The closest they have to an indie kid is:
he's the last of a dying breed. the prehistoric emo only emerges from the depths of his studio apartment when his favorite bands reunite for one last show- and even then, he shows no sign of enthusiasm whatsoever.
once an avid fan of the underground emo scene, he now cringes at the sight of today's batch of kids. he avoids mainstream media altogether, would rather listen to npr than podcasts and has no idea why anyone would panic at a disco. his favorite thrift stores are now raided by trend-hopping teens, making him resort to wearing the same vintage tees he has had for years.
he cries when he listens to pinkerton and spends days at a time organizing his vinyl collection. he refuses to join the kids on the current social networking sites as he finds them repulsive, yet seems to forget about the long since abandoned makeoutclub account he made years ago.
his casual-yet-somewhat dorky look has become the mainstream, and he is no longer identified as the emo king he once was. tear.
playlist:
mineral
the jazz june
the promise ring
sunny day real estate
texas is the reason
bookmarks:
makeoutclub
wonkavision
pitchfork