Rebels With Painted Faces: August 2010

5.8.10

HIPSTER - A Requiem

First of all, fuck HIPSTER. Fuck it. Fuck all the connotations and stereotypes and associations that go with it. I would like to implore the youth of the nation here and now to bury that dead horse for good because it is dead. Rigor mortis has set in for a while now and flies abound the poor beast. Rest In Peace dead Hipster Horse, fuck you.

Now I would like to make clear the source and target of my hostility. This is in no way directed toward the people themselves, those who fall under the name one would describe as a HIPSTER. This is directed towards everyone who shrewdly collected elements of the HIPSTER and mass produced them, marketed them, told other people it was cool, made it a novelty item. That, my friends, is the very heart of the bullshit. But this is not new, they do it every decade. After all, where did the HIPSTER come from? A bunch of people trying to avoid the mainstream, wanting to detach themselves from averageness, listening to music no one heard of (har har), wearing clothes from a thrift store because who gives a shit about name brands? If we pretend we’re not jaded and prejudiced about it now, that shit sounds pretty cool. This is a classic case of not identifying with society and thus rebelling against it. The Flappers. The Beats. The Hippies. The Punks. The Grunge Kids. All these styles started from somewhere genuine and honest, until, as they approached the end of their ten year lifespan, they suffered the agony of humiliation and mainstreamification. Doomed to be a punch line. A Halloween costume.

Where are we now? We’re at that point. It’s 2010, the end of a decade. HIPSTER is a joke, and you can buy it at the mall. I know plenty of people who are considered HIPSTERS. They are not followers. They cut their own path. But at this point, how could the average person possibly distinguish them from the trend-worshipping, mediocre youth in plaid trying to fit in?
 The outlaws, the artists, the leaders, this is a call to you. Throw out your wayfarers, your plimsolls, stop wearing plaid every day, change your haircut, distinguish yourself from the stereotype. This is not giving in, this is saying Fuck You. What to wear now? Figure it out yourself, you have your own inspiration. You read don’t you? Listen to music? Stop staying the same just because it’s easy. Get your identity back. It’s good for another ten years.

Love and Kisses, RWPF

*I promised this site would be about images and not words (me writing), but no one cares either way, so whatever.