Let me come out and say it. I have the dubious honour of being, in all probability, the least cool person ever to grace the pages of Gaschette Magazine.

I am also present on the pages of this magazine due to my reputation as a comic rather than due to having any knowledge whatsoever when it comes to fashion. I have no idea what the new black is, or even if using the phrase ‘the new black’ is still acceptable. I pick up the occasional bit of fashion advice here and there. Apparently skinny jeans on men are no longer in, which is problematic considering I last bought Jeans in 2008 and won’t be able to buy more any time soon unless musical comedy miraculously becomes the new actuarial science in terms of economic viability. But other than that I have no clue, and only upon settling down to write these words did I realise how hard it is to parody something you know next to nothing about.

I was also asked to make fun of hipsters, but have no idea what a hipster is. The Mail & Guardian even once called me one. I’m not sure if they’re correct. On a scale of Eve Rakow to Danny K I’m probably somewhere in the middle. I have been known to frequent Wolves and drink craft beer, which doesn’t help my case if I am ever forced to defend myself against charges of hipsterdom at The Hague’s International Criminal Court. I do try not to be a clichéd hipster, but then I also imagine that that’s exactly the kind of thing a clichéd hipster would write. I’ve noticed that for some time now it’s been hip to hate hipsters too, which creates all kinds of problems. This would mean that the only way not to be a hipster is to love hipsters, a logical paradox so great that it has the potential to cause disruptions to the space-time continuum. It’s confusing.

The inclusion of Eve Rakow in the previous paragraph is no accident. I have specifically been asked to make fun of her. The fact that this request was made by the Gaschette Editorial Committee (a term I’ve come up with to make it seem like the magazine is staffed by more than three people) in a column parodying hipsters must mean that she is a hipster icon.

Being a hipster icon is not simple, it takes time and effort and the ability to ignore the sideways looks you get from people more conservative than you, which, if you’re Eve Rakow, is everybody, ever. You have to glue things to yourself and place things on your head and feet that I imagine severely impede your ability to move with comfort. You need a new hairstyle every ten to eighteen seconds, and I imagine it’s hard to find a hairstylist who can complete work in under that amount of time. I do not think that it is fair to ridicule a pastime that takes as much effort as being a hipster style icon.

Hipster Style Icons are also important in that they provide a valuable service by pushing the boundaries of fashion so that the less fabulous – people like me – don’t have to. So I do not get offended when Even Rakow walks past me with bright purple hair, an evening gown made from the pelts of teddy bears and what appears to be a human eye in her mouth. It does not aversely affect me. Eve, if you are reading this, I give you my full permission (although I’m quite certain you didn’t ask for it) to keep blazing a brave new trail in the name of fashion. Carry on.

And Eve, if you do know what the new black is, and whether it’s even still acceptable to use that phrase, please let me know. I have a column to write for an arty, conceptual hipster fashion magazine, and I could use all the help I can get.