I usually really don't like the "I can do this, but you can't" attitude that people generally tend to have, but this morning, as I stood in a long-ass line at Sultan's Market in Wicker Park, the things I observed solidified something that I have always kind of sensed: that, like Raskolnikov, the rules that govern the lives of my peers just don't apply to me. To wit:
(1) It is OK for me as a poor law student in 2005 to search high and low for patent leather Coach ballet slippers and spend a shit load of money to buy them for my girlfriend in some Gift Of The Magi-like display of how hot I think she is. It's not OK for every female Wicker Park hipster clone to wear the same cheap-ass red cotton ballet slippers with their uniform of coin-slot-showing low-rise stretch jeans with the inseams that are exactly one inch too long and their haircuts that actually were done by the only blind, epileptic painting student they go to Columbia with.
(2) It is OK for me as a poor high school student in 1995 to buy women's clothes at The Salvation Army because they fit me better than the men's clothes. It's not OK for 28 year-old male Wicker Park hipsters to wear undersized maroon 3/4-length leather jackets clearly tailored for a female figure while they and their beard wait in line at Sultan's Market with their teenaged art student girlfriends.
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