Fierce in Seattle: Yip Hop Hooray
a blogumn by Kelli Bielema
I’ve never associated myself with one segment of a cultural population (save for being fierce and nerdy). I’m something of a theatre dork, an animal activist, a comedy crusader. Recently, however, I was accused of being a yipster. Yikes.
The general definition of yipster exceeds cool, urban wealth. This is hardly me. I’m employed in a day job earning a nice wage, but the role itself certainly does not scream yuppie. I drive a 10-year old Toyota. I rent. As far as being a hipster, my wardrobe is more H & M than Value Village thrift couture. I haven’t been to Neumo’s in two years. I smile.
And somewhere in the long history of the word evolution of yuppie is hippie. OK, I’ll cop to some hippie elements. I shop for my vegetarian diet at the local co-op and yes, I am a member. I transport my organic tofu, nutritional yeast and bulk lentils home in canvas bags. I recycle, re-use, repurpose. I volunteer. Homeopathic remedies are always my first attempt at healing what ails me. Western medicine is a last resort. Most of this has become my life in part to living in Seattle. Goddamn hippie.
I cannot escape the appeal of Pike Place Market (yes, locals really go there!), the plentiful, beautiful parks, and stopping to ooh and aww at every dog on the street. It has seeped into my soul. It has brought me to consider a vegetable garden in my backyard, regardless that I can hardly keep a cactus alive. It has developed my palate for a really good cup of black coffee. It has expanded my music library to think outside of the Fleet Fox. It has opened me up to discover who I am and nurture my life with positive energy.
So, if you need to label me, call me a …. hupster.