The Road to Not Becoming a Hipster

Written by yours truly, as a sixteen-year-old, in the year of our Lord 2014 when we all dumped buckets of ice on our heads, the great Emma Watson schooled the world in feminism, and Solange beat-up Jay Z in an elevator.

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Over the last eight months I’ve periodically, no, in all honestly, CONTINUOUSLY appraised adopting the culture, lifestyle, and mentality of hipsterhood. Now don’t get me wrong, I realize the well-intentioned premise of this movement is to be genuine, free, and to express yourself without inhibition, but I can tell you that as a moderately sheltered, unassuming, socially anxious teenager, those were the last things on my mind when I accidentally got thrown amongst the ranks of intimidatingly blasé hipsters. As popularized hip-atitis (yes, I did just make up a new virus) blazed through my world of mainly caucasian, evangelical, young adults over the last year-and-a-half, I found myself surprisingly allured by the sudden frenzy to wear big hats & baggy clothes from the 80’s and to take simplistic, yet stunning, Instagram pictures of my sustainable, hand-roasted, small-business supporting, third-wave latte. As someone who typically has trouble seeing my personality and interests represented by popular culture, the promise of a new wave that would embrace my disposition as a disinterested outsider, and consider it cool to boot, was too much to ignore. And what was so bad about wanting to be a hipster anyways? I mean, hipsters were the type of people that were supposed to be supper chill, kind, community-minded, artistic, self-empowered, eco-friendly, and adventurous. Those were traits I’ve always strived to have! And for the first time ever, even being upfront about the fat-stack of jazz records I’m soul-bonded to only helped my chances of getting into the cool kids club.

I thought taking the dive into the hipsterhood wouldn’t even be that big of a change for me, since I practically have my foot in the door. Even before hipsters were a thing, the best way to describe my style would basically be the lovechild of retro and indie fashion, and so if identifying as a hipster simply made my typically nerdy appearance acceptable to the world, I wholeheartedly supported the transition. Another key piece of hip-atisis that I was keen-on, but less practiced in, was the release of my inner artist… Or rather, somebody else’s inner artist, because as it turns out, I’m not actually original. But I got caught full-swing in my new identity and suddenly started doing and creating things I probably never would have done before: like, hand-making rope baskets, signs & coffee mugs with detailed hand lettering, and bracelets, and having photoshoots with select friends that took hours of editing to just get one, less-than-perfect, Instagram photo. I felt a lust to make sure that all of my 100 followers (and the expectant thousands that would start following me because my pictures were so amazing) knew that I WAS A HIPSTER! I was utterly focused on making everything in my life, from my bedroom closet to the gifts I gave, look perfect. And, it was EXHAUSTING to pretend to care that much. After trying and trying to make this state-of-being my second nature, I still felt like an imposter, and I knew I had to do something drastic or I might start letting my new identity slip. It would require finding myself the most hipster of hipsters, and becoming their friend, to seal the deal, or so I thought. Unfortunately, being homeschooled, with little access to the regular world, I had literally no idea where to find such people…

My day came unexpectedly as I was getting a ride home from summer camp with my older sister and her fellow counselors - a normally unhappy circumstance for me being shoved into a car with stagers for hours. I didn’t know her friends very well, but they seemed funny and nice. More importantly, they were true hipsters, and I was getting the once in a lifetime opportunity to tag along with them for a whole day while they went about their happy hipster business! I thought I was finally about to enter the pearly gates of hipster Heaven on that bright sunshiny day… despite the fact that I had just been peeled off a camp-bathroom floor where I slept for two nights because of the stomach flu. In spite of the low-grade fever I was running, and my resulting general lack of conversation, they seemed to like me *insert swoon* (or is it just her fever?). We made several stops throughout the day at coffee shops, clothing shops, chocolate shops, barber shops, flower shops, strangers’ homes, and met many new, interesting hipster people. My moment of glory came when one of the girls’ friends, we had bumped into at a coffee bar, complimented my dress. With a smile that could have competed with Caesar Flickerman, the girl said enthusiastically, and yet totally insincerely, “Wow, I LOVE your dress! Did you get it at Anthropology?” Not knowing at the time that the ridiculously out of my price-range store was practically hipster crack, I told the truth and told her, “Actually, I got it at Target…;” conveniently forgetting to mention that I got it on the clearance rack, because I was starting to sense that my favorite hobby of bargain hunting was not a trait these particular people thought very highly of. The second the word “Target” came out of my mouth, I could visibly see the shiver of horror current through her body, like I had just said the most atrocious words ever known to mankind. Her reply was a brisk, “Oh,” and just like that my role in the conversation was over. As I went back to being a pretty wall decoration and realizing that these people appreciated each other’s company far more than they ever would mine, I succumbed to my fever driven misery and finished the day in muted disappointment.

As it turns out, the overall sickness of that day was the wakeup call I had needed to reevaluate the slow seduction of popularity. Even though I wasn’t necessarily trying to become somebody I wasn’t before, even trying to be a better, more hip version of myself in order to impress other people and be included by them was turning me into an exhausted, unhappy, pretender. Reflecting on the whirlwind day I had spent with real bonafide hipsters, I was totally disheartened by the fact that these people, who were supposed to be the embodiment of confidence, community, and adventure, were nothing of the sort. To my great disappointment, they seemed to be pretty much just like every other human being on earth. They were nothing exceptional or different, and I could tell that, like me, they were using the cover of “hipsterhood” to try and be people they weren’t. I think, like me, they found it just as unfulfilling, but still clung to the idea of being a part of something larger than themselves. Behind all of the beards, coffee, cool clothes, and smiles these people were a big clique of insecure people. They used their idealized lives to minimize or hide their struggles and flaws. And the sad thing is, it worked. I thought that they were the absolute coolest, most desirable, and put together people on earth, when in actuality we were all just a bunch of frauds running around kissing each other’s assess.

Since then, I have stopped trying to be a hipster. If I still happen to look like or do things that are consider hipster, it’s not because I’m trying to be cool. I’ve resolved to just do what comes naturally to me, and I have to say I feel happier and more secure with my own personality now than I ever have before. I still occasionally find myself doing things because I’m trying to please other people, but in those moments of realization I just have to remind myself what I have learned from my past experiences, and then I’m good. So dear reader, whoever you might be, I hope that these personal struggles of mine might be of some use to you, if you should ever find yourself seeking to become someone who is not entirely you. Just don’t do it. It’s not worth it at all. It might take a day or it might take a lifetime to realize, but faking something will never make you feel better or more accepted than the normal you would feel. And also, just to be clear, I have nothing against hipsters after all this. If you happen to dress like one or be in a group of hipster friends, that’s fine, just don’t let the allure of popularity turn you I to someone you’re not.

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And so, dear reader, I thank you for your time indulging in my silly little journey of self revelation. The odds are you're not an angsty teenager questioning your identity, but I hope at least that you found my piece moderately entertaining and reaffirming of the truths that you should never try to be someone you're not / to always make changes because of your own desired growth and not simply wanting to please others.