Defining a hipster is like trying to teach a jellyfish the offside rule in football.
In Rob Horning’s article “The Death of the Hipster” he states that the hipster might be the “embodiment of post-modernism as a spent force, revealing what happens when pastiche and irony exhaust themselves as aesthetics.” So, that clears that up.
The main problem with identification is that no hipster will ever come close to calling himself a hipster.
“No hipster will ever come close to calling himself a hipster”
“Hipster, I hate that term, it doesn’t define who or what I am,” says Aussie surfer Harrison Roach, who, nonetheless can’t walk down the street with his 7’6’ singlefin and short ‘60s era boardshorts without people yelling it at him.
Dane Reynolds might be one. Alex Knost? Maybe. In surfing the hipster prides himself on riding a variety of surfcraft, most with links to the past and of which 95 per cent don’t work.
They will wear charity shop style clothes that cost a bomb and cultivate a just thrown together look that takes forever to put together. Personal blogs, check shirts and beards complete the hipster checklist. At current rates, they will be extinct by 2016.