I recently spent nearly 4 days surrounded by thousands of dirty, sweaty hippies at the music festival Gathering of the Vibes. Back in the day, I attended this festival every year. However, revisiting it almost five years later at a more “adult” age wove a completely different story. I was reminded of a very small detail I hadn’t been confronted with in some time: I hate hippies.
I hate the way hippies dance. They twirl in circles to the point that it makes me want to boot vicariously and sometimes they do things with their hands that make it look as though they are molesting an invisible basketball. Also hippies always want to dance with you, regardless of your desire to participate. In fact hippies always want you to be a part of their diabolical schemes. Example: At Vibes I was patiently waiting for my friends to finish their business in the outhouses (pun intended) when two random girls grabbed me by my arms and began skipping and dragging me away while saying “COME ON GIRL!” I politely declined.
B.O. I always think that I sweat a lot, and that I smell until I find myself five feet away from a hippie. They smell like giant patchouli farts. When I smell a hippie I feel as though I am trapped in someone’s armpit with no escape route.
Hippies don’t know when to go. If I had a nickel for every time someone came over to our campsite trying to sell ketamine, or some other kind of drug I have no interest in doing – I could have used those change rolls to pay for my plane ticket home. You think after you graciously respond with “No thanks, we’re all set,” that they would go. But, no. They take it upon themselves to sit their smelly mud caked asses right on your coolers. No please sit where I am storing my food for the next four days, and yes please tell me a nonsensical story about your life – I’m so interested.
Hippie Fashion. If I could go the duration of my life without ever seeing a pair of corduroy patchwork pants again, I would be enthralled- and while some may appreciate your apparent lack of a bra, I don’t. It’s a lose/lose situation. If they’re too big gravity is less than kind, and if they’re too small it looks like your housing pointy mosquito bites.
Hippies are not considerate. At Vibes, I noticed something. For people who stereotypically make love to mother Earth on a daily basis, they also thank her for her kind gifts by littering everything from shit shorts to beer cans. Not only did I witness an actual pair of discarded shit shorts on the ground, but there was also deceiving pile of shit located directly in front of our campsite. Our neighbors argued it could be a dog turd, but I had a dog once and I know my dog turds. Fact: we had a hippie squatter. Who does that?
Hippies aren’t real people. With humidity, the temperature went up to 115 degrees at the festival. I celebrated by laying face down on a towel with a fan in front of my face, while I silently considered writing my living will on the back of a paper plate in preparation for my imminent death. Everyone else celebrated by cracking open beers at 8 am, and popping drugs like pez candy. How a hippie didn’t die this weekend, I can’t understand.
Nappy Dreads. I appreciate good dreads. What I don’t appreciate are ones that look like your head is pooping and ones that suffer from never obtaining a deep cleaning in the years they’ve been on someone’s head.
Maybe I don’t hate hippies, maybe I just hate people. In any event, I didn’t let the poop pants, the intoxicating smell of armpits, the fact that earth was a sauna, or that I got offered more drugs that Amy Winehouse – ruin my good time. As far I’m as concerned, real hippies don’t exist anymore. The hippie subculture was a youth movement in the 1960’s that involved things like activism and reform. Nowadays all it takes for people to deem themselves a “hippie” is owning the Very Best of the Grateful Dead and the ability to huff copious amounts of laughing gas.