Sunday Morning: a magical period of time often spent harbouring hang overs, marinating in bed before brunching; training for a marathon or participating in the coolest activity right now: visiting the markets.
I know I know, markets have been around forever, certainly before mass production took over (when we actually knew WTF was in our produce).
Like everything though, trends are cyclical, being regurgitated by different generations for differing purposes.
While I don’t want to be overly neggy on this summery Sunday, my recent trip to the local farmers market has left me slightly cynical about the marketers and their free luvin’ vibe.
A quick round of the vegan- tree hugging grounds, enhanced by the sounds of the dread locked musos, and sight of bare foot, bra-less locals moving organically to the beats, only highlights just how squeaky clean, westernised and outa’ place I am.
Despite being born and raised in the area in which the markets are held, and the fact that my curly hair and apparent ‘free- spirit’ has often lead others to assume I am a market regular, my supportive bra, boutique bought (probably sweat shop produced) clothing and foot wear suggests that I may have missed the memo.
I am referring to the memo set by fellow gen Y’ers, the ones waltzing around shoe-less, coconut in one hand, smart phone in the other, with freshly coloured and straightened hair framing their make up covered (pierced) faces, who are often found patting random dogs without holding a convo with the owner, but ensuring a selfie is captured.
While I made a conscious effort to not be confused by the Tiger Lilly ($$$) bikinis layered under a cheap Bali dress, or the Converse and other labels bearded (grubby looking) lads feature, and drop the judgement in a hippy- like way, I couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculouseness of the babe in front of me in the veggie line.
Not only did the gal reject my smile, she overtly stole the bananas out of my go- green bag because ‘they were the ones she was looking at’, before taking a photo of her produce.
It was when her BF questioned whether they were ‘gram- worthy’ and she responded with a “please, I have over 12 K followers 😉” that my sister had to restrain me from tossing oranges at her head.
While it would be hypocritical of me to diss anyone gramming’ their activities, embracing the hippy vibe and mixing simple necessities with modern day luxuries, I can’t help but feel as confused as these coconuts seem.
“These days it seems every bae needs to have a fixie push bike with a basket and fresh daises attached to it”
As we all know, the raw, vegan, organic, animal loving + western world hating trend is growing rapidly. What I don’t get is how this is juxtaposed by the popping of poisonous pills and frequent weed consumption?! While I am aware that no cows were harmed in the process, surely such activities are doing more damage than a chicken parmi?
Organic living has become a fashionable trend (for some) that is just as costly as a processed one, and is not necessarily more morally correct.
Despite my expectations, no one at the hippy farm is any friendlier than the local Woolies customers, in fact an air of snobbery and superiority seems to float between the peppermint trees.
Not only are western- hating comments dropped regularly around the market (and therefore chairs must be avoided) little gratitude or appreciation is ever shown for the luxurious life we are able to live; one of freedom and safety, made a little easier by one-stop shops.
As made obvious by some of my previous posts, I am all for healthy living and exploring of different cultures, ways of life etc. I think it’s really great that we are reverting to our old ways and avoiding cancerous chemicals where we can! I just don’t see any point in pretending that we are living a HIPPIE life, when we return to our cushy beds each night, to check the gram.
That is all I’ve got to say today, Namaste bitches!