I hate hippies.
Suburban Guerrilla | I hate hippies
Really. Just ask my friends. (Some of whom are, actually.) Ask them how often I roll my eyes and mutter under my breath, “Fucking hippies.”
Most of my complaints have to do with their refusal to integrate their Jungian shadow selves, the clothes and the hair. (Mostly the hair.) Plus, I find some of their ways a little, um, precious. My friend Cos (a hippie if ever there was one) will tell me about someone she knows from the Rainbow Gathering: “So Sister Floating Feather was saying…” and I interrupt. “What’s her real name?” I say rudely.
“Her Rainbow name is Sister Floating Feather,” Cos says, firmly standing her ground.
Loud theatrical sigh. “I mean, what name did her parents give her when she was born?”
“Oh. Jennifer.”