Hipster Imposter

So tonight we are going to this gallery opening. Or is it called an art opening at a gallery? See? It’s clear I’m totally baffled about how to approach this. I’m not even sure what to call it.

The thing is, my friend John from RI sent me an email saying his friend, Josie, was going to be out here showing some of her paintings in this group show, wittily entitled Group Sects. We know Josie from our annual pilgrimages home for Forta July, and she’s a groovy gal.

So, I take to looking at her website, and it turns out she’s an amazing painter. Who knew? I mean, I knew she was a good heckler at the Bristol parade, and I was satisfied with that being the extent of her offerings to society. 

What’s more, she paints birds, which aligns quite nicely with my chicken obsession. (The topic for a whole other blog entry.) She and I send a few emails back and forth with me  saying things like, ‘Hey I heard about your show.’ And her saying, ‘Yeah you guys should come and where can I get the best burrito in SF?’ She also mentioned that she’d never been to the gallery before, but she’s seen it a bunch in “her art magazines.” She didn’t know what it’d be like but she’d be getting her hair cut just in case.

This from the platinum blond pixie with sleeve tattoos. Somehow I think she’ll pass fashion muster, even with her old haircut.

As for me, I’m anticipating someone suddenly pointing to me in my high-cut Costco mom jeans and shouting across the crowded room, “What’s she doing here?” Then a spotlight will move over to me, revealing me shamefully shoveling large chunks of orange cheese into my mouth and guzzling wine from a plastic cup.

What’s worse, we’re bringing Paige with us since, like her big sister did, she refuses to take a bottle despite Mark’s most valiant and ceaseless attempts.

So not only will I be outed for my lack of hipster-tude, I’ll also likely be trying to quiet/hide a squalling baby by breastfeeding–while balancing my cup of wine (yes, drinking and nursing–in public no less) and trying to not topple my paper plate of cubed cheese and crackers.

All this aside, the worst of it is I’m desperate to buy one of Josie’s paintings. So through this all I’ll be doing my best to convince Mark that despite the fact that I’ve just quit my job, we really should spent several thousand dollars on an immense 4×4 foot painting of a rooster. (Seriously.)

Thankfully, the one thing I am kidding about is owning jeans from Costco. I think I need to rack up a few more years at home with the kids before the nexus between value and fashion  that they afford me starts to make sense.