I am Not a Hipster

When all of one’s basic needs have been seen to, irony may well be the result.

Picture the 19th century Oscar Wilde, reposing on a velvet-lined sofa, in his hand a lavishly-frosted cupcake, which he nibbles between biting criticism, directed at whatever curious object happens to be crossing his attention. Too much idle time meets too much vocabulary, slathered across a lap of nubile luxury, and Dorian Grey is born.

The assumption of wit and luxury’s commonalities is hardly new, but examples seem all the more pressing in modern times, with the advent of the (fucking) hipster. Today’s hipsters are widely criticized for many things, including the downfall of society in general, but the irony-clad youngsters have faced few condemnations more damning that their ties to gentrification and generally sipping at the teat of their capitalist, middle aged parents. With 20% unemployment in an imploding economy, but relatively few deaths from starvation, the evidence seems damning - surely hipsters are children of the excesses of the modern world.

But we should recall - hipsters are not without angst. Hipsters vehemently hate all (other) hipsters and refuse to acknowledge their allegiance to this group. If that doesn’t scream self-hatred and repression, I don’t know what does. Inside their decadent, frosted, second-hand exteriors, a seed of neglected sadness cries out like a beacon, ‘I hate you! You’re stupid! Please love me!’ repeat.

It’s here that we should recall that poor Oscar Wilde served two years hard labour because he happened to be gay, and was widely hated by a great many people throughout his life.

Those thoroughly indoctrinated within a culture and experiencing excesses of angst have few options when attempting to rebel - or in the cases of hipsters, they have an excess of options, but none of them truly viable. How does one rebel against consumerist culture while themselves remaining a consumer? How does one reject gentrification when they inevitably bring it wherever they go? How does one criticise the West when they remain the very embodiment of the West?

Well, you have to hate yourself, to start with. And then you become a Hipster.

(And seriously, for the record, I'm not a hipster. At all. Those who have seen me will attest to this...my jeans are not nearly skinny enough.)