i would like to start with synonyms:
and now some antonyms:
ick. i would much rather be thought of as “swell” than “moth-eaten” or “chic” rather than “dowdy”. good grief. this is full of possibilities for an emotional breakdown, an inferiority complex in the mixing bowl.
in the show schitt’s creek, moira (the ever-present, loving and compassionate mom -NOT-) is speaking to the dad (equally as despicable in his own right.) she states that to their children they are “the polar antonym of hip”.
hmm. is this not a defining characteristic of parenthood? we simply cannot be hip like them. we are not them. our children have different hip-ness than we do; our children are swell – and will be swell – in different ways than we have ever been.
i hardly think that the well-practiced eyerolls that my daughter has given me (in my view or from a thousand miles away) are because she thinks i am “modish”. nor do i think the radio silence in-between my equally sweet love-professing text messages to my son are because he is thinking, “wow! my mom is supercool!” it is part of their job to think we are un-hip. it is part of their journey in life to think we are “antediluvian”.
it IS the circle of life. forget rafiki and mufasa and the lions and all. the circle of life is the circle of hipness. you are hip until you are no longer hip. the line is foggy and you will not be notified until it is too late. there is no expiration date or deadline for payment. it just happens. the crease between your eyebrows is deep and the waistline on your jeans slowly creeps up from your hips. un-hip.
but such is life, as my sweet momma would say. maybe it’s time to embrace being ‘the polar antonym of hip’.
i will not be whipping out the credit card to try and stay ahead of it. ‘hip’ is untenable. the silky threads trailing behind it escape grasp. my boots and flipflops and black shirts will have to be my new ‘hip’. my philosophy of less-is-more will have to be my new ‘hip’. driving big red and littlebabyscionwithhundredsofthousandsofmiles will have to be my new ‘hip’. listening to john denver and james taylor and carole king will have to be my new ‘hip’. trying to keep being an honest artist in this world of machinated stuff will have to be my new ‘hip’. and my jeans, sitting sort of on my hips, will have to be my new ‘hip’.
and i will hope-against-hope that maybe, just maybe, my children will think, “wow! mom’s pretty hip.” (only even the word ‘hip’ isn’t ‘hip’.)