Having read and thought about Rhodri Marsden’s excellent essay on Hipsters in the Independent, I’ve decided to soften.
Being a Hipster for many seems to be, in a way, about the careful and considered decoration of mediocrity (of which I am often ‘guilty’). It is also about small acts of assertion of individuality.
In a world that is rapidly becoming ‘homopholised’ (becoming pretty much the same wherever you go), this is no bad thing.
Quality of life, if transcribed as a formula, is perception minus reality.
I suppose being a Hipster is about asserting the ‘betterness’ of the everyday – which is all about that gap between perception and reality.
My local coffee shop in Fleet Street (The Fleet Street Press) puts a board up each day to describe the day’s roast. Here’s one from last week. “Notes: Milk Chocolate, Poached Pear, Toffee”, etc.
At first glance, they’re a shoe-in for Pseud’s Corner in Private Eye. And yet, and implausible though the idea of pineapple and grapefruit notes are in a cup of coffee, the funnier thing is the coffee tasted better after I’d read it. QED, I guess.