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epitome of incomprehensibility
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This isn't about blankets or songs, but books.
Around 2015, I ran into a former poetry-class classmate at a book fair. She was one of the publishers of a local press, with multiple titles already - small books laid out on the table.
I was feeling insecure, feeling that I hadn't done nearly as much since graduating. I didn't think that showed. But then I said without thinking (enough), "Oh, they have cute like hipster covers."
Ashley's expression showed that she found that diminishing. As if I'd just patted her on the head. And clumsily, too. She hesitated. "You *could* say that..."
(Besides, the word "hipster" had acquired negative connotations by then. I wasn't going for the sense of poser or try-hard - rather of something self-consciously quirky - but still. Just because books are in a smaller than average format doesn't make them pretentious in any sense. Just small.)
...To make amends, from then until the beginning of the pandemic, I bought at least one book from Metatron_Press every year. And I don't regret THAT.
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