“I used to love Matt and Kim back when they were jamming Brooklyn art school parties, but ever since they sold out to Bacardi, I just can’t listen to them anymore.”
We’ve all heard something like this before — some Pabst swilling douche in a wolf t-shirt talking endless shit about a formerly-obscure-turned-popular band for no other reason than they’ve tasted commercial success.
I consider it the worst flavor of hipster hypocrisy, but the thing is, I just realized that I’m guilty of it too.
Not with my music, though — with my porn.
Now that she’s gone mainstream, Sasha Grey just doesn’t do it for me anymore.
I was flicking my clit to Sasha back when she was trading spit in Razordolls (look it up, bitches — anything by Jack the Zipper. Trust me, it’s the hottest lo-fi art porn ever made.)
Then Sasha broke like a Kmart condom, and suddenly she was everywhere. Industry awards, music videos, and scenester spreads for American Apparel, Vice Magazine, and Terry Richardson. All of it, dull-eyed and garish.
And so now, I’m the hypocrite:
“I used to love Sasha Grey back when she was jamming cocks up her ass in gonzo porn, but ever since she sold out to Soderbergh, I just can’t get off to her anymore.”