The word hipster first came back into circulation about 10 years ago – this was what I now like to refer to as Hipster 1.0: craft beer, fixed gear bikes, cold drip coffee, gentrification, Bushwick, Vampire Weekend, vintage denim, thick rimmed glasses that weren’t actually glasses, facial hair, sailor jerry tattoos.
Based on this, I would have been considered a hipster, not that anyone ever sets out to gain these labels – I love a nice hoppy, locally brewed, IPA, purchase new vinyl records, wear up-cycled denim jackets, develop crushes on any man who looks and dresses like Father John Misty, and I am guilty of adding Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa to more than one party playlist.
However there is now a new breed of hipster on the scene – Hipster 2.0. They just don’t seem to give a damn about anything. They make me feel very try-hard, over-keen, and make me realise that I posses absolutely zero-chill.
Yesterday I went to the glorious Nostalgia Festival – one of my favourite days of the year – a music festival that can only be described as Hipster Central. I spent the day surrounded by hundreds of the Hipster 2.0 and it was truly fascinating time. I love people watching and spying interesting outfits. However it became glaringly apparent how un-hipster I am these days, how Hipster 1.0 is just a way of life now that we are all in our 30’s, and no longer a sub-culture whatsoever.
Hipster 2.0 Festival Girl Aesthetic:
Full 90’s street-grunge-chic. Plain baby tees, worn under spaghetti strap cotton dresses. Tiny denim skirts. Old canvas sneakers. Baseball caps. No make up. Backpack. Minimal enthusiasm for anything going on or being experienced.
So Long Marianne Festival Aesthetic:
Tutu, biggest flower crown I own, tassel earrings, six shades of metallic eye shadow, two kind of face glitter, complete inability to Play It Cool, running around, hugging and gasping at everything within reach.
And so, with this stark comparison that I faced yesterday, I realised that my hipster days are well and truly behind me. I am too old. Too bright. To enthusiastic. Too me.
It’s something we must all accept eventually, because we were by no means the first hipsters, and the hipsters 2.0 won’t be the last. Remember, even Bob Dylan was a hipster once.
And there’s something nice about that. Reassuring. Nice to know that you can just be you. I guess that’s how I hope that the ageing process will always feel.
To this new generation of hipsters, I wish you the very best. You seem lovely, and I am quite envious of how relaxed and indifferent to validation you seem to be.
But please, if you’re going to dress the 90’s, you gotta listen to the 90’s too.
FLOWER CROWN: So Long Marianne
BODY SUIT: K Mart