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Showing posts with label hipsters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hipsters. Show all posts
Monday, 3 June 2013
Saturday, 6 April 2013
The Hipster Wiki
Sometimes you get into a groove. There's a kind of magic about your mood that acts like a catalyst. It ignites in you a spark of inspiration, not matter how small or remotely related to you as a person. The Joe-Anybody burns in the hue of Paul Auster, if only for a minute. Jane-Somebody becomes Jane Austen. You are hooked in the mystery or the wonder of everyday life. Or you hate it.
I went on a while ago about hipsters and hipster fashion. I've gone on about the advances and denigrations of technology. Then I forgot about them. That is, I stopped thinking about these two separate units of discussion. Recently, I put them together, both, in my life and in the world around me.
Maybe it's so obvious that no one notices, or that you don't need to notice it's so obvious. Hipsters--children of the nineties--lived and live in a world of recollection. We spent the nineties resurrecting the past. Flairs. Side burns. Flannel. Swing. We lived in a time of relative peace for the West. We lived in a time where we were not aware of just how bad things really were. It was great! We were kids then. In some ways, we still are. And we've carried that retrospective onward into the 21st century.
A young man of twenty-five (Me) wore a handlebar mustache. I've met girls that looked like they fell into a portal at Woodstock and ended up in my present. Kids wear fedoras without any real reason, except that Sinatra did, and he was cool as cool can be.
But why do we do this? I stand by my first argument: The hipster does as a defense, in some respects. Living ironically in a time where there isn't much to stand for. My grandfather stood with his country. My father could at least stand with the opposition. But what does Gen-X and the Millennial stand for. Nothing. Sure we have our movements--Occupy, Koney, Right to Life (another one stolen for the past) Women's Rights (Same past, different side) Civil Rights (Hangover) But none of it really galvanizes the nation. It doesn't unite a generation. It's just noise to shake up the work week, and give NPR something to report.
We did have 2008 when we got Obama in office. That was something, but look where we are now. On the fence. Undecided. Is he the best or the worst. Is he a fascist or the savior of democracy. No one knows. Probably, like us, he is just somewhere in between.
But that is an argument for another day. The question is, "How?"
This is when I realized that I have forgotten to give my dues. Never did the thought occur to ask just how is it that we can be a pastiche of some many pasts? How is it that we could draw from so many sources. The same thing that ruined us, in some respects and spoiled us in others, gave us the greatest tool. We are able to reference the past at any moment.
You are doing it right now. As I write, it is the early morning. I am sitting on a couch with a laptop on my right thigh and my Lettera typewriters next to me. Underneath the couch is a Royal Tab-O-Matic that I recently stopped using. But when you read this, my moment will be lost. It will have past. I will be somewhere else. But you will still be here, in the past, with me--or your memory of me.
The hipster has that same ability. Through use of the internet--the endless Wikis and Google searches--she or he can dig up the style of Oscar Wilde or Rock Hudson. Learn their mannerisms through the streaming movies online. Their style is one image away.
It is amazing. After all, could you imagine crafting an image out of a past you could not recall? Where would we start if we did not have the internet? Dewy Decimal System at the local library, I suppose; I doubt that it would work though. Surely, it would be too much.
Even when I used the DDS, I didn't understand it. I can only imagine that my experience is shared.
So we have this gift unique to us. And it is a gift. Let no one tell you different.
I amend my old argument. Yes, I still think that in some capacity ironic living is a defense mechanism. I also believe this, also. The Hipster does it because the Hipster can.
What now? What do we do with it?
What do you think? My answer--my opinion--is for another day.
That is all from Elliott at the Kitchen Table. I'm off to bed.
I went on a while ago about hipsters and hipster fashion. I've gone on about the advances and denigrations of technology. Then I forgot about them. That is, I stopped thinking about these two separate units of discussion. Recently, I put them together, both, in my life and in the world around me.
Maybe it's so obvious that no one notices, or that you don't need to notice it's so obvious. Hipsters--children of the nineties--lived and live in a world of recollection. We spent the nineties resurrecting the past. Flairs. Side burns. Flannel. Swing. We lived in a time of relative peace for the West. We lived in a time where we were not aware of just how bad things really were. It was great! We were kids then. In some ways, we still are. And we've carried that retrospective onward into the 21st century.
A young man of twenty-five (Me) wore a handlebar mustache. I've met girls that looked like they fell into a portal at Woodstock and ended up in my present. Kids wear fedoras without any real reason, except that Sinatra did, and he was cool as cool can be.
But why do we do this? I stand by my first argument: The hipster does as a defense, in some respects. Living ironically in a time where there isn't much to stand for. My grandfather stood with his country. My father could at least stand with the opposition. But what does Gen-X and the Millennial stand for. Nothing. Sure we have our movements--Occupy, Koney, Right to Life (another one stolen for the past) Women's Rights (Same past, different side) Civil Rights (Hangover) But none of it really galvanizes the nation. It doesn't unite a generation. It's just noise to shake up the work week, and give NPR something to report.
