What fashion has started from hackers? They have bad posture, and

In the playful yet profound words of John Waters, the apostle of artful misfits, there lies a truth both humorous and prophetic: “What fashion has started from hackers? They have bad posture, and they don’t go out. I wish I had a hacker boyfriend—they stay at home up in the bedroom.” Though his tone dances with irony, beneath it hums an ancient wisdom—the wisdom of the unseen, the misunderstood, and the quiet architects who shape the future from the shadows. For Waters, known as the saint of the strange, was not merely speaking of technology, but of human nature, of the changing face of creation, and of how genius so often hides behind walls rather than parading through the streets.

In this age-old struggle between the visible and the invisible, John Waters becomes a philosopher of the modern age. His jest about hackers—those pale, stooped figures bent over glowing screens—echoes an older pattern of history: the solitude of the thinker, the isolation of the inventor, the misunderstood peace of the creator who works not for applause, but for the thrill of discovery. Just as the ancient scribes labored by candlelight to preserve the wisdom of civilizations, so too do the hackers, programmers, and digital dreamers of our time dwell in their rooms, unseen, yet reshaping the world with each keystroke. Their fashion is not of silk or gold, but of intellect and defiance—the quiet rebellion of those who create from within.

When Waters says, “They don’t go out,” he touches on the eternal paradox of creativity: that the greatest revolutions are often born in solitude. The cave where the prophet dreams, the studio where the artist paints, the library where the philosopher writes, the dim-lit room where a hacker breaks through a wall of code—these are all temples of transformation. The world sees isolation; the wise see incubation. Out of such silence emerges new vision. The hacker’s “bad posture” becomes a symbol, almost mythic—a mark of devotion, a physical echo of the long vigil of the mind. For every age has its ascetics: the monk bowed before his manuscript, the mathematician bent over his chalkboard, the hacker glowing before his screen.

The irony in Waters’ tone conceals reverence. In his words—half jest, half admiration—he celebrates the outsider, the person unshaped by vanity, untouched by society’s need for approval. For what is fashion but the desire to be seen? And what are hackers but those who find power in remaining unseen? Their kingdom is not the runway but the network, not the marketplace but the mind. John Waters, with his lifelong affection for the strange and the marginalized, recognizes in them the same creative defiance that once animated artists, poets, and rebels of all ages. He sees that the hacker, though mocked for their habits, embodies the spirit of rebellious intelligence, the courage to invent without asking permission.

History has seen many such figures. In the 15th century, Leonardo da Vinci shut himself away in workshops filled with sketches of flight and invention, his genius concealed from all but a few. In the 19th, Nikola Tesla, a man as reclusive as he was brilliant, lived alone among machines that hummed like celestial choirs. Both were viewed by their times as eccentric, even mad—just as the hackers of today are called obsessive or anti-social. Yet from their solitude came wonders that reshaped humanity. Waters’ quote, in its laughter, acknowledges this lineage. The hacker’s bedroom is no different from Leonardo’s workshop or Tesla’s lab—it is the crucible where the new world is forged.

Thus, the deeper meaning of his words emerges: he is not mocking the hacker, but exalting them. He wishes, half in jest and half in truth, for a companion of depth, one who chooses intellect over glamour, mystery over vanity, devotion over distraction. The “hacker boyfriend” becomes a symbol of the lover who stays, who builds, who creates, rather than wandering after fleeting pleasures. It is the ancient longing for constancy, for wisdom clothed in humility, for love grounded not in display but in depth.

And so, children of the future, let this saying remind you: do not despise the quiet ones, nor the strange, nor the unadorned. The world is not moved forward by those who seek the spotlight, but by those who labor in the shadows with purpose. Celebrate the hacker, the dreamer, the outcast—their fashion is not seen, yet it shapes the fabric of civilization. And if you must choose between brilliance and beauty, choose the brilliance that endures, even if it dwells in solitude. For, as John Waters knew well, the truest creativity is not a spectacle but a mystery—one born in rooms where no one watches, yet from which the light of progress shines eternal.