Hipper than thou
This works on so many levels. There's the shock that anyone is, in 2008, still calling themselves preppie. Especially since even in the 1980s I never actually knew anyone who went to prep school to use that word.
Then there's the hilarious arrogance of the men. It reads like something in the kind of bad feminist short stories people used to write in my college creative writing classes--the ones where the teacher used to say, "But Willow, no one's actually that malignantly stupid."
And what would I not give to be a fly on the wall when one of these erstwhile Romeos sidles up to a tattooed chick at the Black Cat and tries to woo her by telling her how much he loves Death Cab for Cutie*.
There's also the shock of seeing most of the bars I go to regularly described as hipster hangouts. If there's anything less hip than me, I rarely run into it.
Of course, it seems like now I may have to find some other bars. Not that I'm in any romantic danger from 25 year old preppies looking for the kind of girl you Don't Take Home to Mother. But I'm not sure I can bear to watch their excruciating humiliation. Don't worry that she'll be turned off by your polo shirt, friend. It's not your clothes--it's you.
* So do I. But I don't brag about it.