Barenaked Ladies: You like craft beer.
Sleater-Kinney: You like craft beer and claim you were into it “before it became such a thing.”
Soundgarden: You wear an apron that says SUN’S OUT, BUNS OUT when you barbecue.
Red Hot Chili Peppers: You pretend your spouse picked out the “Live, Laugh, Love” decor in your living room.
Dave Matthews Band: After three IPAs, you look around dramatically and, after deciding the other parents are “cool,” pull a joint out of the bowler’s cap you wear unironically and sing-ask, “Who wants to burn one down?”
Green Day: You constantly mention to the kid who caddies for you that you used to caddy at his age, yet he does not bother to conceal his loathing for you — what gives?
Gin Blossoms: You spend a lot of energy concealing your jealousy of your spouse’s relationship with your Alexa.
Oasis: You quiz your family during holidays about the shitty craft beer podcast you do with your high school friend TJ to see if they actually listen.
Sublime: You continue to quote Fight Club long after everyone else grew out of it.
Breeders: You have no idea when or how to clip your hedges or prune your trees or mow your lawn, so you just copy whatever your neighbor Todd does, and Todd is starting to notice and get weird about it.
Third Eye Blind: You didn’t care about women’s rights until you had a daughter.
Juliana Hatfield 3: You wear an apron that says GRILL SERGEANT when you barbecue.
Toad the Wet Sprocket: You work out obsessively under the guise of “needing to stay healthy for the kids,” but really just want people to comment on how ripped you are so you can avoid thinking about your ever-closer proximity to old age, decrepitude, and death.
Candlebox: You get pouty if anybody fails to make a big fucking deal when you cook something.
Counting Crows: You started coaching your kid’s soccer team to make the other kids’ parents fall in love with you, but it didn’t work.
Silverchair: You “accidentally” leave out the Windex after cleaning so everyone knows you did a chore.
Pearl Jam: You put political signs in your yard, less out of conviction and more in the hopes of starting fights with your neighbors and breaking the cruel monotony of your pleasant existence.
Smashing Pumpkins: You wish you were the kind of person who could fall asleep at night without having flossed.
Stone Temple Pilots: You don’t wear sandals because you’ve always thought your feet were weird, but now they actually are weird because of the years of blisters from boat shoes.
Lit: After moving out to suburbs, you feel a certain freedom that had been lacking in the city, and you wonder if maybe you never really liked the city and only lived there because Spin implied that’s what cool dads do.
Limp Bizkit: Your Twitter avatar is a picture of you hugging your adorable toddler daughter. You also send unsolicited dick pics to every young woman who “likes” one of your tweets.
Sugar Ray: You don’t even like craft beer but you end up drinking it a lot because you don’t want to disappoint anyone who assumes you do.
Hootie & The Blowfish: When your family goes to Olive Garden every Friday at exactly 6 pm, you promise yourself you’re going to try something different this time but end up getting the Chicken Marsala again because it’s dependable and, at your core, you value dependability above all things.
Foo Fighters: No matter what you do, you’ll never be as good as your spouse’s dead first husband.
Live: You post long, pseudo-spiritual messages on LinkedIn about the transformative power of the continuing education classes you’re required to take to keep your real estate license.
Lemonheads: You spend an average of 14.5 hours on the golf course each week, not because you love golf, but because you really can’t stand spending time with your family.
Nirvana: You love craft beer but pretend not to because you can’t bear the thought of being like all the other bored suburban dads.