-designed) EMP Museum claims Nirvana as hometown sons, when they were actually from Aberdeen, some 100 miles away. That’s like claiming Ride are from London when they’re from Oxford… fortunately the Museum of History and Industry (MOHAI) did a better job of accurately reflecting Seattle’s proud history, by detailing the various ways in which the land on which the city was built was successfully ‘cleared’ of the ungrateful indigenous people, and how the ‘chinks’ were sent packing when the automatic fish-filleting machine rendered them redundant. It all must make Seattleites teary-eyed with pride!
Talking of pride, at least Seattle can boast being (now) a little more open to ‘alternative’ lifestyles than many places in the United States (and certainly more than Texas). There were a lot of same-sex couples happily strolling around, hand-in-hand, with nary a care in the world and barely a batted eye. Or they may be just jumping on the ‘gay is the new straight’ bandwagon that seems to be slowly sweeping the Nation, and trying to be hipper than all those ‘straight’ chumps who can think of nothing more imaginative to do with their private parts than what god intended, the poor, repressed fools!
Certainly Seattle has more than its fair share of hipsters – or at least people who thought they were hipsters. There’s something undeniably depressing about people trying really hard to prove that they’re hipper than everyone else. Apparently it’s not enough to like a few obscure bands (preferably who have their own genre, like neo-gothic-blues/crunk-hop-fusion) that no-one else has heard of, or be into French cinema (but only movies set in the Ménilmontant area of Paris in the ’30s) – you can only prove your hipdom in such things if you have the opportunity to talk to someone and verbalize your disdain. If you want the people that you’d rather not waste your time on to know that you’re a hipster, you really need to look like a hipster. And the hipsters of Seattle have that down in spades.
Tattoos are so prevalent as to be déclassé now – unless they are minimalist, geometrical face tattoos, or quotes from Baudelaire or Rimbaud in an obscure typeface down your side (in which case you need to wear specially-ripped clothes that just happen to leave said tattoos on display) – and everyone and their dog have gauges in their ears. It’s the same with dyed hair. Seriously. Still. My nan had her hair dyed blue back in the day and no-one considered her a hipster. But now, it’s like if you still have your natural hair color, you’re an object of scorn and disdain. Seattle’s hipsters seem to favor blue, although red and pink come close seconds. You could probably get away with black if you’re a blond, or blond if you’re naturally black, but in either case you have to have enough of your roots showing to prove that you really don’t care that much… One of the curious things is that you never really see the same hair color twice. They probably all get together in Victor Steinbrueck Park once a week to pass around the Pantone color chart and decide who gets to use what colors for the next week. Because God forbid two of these young hipsters should choose the same style/color combination – “Man, what are you doing??” I had the teal mohawk this week! Now we just look like complete tools! Dammit!”.
So as hair and tattoos are out, as far as asserting your hip-ness, it falls to the clothes. Here, waistcoast (vests) seem to be de rigeur (like Chas and Dave never happened), accompanied by drainpipe jeans tucked into clompy boots, and topped off with some kind of a whimsical hat. You can still get by with a flat cap in a pinch (again, Chas and Dave did it first…), but there are several hat shops in Seattle where you can pick up anything from a top-hat (still difficult to claim you’re wearing ironically) to one of those knitted animal hats with built-in gloves. Of course, accessories can make or break an outfit, and this year the hot accessory for hip young things is an animal. Preferably live. Seriously. One guy was walking along with his cat perched on his shoulder. Now he knew how to make a statement! “I see your parrot, sir, and raise you a cat! A cat, I say! Beat that!” I would have given him the Hippest Hipster award, but for sheer commitment to the cause, I have to hand it to the guy nonchalantly strolling along in the 80 degree heat in a buttoned-up Pea Coat and a wooly beanie – apparently trying to look like he’d just stepped off a fishing boat, even though he was about as masculine and brawny as a tampon made out of kittens.
That said, the hipsters I was prepared for. But I was ill-prepared for the sheer number of homeless riff-raff shuffling around the streets like extras from The Walking Dead. Just about every street corner seemed to have some loon walking backwards while staring intently at the cracks in the pavement like they’re expecting them to open up any second, or trying to bite their own face, or poking a heavily-mittened hand at you, offering you a couple of quarters (although, to be fair, this last one could have been asking for money. not proffering it – but I wasn’t going to put my hand anywhere near his, just in case he had a rat hidden up his sleeve that’d sink it’s teeth into my delicate, office-toned skin as soon as I was within snapping distance). Don’t get me wrong; it’s a sad indictment of Obama’s America that there are just so many homeless people on the streets of Seattle (seriously, when choosing streets to sleep on, why Seattle? Why not somewhere warmer, and less slopey), but I was in Seattle for a break from reality, and all these grubby oiks were harshing my mellow. Couldn’t the police have just water-cannoned them into the shadows during the peak holiday season, or something?
Anyway, all said and done, it was a fun nearly-week away, with plenty to see and do. We saw the fish stall from that dreadful management book, the original Starbucks (although we managed to avoid setting foot in any of the apparently 4,000 Starbucks locations within walking distance of the hotel), traveled the monorail, went up the Columbia Center to goggle the view, got offered weed by some skater dude on the street, and ate a lot of really good food. And visited Krispy Kreme on my birthday. I’m not sure it all took my mind completely off the kids’ travails at home (damn Skype, and the ‘always-available’ mobile world), but it certainly made for a fun diversion, to the point where I’m considering another one before long. Maybe next time we’ll try Portland, OR, to see how their hipsters stack up…
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