2013 is upon us [and has been for seven days now], and although I’m not really into the whole “new years resolution” thing [what’s the point of making a list of things that you’re probably never going to keep up with after the first couple of weeks anyway?], this year I have come up with one simple rule that I am going to follow: I am no longer going to worry about people thinking that I’m a hipster.
This is me: an occasionally grumpy [not at all natural] redhead who likes wearing florals and playing around with colours on Photoshop – whether that makes people think that I’m a hipster or not!
Hang on, I hear you ask, is this actually a legitimate thing that concerns you? Well, yes. For the most part, I don’t like hipsters. As a group, they tend to annoy the crap out of me. Individually, I’ll admit that many of my friends do have hipster tendencies, and that doesn’t make me like them any less, but I also know a lot of hipsters and hipster-like people who never fail to get on my nerves.
While I can’t quite pinpoint where exactly this fear of hipsterdom began, I can identify some of its roots. Before hipsters were really a “thing”, I was pretty confident in the way I dressed. I liked Dr Marten boots and floral dresses, and hideous flannelette shirts from the 90s. My wardrobe looked like it was based on Cameron Crowe’s Singles, and I looked [and felt] awesome. But soon enough, the way I dressed led to people making other assumptions about my personality, and I didn’t like that so much. So, instead of continuing to defy stereotypes by rocking my look without actually being a hipster, I began to change the way I dressed. I incorporated a lot more denim, and started selecting clothes purely on the basis of them not being hipster. Eventually, I’d completely transitioned from someone who didn’t own a pair of jeans, to a girl whose uniform consisted of jeans and a pop culture t-shirt.
It wasn’t just my clothes that seemed to have been appropriated by hipsters. I found myself no longer able to talk about half the music that I listened to [because claiming to have heard of someone “before they were cool” immediately condemns you to hipster status]. I stopped over-saturating my photos, and retired my film camera. When my frankie subscription expired, I didn’t renew it. I was on some sort of anti-hipster crusade that only existed in my mind.
But yesterday, I decided that this all needed to stop. I was sorting through my Falls photos, and editing a select few to upload on facebook, when I found myself facing an all-too-familiar conundrum: was I making them look too hipster? After some deliberation, I snapped. If I like what the photos look like, then who cares what other people think?!
Despite my sartorial choices and eclectic taste in music, anyone who knows me well knows that I’m not really a hipster; I don’t understand the appeal of Girls, I hate that fake tilt-shift filter on Instagram [selected blurriness does not equal tilt-shift, people!], I don’t like cats, and there’s no way in hell you’d ever catch me riding a fixed-gear bicycle. I listen unironically to Triple M, and don’t think that crocheted Nanna-blankets look good as jackets. But, at the same time, I love a good vegetarian meal, and have always wanted to own a typewriter [blame Press Gang], and if that makes people think that I’m a hipster, then let them think what they want. I know the truth.
Has anybody else ever had some sort of hipster-induced identity crisis, or is it just me? If so, let’s discuss it in the comments so that I know I’m not alone.