Oh Karen you MUST try the keeeen-wahhh. It’s a graaain. It’s sooooo graaayyyte. Ohh look! LOOK! Coconut oiiiiil. Yes it’s incredible. Pop one in the basket”.
Did I actually just roll my eyes? I think I did. I’m in a small, organic health-food store. Organic. Just the word pains me at times. Usually it’s paired with the other word: Superfood. That dreadful trending word that has become so overused my tongue almost refuses to utter it.
Oats. Superfood. Chia seeds. Superfood. Goji berry. Superfood. Kale. Superfood.
As I stand in the small, and I mean small (I literally tried to get around to the other part of the store only to discover it was their storeroom), store juggling an 8 month old and a $30 budget, I contemplate what irks me so much about these Lorna Jane-clad upper middle-aged organic hipsters.
Firstly, I would just as likely roll my eyes at a pair of overweight people ahead of me in the line at McDonald’s. It would be easy for me to assume that they are über ignorant about what they are consuming and I can’t believe they’re supporting this organisation who has so much money and still looks for every little market to domina- Mmm… Fries. Yes, I’m something of a multi-thought-tasking phenomenon.
Back to my hipster lean mean machines. There are two things bubbling under the surface here.
- The fact that I can’t afford their $127.40 midweek trip to the health food store. Envy. Pure envy, my friends. The green-eyed monster at its best.
- My embarrassingly immature desire to be THE ONLY ONE TO LIKE SOMETHING!!!
Yes, I realise the second point contradicts the first. If more people liked the little organic health food store and it became bigger and better, its growth would surely have an inverse relationship to its prices. But alas, I don’t want it to be bigger. I don’t want it to be better. I want it to be mine, mine, MINE!
Hands off my quinoa moles! Yes, I have eaten quinoa in Perú in the humble dining room of a small casa in a mountainside village. Yes, I and only I shall pronounce it correctly! The rest of you ignoramuses shall wallow in your incompetence forever.
I came to the shocking conclusion that I have a bad case of ‘I Discovered It First’ when I saw the oats ad. You know the one where the girl “discovered” maxi skirts, The Kinks, and that oats are a superfood? A brilliant piece of advertising, and also a little insight into my life. It became increasingly clear that this was my problem when both my mum and my brother separately saw the ad and reported to me, “that’s you!”, followed by an eruption of laughter. On their part, not mine.
I watched on in horror as the “boho” stage took hold in the fashion world. Nooooooo. I wear over sized kaftans because I love them and the only reason mine is over sized is that it’s a men’s large that I found at St Vinnies. The only size they had. Next I see them selling for absurd prices at boutiques. No more cheap kaftans for me. Only to be snavvled up by the prowling opp shop predators who look for items to flog at inner city markets for eight times what they paid for them. Stealing from the poor to give to the rich. Hurrah!
Machu Picchu. I dreamt of the place since I was a child. By the time I got there, every twenty-something Australian had snapped a selfie there. And left a beer can. Sigh.
Kings of Leon. Occasionally one of their songs comes on shuffle and I skip it without hesitation. Enough said.
Boxing. Ok, by now this doesn’t even seem weird. Which young woman hasn’t had the delight of wearing sweaty gloves and head gear and stepping into the ring? When I started: Not. Many.
I lived in the blissfully rebellious era (ok, so it was less than 10 years ago) when female boxing was looked down upon in society. “I say, George, is that young lass boxing? How terribly uncouth!”
I recall females not being permitted to fight in NSW. I actually asked one of the older men on the committee to consider it. Hold your applause ladies. No seriously, hold it. I’m not sure he even heard me imploring him to stand up for women’s rights! at the fight night we were at. I’m not sure his hearing aid was switched on.
Now it’s all, “Work it, girl!” Boxing is très chic.
Still on the topic of my pioneering boxing pursuits, after having trained for a good length of time, I once went to the gym on a day I didn’t usually attend and the trainer forced me to “work on my footwork” then forgot about me for the entire two-hour session.
Did I complain? No. I was a rebel. I was a pioneer. I had seen Million Dollar Baby. I was also lazy and footwork didn’t require much effort.
So, I decided to do a little research à la Google, and here is what I found:
Women’s boxing goes back at least to the early eighteenth century, when Elizabeth Wilkinson fought in London. Billing herself as the European Championess, she fought both men and women. In those days, the rules of boxing allowed kicking, gouging and other methods of attack not part of today’s arsenal.
Whatever, Elizabeth Wilkinson. As I was saying, after the hype around boxing whipped up and more and more girls started doing boxercise and then real boxing, I lost some interest and moved onto Capoeira.
With this year’s World Cup having taken place in Brasil, I shudder to think how many people will take up my beloved Capoeira.
So, ultimately my biggest realisation is this: people really must stop liking things that I like. It really has to stop. It’s getting a bit ridiculous, even for a trend-setter such as myself.
Did I mention I’m the first person to get married and have a baby… Ever.