Guide to the Modern Scenester

Switz Style

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This was an English assignment, believe it or not. We were supposed to criticize some aspect of modern pop culture, so I chose my favourite subject of ridicule: scenesters.

Guide to the Modern Scenester

Or: “Hey scenester, hey hey scenester.”

You aren’t unique unless you’re just like every other nonconformist around you, you aren’t special unless you’re an Internet phenomenon (preferably for doing nothing, but being e-popular for making shitty art is acceptable too), and you’re not hot unless half of your face is covered by ratty extensions and oversized sunglasses. No, I’m not talking about a John Waters film—I’m talking about the world of scenesters. There is no doubt in my mind that the primary concern of scenesters (when they’re not worrying about whether or not their myspace picture is angled correctly) is fitting in. The desire to assimilate into a monochromatic pool of adolescents is second only to perhaps determining who loves internet celebrity and self proclaimed “Queen of the Beautifuls” Jeffree Star[1] more. The scuffle to be a conforming nonconformist (a la South Park’s goth kids, of course) leaves everyone without multicolored hair and Monroe piercings[2] in the dust—but don’t worry, I’m here to make sure that you can keep up.

            The most important part of being scene is looking the part. (I know, I know, “Isn’t the scene about the music?” No, grasshopper, it appears you are wrong. Listening to the Spice Girls at age twenty-four is about the music—being scene is not.) First of all, you’re going to have to cut off all of your hair. Now, don’t start whining that you’ve been growing it out ever since someone called you a lesbian in seventh grade; if you’re going to commit to the scene there has to be at least some vague question concerning your gender[3]. Pick up a bottle of bleach (actually, make that two, you’re going to need it) and take out any hint of natural color you’ve ever had. After you’ve successfully dyed your black, pink, yellow, purple, and/or platinum blonde, it’s time to flatiron it and garnish it with as many multicolored bows as possible. Remember, people that say that “less is more” are just communists that are trying to bring you down. (Or is communism trendy nowadays?) Now, while watching a pseudo intellectual indie film for inspiration (try Garden State, or perhaps a slice of Me and You and Everyone We Know), get dressed. Your closet should be based on the formula 3Th + 1((Hm)(F)(V)(Ad)): three parts Threadless.com t-shirts, and one part miscellaneous garb from H&M/Forever 21/overpriced vintage stores/the apartment dumpster. Multitasking is a crucial part of being a scenester (or a teenager in general, for that matter), so log onto Livejournal while you’re pulling on your too-tight pants and update the Internet world with something enlightening—perhaps “guys, I’m putting on my pants! their the raddest colour, like really brown but not. comment my new picture: myspace.com/____xxplaidnancy!!!” After all, the Internet was created so that you could tell people about your pants.[4] Don’t forget to post a contrasted photograph of the pants taken with your trusty webcam, people respond better to things if they have backsides to admire.[5]

            Next, you have to prepare to go out. After you’ve slathered on some electric blue eye shadow and red lipstick, it’s time to accessorize. The first step is your tote bag, which should be black and white, and either checkered, plaid, or striped (generally any pattern that will give anyone around you a headache is perfect; here’s a foolproof test: step back from the bag and squint. Do you feel like you need Advil? Yes? Congratulations, you’ve found the perfect bag). Inside of this goes your iPod, stocked with Pretty Girls Make Graves, Metric, and Panic! At the Disco, as well as two pairs of black fingerless gloves and a bandana. After sitting on Myspace for two years straight, you’re very likely going to need prescription glasses, so head on over to Lens Crafters (it’s okay to shop there since you’re not punk—if you were punk you’d have to make your own out of denim and safety pins, but that’s another essay entirely) and pick up a pair of thickly rimmed black glasses.

You’re all ready to go! There’s just the issue of where to go. You can’t really go to any “real” coffee houses; the hipsters will bite your head off (and besides, who wants to hang out with those conformists anyway?), so you have to make your way over to your headquarters: the Starbucks back parking lot. You can neither go inside of Starbucks nor more than two miles away from it, since your central “power” comes from laughing at Yuppies. While you’re participating in the ritual of ridicule, go ahead and smoke some Camel Lights outside your car; remember, you can quit any time you need to— they’re light cigarettes. Conversation with your comrades will consist of who got what new piercing and whose hooded sweatshirt is tighter than everyone else’s. Since you’re probably wearing a band shirt (either something “vintage” like the Beatles or the Cure, or perhaps some newer music like Ladytron or The Shins), plunge into a completely bull-shitted discussion about how (although you barely ever listen to them[6]) you love so-and-so’s music and how much he/she/they changed your life. All of this self-promotion is going to wear you out, so try to get home as soon as possible in order to get ready for the ten Saturday-night keggers coming up[7]. 

Since you’re going to wake up hung over Sunday morning, you might as well spend the second half of the weekend working on your Internet popularity. All proper scenesters have at least a small Internet following, which is often attained through the uses of “networking tools” such as Myspace or blogging websites such as Livejournal or Xanga. No detail is too small to be shared, as long as it’s accompanied by pictures and/or pretentious poetry.[8] Myspace should be used as a vehicle to advertise your “photography” and “poetry.” Add as many people as you can and post bulletins every time something vaguely terrible happens to you in order to get sympathy and attention. In cases of emergencies (and this should only be used in emergency situations, like if no one has commented on your new picture and it’s already been ten minutes since you posted it) post a bulletin threatening to quit myspace if you don’t get x amount of comments and friend adds. Your band of followers, no matter how small, will very likely freak out and comment you until you post another bulletin taking back your threat. Livejournal is a less concentrated community, and so it’s harder to get a large fan base. When you’re starting out, remember to aim low in your expectations for friends. Beggars can’t be choosers in the world of the Internet, and you’ll have to simply accept every illiterate user that is attracted to your Photoshop-abused photographs of “exit” signs. Post thirty to forty photographs of this nature in a row, accompanied by out-of-context quotes (“Fuck! Fuck you! Fuck me! Fuck old people! Fuck children! Fuck peace! Fuck peace,” or perhaps the perennial and always appropriate “Valentine's Day is a day invented by greeting card companies to make people feel like crap”) or cryptic messages (“&& i never got to say goodbye”). Expect a slew of comments to be e-mailed to you in the few seconds after you post (“I totally know what you mean,” “I love that film soooooooo much,” and “omg, that’s an amaaazing photograph!!”). Hopefully you have a well enough honed bullshit detector to realize that most of these kids are just sucking up to you. Don’t be afraid to be rude, you can always just laugh it off with the excuse “it’s the internet!” afterwards. Being scenester Internet royalty means never having to say you’re sorry.

The life of a scenester is not a simple one; you will endure the trials of having Indie kids discover that you do not actually listen to Beck, the inner struggle of whether or not to put in that extra string of plastic novelty pearls, and the self-actualization that only wearing too much eyeliner can give you. It is not an easy path to take, but with a little bit of hope and a lot of hair dye, you can find your nonconforming conformist niche in the world—both real and electronic. So go, young, impressionable minds, blend into the over-dyed and undersexed crowd and further the demise of true rock and roll. After all, the dog’s already dead—it can’t hurt.