If my girlfriend were to somehow find out that my hipster credentials are mostly bogus, I think it is likely that she would dump me. If she somehow found out what a poseur I was, the relationship would be over.
Man, sometimes I feel like such a phony. God knows I wanted to go metro. But out here in SOMA, faded jeans, coarse, striped panchos of alpaca fur, and an unruly mane are de rigeur. Yeah, I've got a pretty sizable t-shirt collection…mostly brown, no white. I've got a pretty good record collection. I am sure that most of the stuff, you haven't heard of. I'd be happy to take you to dinner at a falafel joint where I will chat it up with the ethnic proprietor while treating you like a total douchebag. The effect will be of insouciance and confidence.
When the conversation turns to serious subjects, I will make jokes like the host of The Daily Show, implying that the preponderance of idiots justifies a corrosively cynical view. You will like me. They will all like me. Especially my girlfriend. She likes me, the hipster. But if she glimpses my true nature—uncool, methodical, plodding, bovine—then it is all over.