“I love Helvetica”
Ah, but I don’t. I think it has, for some strange, inexplicable reason, achieved a status completely non-commensurate with its beauty or distinguishing characteristics. But sometimes I feel alone in this assessment. I certainly did that Friday.
She wore a little yellow button as a pendant and was one of about 10 folks smoking on a Hipster-house balcony in Echo Park. Her army jacket bore a tiny white button pin with “I love Helvetica” written on its face.
Every guest seemed to approach the night, his or her dress, life with a sense of converse-clad irony that when lumped together in army-like form produced the status quo that defied that original social commentary. They all seemed to shop at Urban Outfitters–a store selling an iconoclastic lifestyle that can’t be so iconoclastic if it’s expensive and mainstream.
I was miserable. I don’t mind being “the observer” at social gatherings, or at least I usually don’t. Of course, I’d much prefer not to be, or to brave that situation facing the possibility of sharing my insights with another of my camp–stranger or no.
But, alas, I was alone–existentially. I felt like the only person in a crowded room getting a big joke. And not only were the guests not getting the joke, they didn’t seem to know there was one.