A lot of people make fun of hipsters, and it's time for me to take a stand. I like hipsters, if only for one reason: they don't wear cargo shorts. When every other male in the universe is wearing these virtual duffel bags with waistbands, hipsters are wearing actual shorts. You know, like regular pants, except cut off above the knee. With, like, two regular pockets where the pockets should be. They look dapper, they look cool, and -- since society took that weird swerve a couple years ago where, for six months out of the year, every male had to don shorts with seventeen built-in cupholders -- they look most decidedly retro.

To cargo shorts fans, I have one thing to say: look at yourself in a mirror. Do you really think they're flattering? It's as if a woman emptied out her handbag and attached the contents at various locations down her legs. A cellphone on her hip, a bottle of water on her thigh, a copy of The Fountainhead at her crotch. They make me assume negative things about you. They were created for soldiers, for use in battle. Those little pockets are for grenades and sniper scopes and stuff. In that context, then, you seem a little trivial when you wear them to the mall stuffed with emergency bags of Funyums.

In fact, I've drawn a line in the sand. Should I ever meet an attractive man in cargo shorts, I'm going to write him off. I'm not even giving him the time of day. Because maybe he's creative and thoughtful and intelligent, despite his wardrobe, but I don't think any relationship should start with the line, "Are those lumps in your pants your belongings, or are they you?"