Inside the Current Issue

On the Uses of Hipsters

Anonymous

When my dad visited me recently, from Eastern Europe, we often took the L train between Brooklyn and Manhattan. While we traveled I'd amuse and surprise him by picking a spot to stand where (I would tell him) a seat would open within a station or two. I was never wrong about which passenger would exit between the Bedford and Grand stations - I couldn't tell exactly when they would get out but I knew that a seat where I was standing would open at Grand Street at the very latest. Such are the benefits of recognizing hipsters.

But it wasn't always this way. My initial reaction to hipsterism was confusion and shock. Here was a group of young people, obviously literate (they often peruse books and other printed matter) who deliberately, it seems, choose to dress in what my grandma would classify as "shmata" - a kitchen cleaning rag being the closest translation of that term. The clothing items consist of pajama-like fabrics, lots of polyester with geometric shapes and styles that were popular in the previous epochs. Of course, it would not suffice to just wear authentic vintage clothing, because it needs to be slightly modified to fit the hipster look. I found out that "shmatas" were available not just at the Salvation Army, but also at a variety of so called "vintage stores" that peddle old clothing for highly inflated prices. Other items include creatively cut off t-shirts with what I am sure the wearer considers creative messages such as "Jesus is my homeboy" (although that one is no longer cool), "Brooklyn sucks," or the name of some old high school sports team from Minnesota. (While I am all for "Do it Yourself," these are too commercial to have been done at home.) Sweaters are often too small for the wearer. Old school Pumas or Converse All Star shoes accompany trucker hats (again, those hats are "so two seasons ago") and tennis bracelets. Skulls and pirate paraphernalia on clothing, mismatching colors and patterns, and tattoos all seem popular. Some hipsters wear what you might call "old people's clothing" - you know, those suit pants and sweaters worn by very old Russian men and ladies around East Village apartment complexes by the river. Haircuts need to be very specific: shaggy and non-symmetrical. Bangs are "in" for girls. The "I just got out of bed" hair look is still "in" (I think). Mustache and facial hair for boys is recommended but not required. Buttons may adorn bags and jackets, but rather than simple anti-Bush statements, they should project belonging to an exclusive group of those "in the know," or brave enough to claim allegiance to what the culture at large chewed up and spit out, as in: "Jack was here," "Andre lives" (that's about the late Andre the Giant), "I hate Brooklyn," "Madonna rules," "New Kids on the Block," and others.

Other behaviors associated with hipsterism are predictable yet hard to explain. Many of these college-educated middle class kids (most are white), with professional parents, trust funds, and even corporate jobs choose to drink piss-like concoctions, like a beer called "Pabst Blue Ribbon," which happen to be very cheap. This attraction to things cheap - by association, though not necessarily by actual price - and the imitation of a "trailer trash" aesthetic and taste is a common feature of this subculture. Yet, the association with simpler, cheaper, more down-to-earth type establishments and things, is superficial. In fact, hipsters frequent bars and restaurants that look a certain way, but charge hefty prices for fare served in a decor that is seen as "authentic." Of course there is also the trend of going to establishments that are ueber-fashionable, very eccentric and completely modern. The hipster world strictly delineates acceptable hobbies, activities and music - those that are "in." Naturally, no self-respecting hipster would ever characterize something as being "in."

In fact, when you want to get a seat badly you can try your luck identifying them by their reading material - Jonathan Safran Foer is almost always a dead giveaway - you'll be resting comfortably by Bedford or maybe Grand Street. Others include David Foster Wallace and McSweeney's writers. But authors do fall in and out of favor frequently, and once they do, there is no coming back, so careful research is recommended.

The trend has become globalized: you can now visit any major city in the first world, and happen upon shaggy-haired youths wearing pink spandex and "ironic" tee-shirts. Often, when you ask one of these creatures about their interests, they might say something like, "I am into a fusion between architecture, literature, urban studies and fashion." If you are visiting any European capital, and you would like to find their natural habitat, look for sleek advertisements for coffee shops serving lots of organic stuff or nightclubs promoting "electroclash parties" and serving "delectable cocktails of vodka fused with [insert local drink of choice]." New Zealand, for example, has a "happening" scene, with bands like the Red Hot Bitches who gyrate to a mix of 1980s hair metal and Top 40. The New York Times recently reported that even places like Merida, Mexico and Kingston, Jamaica have local hipster scenes. I guess this makes them as safe for democracy as Coca-Cola and Arnold Schwarzenegger.

The work that hipsters put into scenesterism deserves some applause. In a society so obsessed with individuality it cannot be easy to submit to conformity so completely. The enthusiasm put into embracing ever changing fashions and the unanimous endorsement of fads carefully devoid of allegiances or principles, all while keeping up with adolescent style, must be exhausting.

Don't get me wrong, my hipster friends often burn me CDs of this months' band du jour, and I enjoy gawking at a skinny, shaggy-haired boys wearing Metallica t-shirts just like everybody else. I also know that the hipster look is not easily assembled; just putting on real vintage clothing and cutting off random strands of hair will not do the trick. It involves expensive hairdressers and shopping at places like Anthropologie or Urban Outfitters, without actually admitting that one is shopping at Anthropologie or Urban Outfitters. Because, while brand names are not generally welcomed, some have been befriended, like Brooklyn Industries, American Apparel, and Manhattan Portage a few years ago. Overall, my slight contempt (and a pinch of jealousy) for hipsters is fairly innocent, but not entirely.

That is because hipsters, just like their close cousins, the yuppies, are not entirely harmless. Every New York neighborhood I've ever lived in spewed me out when hipsters invaded. I am soon to be priced out from the boring Slavic neighborhood where I live now. There are already groups of them walking (or skateboarding) around to try the "funny" kinds of food served in local ethnic diners. A local deli's shop keeper tried to charge me more for a product I usually buy there, until I reminded him I have been here over two years and he knows me. Hipsters have more disposable income and are willing to part with it, making it impossible for first generation immigrants, and many natives, to survive in the city. Their tastes indirectly mock people like me who are stuck wearing boring clothing from those $10 & under stores and sweaters made by my nearly blind grandma, which look similar to those found for $40 at Cheap Jacks. Affordable greasy spoon joints in the neighborhood begin to charge more for Mexican Jarritos, so beloved by hipsters, and as sounds of The Strokes play in what were formerly neighborhood bars, rents across the city continue to climb.

But anyway, this article was not meant to analyze the role of late capitalism in fetishizing commodities or the way consumerism and ad agencies orchestrate tastes creating the illusion of personal choice and creativity. This is not an article about bourgeois guilt and the search for lost authenticity or about class and race markers in a modern society. This is not meant to blame hipsters for bringing back all things "kitsch," which were better off buried. This article is not meant to single out hipsters as bearers of doom, mediocrity, ugliness, and unbearable soulnessness. This article is simply meant to help you find a seat on a crowded L train.

The author is a student in a social sciences program at the GC.