Since I started this column, I’ve received a steady stream of fan mail as well as letters asking for advice. I came across the following article Man Ordered To Wear "sex offender" T-Shirt this week, and was pleasantly surprised when I was contacted by someone whom on the surface appeared to be the same individual.

DEAR JONATHAN KESSELMAN: I am a married 69-year-old man who lives and works in the great state of Vermont. Recently, I was arrested for the second time for exposing my shriveled genitalia to a 10-year-old girl while working outdoors. I know I have a problem. Although I am happily married, I feel compelled to expose myself to little girls. I will serve time, and then I will receive counseling. With God’s help I will one day hopefully be able to put an end to this abhorrent behavior.

However, after going to court, the judge ordered that I wear a shirt labeled, “I Am A Registered Sex Offender” for two years upon my release from prison. Clearly, wearing this piece of clothing will decimate by business as well as prevent me from ever reconciling with my wife, or anyone else, for that matter, in my life.

There are no words to describe how sorry I am for what I have done. However, how can I begin the redemptive process, make amends with my wife, and not go bankrupt with the judgment that has been handed down to me?

VIOLATED IN VERMONT

DEAR VIOLATED IN VERMONT--

First off let me say, dude, that sucks. I live across the street from this elementary school, and I love how the light pours through my windows in the morning. It’s really humid where I live, and my bed happens to be right near the window facing the school. To combat chafing throughout the day, I lay prone on my bed each morning and bend my legs back to expose my sack while sprinkling Gold Bond Medicated Powder© on my testes. Until I read your letter, I had no idea how dangerous this exposure was. Thanks for the heads up!

Anyway, in response to your question, the answer is really very simple. You need to pack up your shit and hop on the first plane to Brooklyn or Los Angeles, preferably to the areas known as Williamsburg or Silver Lake (respectively). To further clarify, Williamsburg and Silver Lake are the East and West Coastal epicenters of ironic, disaffected Hipsterdom.

Aside from being unshaven, using “product” to create the “bedhead” hairstyle, and wearing newly bought store jeans that appear to be one seam away from disintegration; the single most important defining component to the inhabitants of these two townships is the “Ironic-T.”

To understand the “Ironic-T,” let me delve deeper into the modern-age Hipster mentality. The cornerstone of this lifestyle philosophy is, what I like to call, “The Whatever.” Past generations have employed their own version of “The Whatever;” namely, “The Cold Chillin’,” “The Keepin’ It Real,” and “The Livin’ Da Vida Loca!” {Roughly translated, “Livin’ The Crazy Life!"}

Here’s how “The Whatever” works:

Say you find yourself drinking a Brooklyn Lager at a Yo La Tengo show in Hoboken, NJ, and strike up a conversation with a cute, perky spoken-word poet from Fort Greene with boyish hair who ‘daylights’ as a Barista at a high-octane-caffeine, free-trade coffee shop, and it comes to the point in the evening in which you ask for her number. A non-Hipster might ask, “Do you think I could get your number and give you a call sometime?” Well, Violated In Vermont, let me tell you, that man would not only go home digit-less, but might unknowingly find a loogie hiding out in the foam of his Latte the next time he ordered an espresso drink.

The Hipster, on the other hand, would respond to the same scenario in the following manner:

Hipster With ‘Brooklyn Industries’ Hoodie And FEMALE Genitalia: “So, like, here’s my phone number. But I don’t really care if you call or don’t call. I’m just giving it to you because I feel like it. But whatever.”

Hipster With ‘Brooklyn Industries’ Hoodie And MALE Genitalia: “What!? You think I care that you think I care that you gave me your number? I don't care. And I might call you or I might not call you. It doesn't matter anyway, so whatever.”

Hipster With ‘Brooklyn Industries’ Hoodie And FEMALE Genitalia: “You think I care that you even care that I think you care if you call me? I don't care. You could call me or you couldn't call me. Doesn't matter to me. So, whatever.”

Hipster With ‘Brooklyn Industries’ Hoodie And MALE Genitalia: “Fine. Cool. Whatever.”

Hipster With ‘Brooklyn Industries’ Hoodie And FEMALE Genitalia: “Whatever. Fine. Cool.”

