hipster please

Reblog if you have stretch marks

My best friend was in tears today because she has stretch marks and she doesn’t believe me that literally 99.9% of the population have them and I’m trying to show her it’s okay

So the thing about artsy hipster NHL bro Jack Zimmerman is that, like, nobody fucking expects it.

Jack does not dress like a hipster. Sure, he wears a fair amount of flannel, but it’s in a Canadian way. All his flannel is actual, tried and true outdoor gear meant to withstand cold temperatures, not that weird flimsy “fashion” flannel that doesn’t keep the wind out and falls apart after three rounds with the wash.

 And skinny jeans? Bitty tried. He really did. Because an ass like Jack’s deserves to be appreciated, not hidden under relaxed fit jeans, but Jack had been adamant that the point of wearing jeans was to be comfortable, not make his ass look good. Bitty had enlisted Shitty, Ransom, Holster, and even Tater to try and convince Jack otherwise, but Jack had not been moved.

So when people look at Jack, with over half his wardrobe featuring some hockey team’s name or logo, his head usually covered in a ballcap or a toque, his feet in running shoes, still carrying his shit in his raggedy backpack from college, they see a hockey bro.

And when people meet Jack, and they find that in conversation with new people he’s basically mute until it comes time to discuss the more technical aspects of playing hockey, which he will discuss at length with the utmost seriousness, they see a dumb jock who only knows anything about hockey.

And because nobody expects it, his instagram (creatively~ titled @JLZPhotography) goes undiscovered for, like, an absurdly long time. He gains a modest number of followers, most of whom also have photography focused accounts. It isn’t until a few months in, when he decides to post a series of photos of Tater before a big game (tracking the transformation from gregarious class clown to serious professional athlete) and Tater insists that Jack tag him (and subsequently has to teach Jack how to tag somebody) that people who follow hockey even realize that he has an account.

And so, now that his secret photography hobby is out in the open, Jack’s other hipster tendencies slowly get exposed. Like how he’ll only drink small batch craft beers (which really has more to do with the fact that Jack doesn’t drink often, or to excess, so the only time he really bothers to drink is when he gets a really enthusiastic recommendation. And those recommendations tend to be craft beers, because nobody bothers to recommend Heineken or Shock Top). 

So his teammates start chirping him for nursing his one bottle of Dogfish Head while they work through half a dozen Millers, and eventually that shit gets tweeted and Tater starts the hashtag #beersnobzimboni.

Then the Falconers make the playoffs, and Jack’s playoff beard is on point. And he falls asleep on the bus wearing a toque pulled down over his eyes, and hugging himself in his warm flannel, and someone decides it would be hilarious to take the flowers a random fan had given them, and stick them in Jack’s beard.

So suddenly like 5 different Falconer’s twitter accounts are awash in photos of Jack sleeping through the various stages of acquiring a flower beard, and then when Jack wakes up as they pull up to the hotel, everyone plays innocent (badly, but Jack is really tired and just wants to go to bed) and Jack walks off the bus with his flower beard still gloriously intact, and of course there are a couple of sports reporters waiting for them, all of whom manage to catch photos of Jack yawning widely while blissfully unaware of the flowers on his face, and NHL.com runs a cover story with Jack’s adorably confused and grumpy face staring straight at the camera as he slowly realizes he’s getting more attention than usual.

And of course, it all culminates when a reporter asks him after a game what he thinks of his “secret hipster” reputation, and Jack (Lord, this boy) asks the poor reporter what a hipster is, because he keeps hearing it but he’s not really sure what it means? And he listens patiently while the reporter tries to explain without laughing, and then replies, “No, I don’t really think that’s what I’m like. Secretly or not.”

Meanwhile his teammates are howling in the background, because apparently everyone in the world knows that the most hipster thing a person can possibly do is deny being a hipster.