A fake artist. The new generation of rich, nothing to do kids. Their art is all about shock value, aesthetic, and how it might sound when explaining it to a group of mutual friends in a dive bar. Fartist's are internally tormented for not being born Jack Kerouac or Charles Bukowski, so they invent pseudo life struggles to get close to the likes of great men and woman like that.
The more pretentious, the more their fart (fake art) smells.
Fartist 1: Hey man, I just wrote a song: "I can't stand living one more night, on my friends mattress, another parental fight..."
Fartist 2: Shit, that was tight. Would you mind tearing a hole in my shirt so it looks like I sleep in the woods against my will.
Fartist 1: Hell ya brother.
The extreme fear of being without a smartphone, even if just for a moment.
Jack realized he may suffer from smartphobia when he slipped while tweeting in the shower.
"Organic body butter FTW! Gonna smell so nice today. #whynot #lookatmenow."