At this point, both parties would separate sound in the knowledge that they would later engage in overly-analyzed, committed yet non-committal sexual relations. Also, the Hipster With The Male Genitalia would also be confident in the knowledge that he would not be fishing loogies out from the foam of his Latte.

So, Violated In Vermont, now that you understand “The Whatever,” you now have the tools to grasp the “Ironic-T.” There has been some dispute as to when the “Ironic-T” was created, but most scholars agree that it was created by “Indie” Rock and Roll Musicians approximately around the same time they rolled out the phrase “DIY.”

An “Ironic-T” is as any T-Shirt made from the lowest grade material(s) that the Hipster will claim he/she found on the floor of his/her apartment earlier that day, and just “threw on.” This, however, is a fallacy.

In fact, in order for the shirt to qualify as an “Ironic-T,” the Hipster must have spent AT LEAST two days in various thrift shops in either Brooklyn or on Los Angeles’ Melrose Ave. It is imperative that the shirt appear to have been created sometime during the period of 1971 through 1996, and that the logo, and/or slogan, and/or design of the T-Shirt must operate on one or more of the following “Ironic-T Principles”:

1) The logo/slogan/design must never categorize, or label you, or put you in a box...or, like, whatever.

2) The logo/slogan/design is in direct opposition to how the Hipster sees himself privately or presents himself publicly (e.g. “The Cowboy Shirt,” “The High-Roller Casino Shirt,” “The Bowling Shirt, The Car Mechanic Shirt.”)

3) The logo/slogan/design contains a ‘Revolutionary’ visage or similar ‘Revolutionary’ symbology. Examples include The Che Guevara-T (CGT) or The Communist Russian Propaganda-T (CRPT)

4) The logo/slogan/design is a silkscreen of a popular Arcade/Cartoon/ Kung Fu figure or symbol (e.g. Atari, Space Invaders, Fat Albert, Speed Racer, or Bruce Lee with his crazy “I’ll fuck your shit up" eyes, complete with Nun Chucks…)

5) The Obscure Beer/Band-T (The OBBT). It is imperative that the wearer of this shirt have absolutely ZERO knowledge of that particular bands’ music or of the beers’ country of origin. If the wearer DOES know these things, then he/she is actually wearing an…

6) I’m Superior To You-T (ISTY-T). These are self-explanatory. If you don’t get it, then you’re a fucking idiot! Pfff. Whatever…

7) The Ironic Religious-T (The IRT). For example, a ‘Jesus Is My Homeboy,’ T-shirt falls into the IRT category, because Jesus is, in fact, nobody's homeboy. No, not even Pat Robertson's.

8) And lastly, the Negative Ironic Portrayal-T (NIP-T). This, Violated In Vermont, is where you might want to pay close attention…

In the case of your dilemma, you are being forced to wear a very unflattering Negative Ironic Portrayal T-Shirt (NIP-T). In your case, however, the Ironic nature of the shirt has been rendered non-existent. You ARE, in fact, a registered sex offender. While Vermont is a beautiful state, the Hip level of its inhabitants is directly correlated to the number of Phish bootlegs owned. I can tell you with great certainty that in your home state your shirt will fall on deaf eyes. They will burn you at the stake as they dance circles around your “funeral pyre,” lighting “kind buds” off of your melting carcass while they flail about in rapture to the sounds of Bouncing Round The Room. Not a good scenario for you.

However, in Brooklyn or Silver Lake, your Vermont court-issued death sentence will instantly be transformed into an “Ironic-T.” You will be a hero! People will ask you where you got your shirt. DO NOT tell them the truth.

Tell them, “This old thing? Pfff. Whatever. I found it lying on the floor of my apartment.”

They might prod further, asking if they can buy it. Tell them that you don’t believe in the "antediluvian bourgeois American capitalist system." If they try and barter for the shirt, tell them that your ex-“chick,” a perky spoken-word poet/Barista gave it to you, so it has sentimental value. Tell them it was a bad breakup, but like, whatever, you’ve decided to show her you DON’T CARE by wearing the T-shirt every day.

I hope this was helpful, and I look forward to seeing you and your “I Am A Registered Sex Offender T-Shirt” at a Yo La Tengo show in the very near future.

Best,

Jonathan Kesselman

Jon_Kesselman, like, doesn't care if you, like, dug this article or not. To him, it's just like, whatever.

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