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"  I was with my friend Freddie Leiba vintage shopping at the antique galleries in Chelsea on a typical Sunday when I met Jim for the first time. As we grabbed for the same stunning AMF Harley Davidson bomber jacket (I&amp;#039;ve been searching for the perfect one for such a long time), he initiated conversation, amused by the fact that I wouldn&amp;#039;t release my grip on it. Jim didn&amp;#039;t look like any guy I had ever met before. I was intrigued, that despite his young age, he had an impressive beard and rolled his cigarette with grace (so unusual and chic right?). His fingers and neck were covered with more jewelry than I have ever owned and I couldn&amp;#039;t take my eyes off the beauty of the gems held in his multiple rings. He appeared to me more like a modern hippy, which I found fascinating and at the same time completely exotic, since I&amp;#039;ve only ever dated &amp;quot;wolves of Wall Street&amp;quot; here in New York. After chatting outside the Antique Garage about diverse subjects (from &amp;quot;Blue is the Warmest Color&amp;quot; to the store, John Derian) Jim politely asked Freddie, as if he was my father, if he would allow him to invite me out next Saturday to a &amp;quot;Burning Man&amp;quot; party in Bushwick. I thought this forgotten mannerism was so charming and even if I had no clue where on earth Bushwick was and who was this poor &amp;quot;burning man,&amp;quot; I didn&amp;#039;t let Freddie answer, accepting his invitation almost too quickly, forgetting to look nonchalant. On Saturday as I was getting my hair blown out, Jim texted to warn about the &amp;quot;cosmic&amp;quot; dress code for the evening. Although it was short notice, a dress code is always up my alley. I carefully selected my new Ohne Titel black and white graphic pattern dress that I paired with my Saint Laurent studded ranger boots in an attempt to look &amp;quot;Brooklyn cool&amp;quot;\u2014and, I suppose, cosmic. I jumped in a cab and was on my way to meet him. We met outside and proceeded through the warehouse doors hand in hand, him, dressed as a beautiful modern imitation of A Clockwork Orange and me, his arm candy. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw inside... Girls dressed as hallucinogenic unicorns, bare chested men covered in glitter, and ear-bursting electronic music, which reminded me of Jean-Michel Jarre in the &amp;#039;90s. Obviously, this was a completely foreign land. The only familiar sign I could recognize was the roof light of yellow cabs outside, begging to take me back to my usual Saturday spot, Paul&amp;#039;s Baby Grand. I hated this place, but I already adored him so I stayed and tried my best to look composed. Despite everything, it was a really romantic night as our connection was undeniable. As he dropped me off at 4AM, my doorman greeted me by simply saying, &amp;quot;I would have never thought you will date a hipster, Miss Lola!&amp;quot; For more of Lola on Love, read her first installment, New York Men vs. Parisian Men. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.harpersbazaar.com/culture/features/a1504/dating-a-hipster/>