Dreams of Being Hip: Escaping my fraternity

I was with my bros at the Kendrick concert the other night and it hit me harder than my boy Shea McClellin hit Aaron Rodgers. Watching all my bros unironically scream “drank” alongside K-dot made me sicker than a pledge after a rager. If anyone heard me say this, the torture I’d go through would make Richie Incognito look like a saint, but I can’t hold it in any longer. I want to be a hipster.I’ve known for a while, but I’ve been in denial. When all my bros were losing their minds over Chance’s Acid Rap, I was in my room quietly singing along to “Ya Hey.” If I have to pretend I want to go to Red Lion one more time, a girl pooping herself will seem tolerable in comparison to how much I lose it. I suggested we pick up some craft beer instead of the usual Natty Ice and everyone thought I was joking. I want to change majors from RST to something cooler, like philosophy (If there’s a kegger but no frat stars around to rage, does it make a sound?). I’ve already deleted Total Frat Move, ESPN, and The Chive from my bookmarks and added Pitchfork and NPR. My pops is wiring me 2 grand this week and the first thing I’m going to do is get a new wardrobe over at Urban Outfitters. I’m trading in my Jordans for some Toms.Shout out to my boy Matt for providing me with this space to deliver my mission statement. I’m a squirrel getting swole for the winter and, like Gregor Samsa, I’ll wake up as a beautiful butterfly (shout out to SparkNotes). I’m going to document my trials and tribulations over the course of the week and report back. I want to be able to order a non-dairy yerba mate latte without people snickering. This will be harder than the time I spent two hours on the deadlift platform, but I’m up for the challenge. I will be hip.