The Biggest Life Regrets of a Stereotypical Hypebeast on Their Deathbed

Image via Complex Original

That pic you put up on Tumblr trying to assert your flourish probably got vicious trolls or some savvy forum snark-king who went with an absolute electronic ether. Your legacy will be remembered for sure, but for all the wrong reasons.

You spend years waking up before the roosters to get in line for dozens upon dozens of drops, or to get your bots ready before that hot 7 a.m. online release. Now you instinctively shoot up at 5 in a cold sweat, screaming "MUST COP" in your sleep as you emerge from a nightmare in which you missed out.

So you blew the rent check at your favorite reseller on those new Js that sold out online in 45 seconds. Satisfaction, right? Here's the thing though: Life hates you. Right as you're about to float into very rare three digit likes territory on Instagram, the Twitter notification comes up on your phone: @NikeStore just announced a huge restock of the very style you just dropped close to mid-three figures on, for retail. What's that return policy again? Oh, it doesn't exist? Add this to the top of the regrets list.

You gave the latest trend a few weeks to breathe and establish it's here to stay awhile before you hopped on and—oh wait, you're a hypebeast. You added to cart and checked out as soon as you saw Kanye wearing it once, and by the time the package from some obscure European brand got to your house, Ye had already tired of the piece and added it to his extensive swag cemetery. Shouldn't you have learned by now?

All that effort into being the flyest guy in SoHo and/or your suburban town where no one else even gives a fuck, and you've never even ended up on your favorite site. The street style round-ups passed right over you, and as a matter of fact, your Instagram #ootd likes aren't even that poppin'. Your influencer credit score is low (real one probably is too), meaning it was all for naught, b.

Scenario: You wake up, get all your errands and work out of the way or make some excuse so you can be near a computer at 11 a.m. By 10:30 you're stretching your finger and already refreshing, just to keep the pipes clear. Then, right at 11:00:00 you try and cop a bogo, but all the bots have cleared the shelves in .2 seconds. In the short-term, you're pissed. But in the bigger picture, this is a reflection of man beginning to lose the battle against machine. Even if you regret not getting this grail, at least you're not around when the human race is wiped out by killer bots.

Your girl was not only pretty and smart, but she abided by your fiendish nature and tried her best to be a good hypeBAE, putting up with all your bullshit. She even copped you that pair of Js you missed out on as an anniversary gift. The problem was they were fakes, but you wore them anyway. Then within the first 30 minutes of rocking them, the ridicule from your homies was unrelenting, which leads us to...

Assuming all beasts are virgins who've touched more rvre Nike x [Insert High Fashion brand] collab than boobs is a played out stereotype, but one thing is for sure: you have definitely scared off a worthwhile girl or two. She may have even been content to be your hypeBAEst-in-crime, until the unquenchable thirst took hold and sent her packing while you stood on line after line with barely any money left (more on that later) to even treat her to dinner at Chili's 2 for $20 menu. Now you're alone, closet full, but heart...empty.

All the purchases you made over your storied career of brand thirst definitely most definitely add up to the lease fee for a nice set of wheels. Hell, just one of your cops was probably close to car note status to begin with. Instead you're out here on public transpo to line up at every store, tensing up every five minutes because dudes are ice grilling you for wearing some v pricey shit that sold out in 55 seconds last week. Which leads to your next thought: remembering how embarrassing it was when, as a 45-year-old man, you asked your tax accountant if you could "write off jawnz."

So you pledged Nike forever, and don't own any pair of kicks without a swoosh on them (still not as hardcore as this dude). Even when adidas started scooping up all your favorite designers and talent, you stayed strong and remained committed to Nike. Your boy, however, isn't delusional about brand loyalty. He switched it up on you and started saving up for the Yeezy collab immediately. Feeling completely abandoned for all those upcoming retro release raffle lines you were supposed to attend together, you deaded him. You started hanging out with a group of intense hypebeasts you thought you could keep up with, but they're all on social media platforms you don't understand and use completely different slang. Meanwhile, he wore Stan Smiths to his wedding, where the adidas sales associate was his Best Man, and lived happily ever after.