A few weeks ago my friend Zac and I were talking about what hipsters were, what they’ve become, and how I’m probably never going to be one. Bottom line – I don’t really understand it. Zac is a hipster, but of the authentic not purchased-on-St.-Mark’s variety, so I asked him to write us a little ditty about the meaning behind the moniker.

On Hipsterdom: What It Is, Why It Exists, and Why I Can’t Help But Be One

by Zachary Wilson
“Hipster” is a term I once despised. Everything about it: the word, the people, the god damn irony. But as I’ve been growing younger over this last half year, I’ve started to embrace my own hipsterdom, and I’ve started looking for it in others who surround me.

There’s almost no way the creative subclass of our generation that has become Hipsters could have avoided it. Everything we subconsciously stand for—embracing the classics, paying tribute to the past, irony in all forms, taking life too seriously in a completely non-serious way (or is it the other way around?), free ideas, a taking-over-the-world attitude—was instilled in us from birth. Here, I’ll use myself as a typical 20-something American hipster and you’ll see what I mean.

Growing up, I was in the gifted program at school, which told me I was better than “average” and grouped me with other “above-average” kids like myself. I was encouraged, both at home and at school, to try everything that interested me and to always strive for to be creative. My parents, classic baby boomers, grew up with disconnected parents who had survived World War II, and they wanted to be the opposite: embracing, nurturing, loving, encouraging. As such, they always welcome me home, they understand that I have dreams unlike their own, that I’m restless, and they encourage me to pursue everything I can. They always told me I could be anything I wanted if I set my mind to it, and I still think that now. Which explains why I hate holding a job more than six months, why I hate going into an office, having a boss to be responsible to, sticking to a schedule. If it doesn’t “feel” right to me, it must not be right, and according to my parents it’s my birthright to be happy at all times.

I grew up on the Spice Girls, on Britney Spears, on the Power Rangers, the Ninja Turtles, on Ren & Stimpy and Rocko’s Modern Life, Pete and Pete, Clarissa Explains It All. Every single one of these things is completely ironic, so how can I not be? They shaped my sense of humor. I love paying homage to the past, where authentic art and music still reined, because when I was at my most impressionable age, the “realest” thing around was Jimmy Eat World. And where my parents want everything new—a brand new house, a brand new car, brand new clothes—I need authenticity. I want vintage. I want to live in a “real” neighborhood in a “real” building, not a brand new high-rise in the middle of Times Square. (However, I do want my “authentic” place to have a nice shower, good plumbing, AC, a dishwasher, etc.—you know, the little things.)
Hipsters are stuck in this weird in-between world—we’re used to the comforts of the American Dream, but we want to carve our own anti-American Dream, which in turn is just another version of the classic American Dream. It’s not the freezer meals and suburban subdivisions of our childhood, but it’s organic vegetables grown in our gardens out back and houses with what we call “character,” which is more of a feeling than a look.

We want to feel this connection to the past, but in the Internet age what we’re really feeling is the connection to each other. We’re more socially active than anyone has every been—who goes more than half an hour without chatting, Facebooking, or texting a friend when their not asleep? We need to feel like we’re right there, connected to everything. Want the past? Pull up Patti Smith on your iPod. Need comfort? Tweet at a friend. We don’t like being alone, and we never have to be.

We don’t just drive on the Information Superhighway, we built our house on it. (Actually, we bought an old house and renovated it, but same difference.) We have the ability to be obsessed with and completely consumed by something one week, then on to the next thing the next week. As such, we’re mini-experts on everything and actual experts on nothing, filled with random bits of trivia that we’re sure one day will add up to a way to make money.

We’re the first generation expected to make less money than our parents, and the first expected to live shorter lives. We lack the loyalty that our parents had to one company. We don’t respect the corporate ladder, we don’t respect bosses because we often think they’re “below us” intellectually. But we do respect creative thought, and when we recognize someone as impressive, as a role model or hero, we’re with them for life.

We’re extremely self-aware. We analyze every action, every feeling, every thought. Want to be a writer? Get a blog. A photographer? Get a camera. Want to be an actor? Put something on. We reject the traditional methods and pathways of creation because we were taught that we can just do it ourselves.

Americans today consume more than ever and create more than ever. But how much of it is valuable? Not much. And that’s the main problem with our generation. Technology makes it easier to create than it’s ever been, but it also makes it so much easier to just be a lazy consumer. It’s easy to get jaded, to not think, to just live day-to-day.

But we’re capable of so much more than that. We have access, we have information, we have technology, we have a weird worldliness; but most importantly, we have each other. We are each others’ greatest resources, greatest sources of creativity and inspiration, of collaboration. It’s so difficult to break down the barriers and get to know someone new—we all grew up thinking we’re the greatest thing that’s ever lived—but once we do, we find something incredible and unique not only in each other, but in the connection between us.

And in the end, that’s what hipsterdom is about. It’s connected creativity. Connection to each other; to the past, the future; to our heroes, our icons, our parents; to art and expression in all forms. Yeah, we’re annoying, pretentious, pretty ridiculous. But we know this about ourselves and we embrace it.

So should you. Because there have been creative classes called hippies and beatniks, there have been movements called Grunge and Rock ‘n’ Roll. Now there’s us, Hipsters, and over the next decade we will determine how the cultural 20-teens will be defined.

It’s a big—no, epic (one of our favorite words)—responsibility. But our moms and dads tell us we can be awesome at anything anything. And we intend to be.