I’m not sure if I’ve ever met a hipster. They seem to be one of those elusive subcultures where everyone knows what it takes to be one (glasses, pbr, plaid and pretention, right?), but no one identifies as one. Perhaps that’s why I’ve taken to using “Oh you hipster,” so flippantly among friends. I’ve become convinced that I’m not dragging anyone’s name through the mud, because hipsters as individuals just don’t exist. The term is just a strawman for our collective disdain of a habit we all do. I mean, we’re all a little hipster, but not all the time, right
Okay, so I’m sure someone on Discovery will mount an “In Search of Hipsters” investigation with fancy meters and equipment and prove me wrong, but for now let’s go with my premise. No one is full hipster, but the hipster attributes live in us all like subliminal messaging in Disney films. Pervasive and impossible to ignore once you know they’re there.
See, we all have those moments where we fall into the “I don’t like it as much if too many other people share the same opinion” trap. I’ll call myself anti-bandwagoning for instance, or avoid things with too large a preexisting fabase… I can also find a billion different ways to say I liked something before it was cool.
Yeah, you can say it- “Oh you hipster, Remy.”
And that’s okay. I embrace these moments. In fact, just today I reveled in the fact that I liked facebook before facebook was “mainstream”.
I am 2004 join date cool. Bam. I said it. I don’t know why I’m proud of it and I don’t feel the need to justify it. I’ve loved facebook and hated it, but I’m glad I’m on it.
It was a neat moment, really. That whole #facebookis10 video wave hit me and I just rode the crest of it’s popularity with glee.
So thanks for my hipster moment, facebook. I’m grateful.
~all the love~