I read on Facebook a few days ago that Hip Mama is relaunching in print, and since then my finger has been hesitating over the key that would let me subscribe. Then, to top it off, I was invited by Dani Burlison to the North Bay’s Hip Mama/Rad Dad relaunch party. Am I dreaming? I mean, I did just read a book by Ariel Gore, but it wasn’t The Hip Mama Survival Guide. And I’ve heard about the zine (zine?) for years, from all the mamas around me who seem really, truly hip. But me? Hip mama?
Someone in my Zen community recently ran an exercise in her zendo called “I can’t be a Buddha because….”, in which everyone said why they felt they couldn’t possibly be a Buddha, and everyone else proceeded to explain, in a clear and unscripted way, why they were not at all disqualified.
I can’t be a Hip Mama because….
I have no great hopes of anyone answering this post with a clear explanation of my hipness. I know that the hodgepodge of impulsive ways I finish this sentence will be more about my own delusions than about hipness itself. But the words “I can’t be a Hip Mama because…” have been ringing through my head for days now. I can’t take it anymore. So here I go.
I can’t be a Hip Mama because:
• I have never actually read Hip Mama.
• I live in the country, but my family still eats packaged food.
• I spend a lot of time in my car (but okay, I know, it happens to be electric).
• I wear fleece. And clogs.
• I only own one pair of skinny jeans, and the knees are fading because I wear them so desperately much.
• I am not a single mama.
• The words “sex-positive” still make my recovering Catholic skin slightly crawl.
• I am pop-culturally illiterate.
• I have never heard Coldplay, or would not know it if I had. I am still listening to Morcheeba and Macy Gray. And Coldplay is probably not hip. Jesus. Is the Thievery Corporation still hip?
• My children know more about hawks than about Harry Potter.
• I have no tattoos.
• You might call me a religious person, except that I don’t consider my strand of Zen a religion. But I am rather disciplined (though never, I hope, devout).
• I read haiku and history instead of listening to Radiolab or The Moth.
• I have never experienced real poverty.
• I am too old.
• I sometimes secretly wish I wasn’t a mama at all. Only sometimes. Honest.
• Until recently I was not sure how to pronounce “zine.”
• I might not go to the Hip Mama/Rad Dad relaunch party because it’s the night of my son’s 4th birthday.
• And I worry about being hip. Only sometimes. Honest.
Okay, with my fleece-wearing, bird-watching, middle-class soul exposed, it’s time to subscribe. Click.