“Everything popular is wrong.” – Oscar Wilde
That statement is full of truth. I tend to believe that the general population doesn’t want to think critically, but rather prefer to be spoon-fed information and ideas. I also believe in progress, the idea that evolution and change are good. If people never questioned norms and conventions the world may still be flat and women would be stuck in the kitchen. Standards and traditions need to be challenged, this is how society improves.
Unfortunately, hipsters are ruining everything.
I don’t know when this happened, but hipsters have become total douchebags. Their counter-culture views and alternative values are no longer respected and admired. All I see are watered down clones with no true convictions except for one – being cool. And they’re everywhere.
I can remember having a conversation with someone in a bar. I do enjoy a cold brew as much as anyone; in fact by this time I had developed personal tastes and preferences of beer. This person started to drone on about his beer tastes, reciting every fact he knew about beer, explaining to me why he believed Stone IPA to be the best IPA.
As I nodded, three words rung out in my head, repeatedly – I … hate you. I hate this guy. I don’t quite remember, but I may have whispered that underneath my breath.
This diluted hipster clone accomplished two things: 1) he completely killed my enthusiasm for beer, and 2) he made me question myself. Was I as douchey as he was, simply because of my love and knowledge of beer? Was I taking beer too seriously? Once the I hate you mantra faded in my head, an internal dialogue followed:
Stone IPA, really?
Don’t you know that the best hops on the west coast are from Northern California? I mean, you could’ve mentioned Lagunitas or Bear Republic and I would’ve given you more respect.
Oh my god, am I just as big of a pretentious douche as he is???
This is the epidemic – hipsters have become mainstream. Having refined tastes and minority opinions are en vogue to the point that these sensibilities are no longer ideologies, but cosmetics.
As a result, I’ve developed a mental twitch. Every time I enjoy an indie film or a nice pair of boots, I second guess myself. I go to Urban Outfitters and wonder, should I really be here? When I hear a band that has an acoustic arrangement like The Shins or The Lumineers, I enjoy the music, but with a sigh.
Somewhere along the way, the hipster has cannibalized itself. As I type this post from my Macbook Pro, wearing a plaid shirt and rolled up pants, in my black plastic-rimmed Rayban glasses with my hair hard-parted to the side while sipping a Belgian Ale from a local brewery, I am giving you the middle finger, you damn hipsters.