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How The Hipster Got His Vintage Jeans..... A Just So (not the truth) Story By Rudyard Kipling

The Hipster and the Drag Queen and the Banker and the Artist and the Designer were all strutting in Hyde Park one day. They had all just been given new suits by their parents in order to set them up as professional office workers. They were all staring and comparing and liking each others outfits, looking at the material and the cuts and how well they were tailored, but in the end they all were forced to concede that the Hipster had the nicest suit of them all. But upon ceeding this ground to the Hipster, he grew vain, and began to plaster his timeline with self portraits. As the other Londoners were fed these pictures, they looked on with envious eyes at the sharp cut, and tailored jacket the Hipster had on; the other Londoners decided to try and upstage the Hipster and his beautiful suit! Screw their parents and those jobs to pay the bills. It was the Drag Queen who began it, he went far afield to find an outfit that would out do the of the Hipster! And so he travelled and he travelled until he passed into Soho where the glitter and the makeup and the wigs from the shows, flooded onto the pavement and washed the Drag queens suit away and replaced it with a motley of florescent wigs and sequins! The

greasepaint ran down his face staining his eyes, lips and cheeks. He finally had an outfit to out glam the Hipsters dull suit! Meanwhile the Banker got in her BMW and she drove and drove until she came to Canary Wharf where the lights glittered against the sky like Am-Ex gold cards falling from a Louis Vuitton bag. There the investment banks showered her with so much gold-card credit her cheap suit was torn and shredded but it was quickly replaced with a Bespoke Gucci Suit and Manolo Blahnik Heels, certainly a finer outfit by far than the Hipsters cheap outfit! The Artist touched in and out and in and out with her Oyster until she came to Shoreditch, where the paint fumes and thinners muddled her mind! And the suit she wore got stained and torn and patched, until she no longer cared how she looked and instead tried to make all around her beautiful and interesting and new. So the streets became decorated with graffiti and paintings and sculpture, and Tumblr flowed with the photos of all she had made! The Designer got on his bike and cycled and cycled and cycled till the towers of the city became the estates of Hackney, just next to Dalston where the basement clubs lock in at three and the ambulances arrive at 6. It was there he found a sewing machine and the gold-cards of the Banker! So he brought reams of fabric

so he could cut and sew and stitch until he had an entire wardrobe full of bright and interesting and clothes! He had so many outfits that he could make the Hipster unfashionable in a snap! So he set up online a shop to do just that! After some time the Hipster got bored of admiring himself under the shade of the trees in the park and updating his status; so he left to go and show off to the others. First he went to the bars of Soho where the sequins and the greasepaint bedazzled and hid the Drag Queen from view! So although he could hear the crude jokes and piercing laughter the Drag Queen was nowhere that the Hipster could see! Confused and bemused by the colours and excitement he fled infected with a love of the kitsch. The Hipster travelled on from there until the lights of Canary Wharf shone up ahead. But searching for the Banker in the towers and shopping centers; in amongst all the grey suited men, was depressing. He searched through the foyers and the cubicles and lifts but the Hipster would never have found the Banker, Hidden as she was, Tweeting in the executive suites. He went to Shoreditch to seek the Artist. So the Hipster got off at Old Street and trawled the

galleries, cafes and the markets. But spent so much time rooting through the prints and paintings and ephemera, that he completely forgot who he was searching for. So in a clueless dazed he moved on into Hackney. By this time it was getting late and the bars started to open. Thinking to

network the Hipster went from bar to pub drinking as he went. Rum & Cokes, cocktails, Mojitos, Corona, and more the Hipster drank his way through, the EastEnd. Everywhere he went though he heard the Designers name, by those proudly wearing his clothes. But the Designer himself was no where, not that the Hipster could find find him drunk as he was. After his long search for the other Londoners the Hipster sat down on the curb. The Hipster was tired and exhausted of traveling through the City and not finding anyone he knew. It was then that he met the Dealer; the great Adidas bedecked

Londoner who was the most knowledgable of all Londoners, he had an iPhone with access to Google and Tumblr. So said the Hipster to the Dealer “Where have all the Londoners gone?” And the Dealer winked. He knew.

Then said the Dealer “The Londoners have gone into other threads; and my advice to you, Hipster, is to go into other threads as soon as you can.” The Hipster didn’t understand what the Dealer meant and said as much “Dealer I simply do not know what you mean!” Then the Dealer was called; and an order was made. The Dealer went to leave and the Hipster picked himself up and followed the last Londoner left to him. The Hipster followed until they came to the studio of the designer, where there was no more hiding from him. The Hipster exclaimed “There you are! Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you all, I wanted you to admire my suit! But with all the traveling and manhandling I’ve been through its all torn and worn-out.”

“It’s ok, don’t worry, I’ll help you distinguish yourself in any habitat you walk.” The designer claimed smelling revenge on the self-centered Hipster. So headed headed out the back, careful not to let the Hipster see he started to rummage through his bins for any old clothes he had thrown away. There he found them, a pair of old jeans, torn and worn out. A pair of jeans so horrendous that they would make anyone look foolish. “Here you go!” The Designer exclaimed walking back into the room, holding the jeans at arms length in front of him. “A classic designer pair of jeans with some modern alterations!” he said pointing to the holes, and worn out knees. “But they look so old, why would I want to wear those?” The Hipster protested. “Because they’re vintage!” The designer proclaimed.

How the Hipster got his Vintage Jeans  

A short story, created with InDesign, Just to show i could do it!

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