We did have 2008 when we got Obama in office. That was something, but look where we are now. On the fence. Undecided. Is he the best or the worst. Is he a fascist or the savior of democracy. No one knows. Probably, like us, he is just somewhere in between.
But that is an argument for another day. The question is, "How?"
This is when I realized that I have forgotten to give my dues. Never did the thought occur to ask just how is it that we can be a pastiche of some many pasts? How is it that we could draw from so many sources. The same thing that ruined us, in some respects and spoiled us in others, gave us the greatest tool. We are able to reference the past at any moment.
You are doing it right now. As I write, it is the early morning. I am sitting on a couch with a laptop on my right thigh and my Lettera typewriters next to me. Underneath the couch is a Royal Tab-O-Matic that I recently stopped using. But when you read this, my moment will be lost. It will have past. I will be somewhere else. But you will still be here, in the past, with me--or your memory of me.
The hipster has that same ability. Through use of the internet--the endless Wikis and Google searches--she or he can dig up the style of Oscar Wilde or Rock Hudson. Learn their mannerisms through the streaming movies online. Their style is one image away.
It is amazing. After all, could you imagine crafting an image out of a past you could not recall? Where would we start if we did not have the internet? Dewy Decimal System at the local library, I suppose; I doubt that it would work though. Surely, it would be too much.
Even when I used the DDS, I didn't understand it. I can only imagine that my experience is shared.
So we have this gift unique to us. And it is a gift. Let no one tell you different.
I amend my old argument. Yes, I still think that in some capacity ironic living is a defense mechanism. I also believe this, also. The Hipster does it because the Hipster can.
What now? What do we do with it?
What do you think? My answer--my opinion--is for another day.
That is all from Elliott at the Kitchen Table. I'm off to bed.
Monday, 7 January 2013
Hipster: Part Two
Last time I defended myself against the Hipster; now I shall defend the hipster and "ironic" living.
Every generation has had its placebo in order to drag itself from youth to middle age; in most cases, there was more than one. For instance, my father's generation was that of the Hippie, the Beat Nick, and the Anarchist--all of those not being necessarily exclusive. It was how you cope with the disillusionment of realising that your country is not the moral powerhouse that it was in the forties. When that curtain was dropped--right around the start of the Korean War--the youth of this nation began to turn away from the quaint, Christian moralising that had so well permeated the population for nearly two centuries.
Disclaimer: I am not trying to paint over any flaws, idiosyncrasies, or hypocrisies that existed in this nation. I am simply saying that--more than less--this nation was two parts constitution and three parts Bible since 1776, even if our founders and framers may not have been. Not exclusively anyway.
Back to it--in light of this revelation, the youth of my father's day took to drugs, sex, and rock and roll in a way to break down the social parameters that had been placed on them--making it okay to say, "Make Love Not War" and "Power to the People." It was very much the same way that his father's generation threw off the anachronistic ideals of workers' rights, Unionization, and Anti-Monopoly policy that had made it possible for giants like J.P Morgan, Andrew Carnegie, Vanderbilt, and others to make giant, money raking companies that could generate so much wealth at the expense of the health and safety of those at the bottom.
For the millennials, the new coping mechanism is irony, and--much like Love and Drugs--we do not fully understand it, or its ramifications on our lives. Luckily, it does not have the long term physical effects of LSD, but irony--or rather constant ironic living--does, like any mask worn too long, have an affect nonetheless. Socially it affects you. I alters your own view into one of apathy, which--like those of the 70s, who tried to drink and drug themselves into cheer--makes for a much bleaker outlook on the world. And--it cannot be denial--so called ironic gifts are the worst sort of White Elephant idea ever! Just don't go to the party or skip out on your own name. You would be doing the world a favour.
However, I do not dislike ironic living, because--like I said--it is a means of coping with the stresses of this world as this generation makes its transition into adulthood, where we might very well forget all about our hipster past. And that is fine. Look back on these days and laugh, because--of all our coping mechanisms--laughter is still the cure-all that, though it is safe and free, is seldom used.
My last disclaimer: I do not mean to try and trivialize the strife of the past. Certainly, the long fought war for worker rights was one of such singular importance...Hippies? Sorry. You don't make that cut. But, in our time, the great struggles have increasingly gone to the arena of the mind. We think things out in ways that we could not before. Mostly, this is due to the physical fights being already fought years ago. Honestly, I prefer it that way. We shouldn't have to refight for healthcare just because, "Dammit! My Gran-Pappy did!" We should build on it, and whatever we accomplish should not be devalued because someone was fighting for something in a different way before us. To every generation, there are new challenges. Romanticizing the past only serves to distract. It is subterfuge. Avoid it at all cost.
Every generation has had its placebo in order to drag itself from youth to middle age; in most cases, there was more than one. For instance, my father's generation was that of the Hippie, the Beat Nick, and the Anarchist--all of those not being necessarily exclusive. It was how you cope with the disillusionment of realising that your country is not the moral powerhouse that it was in the forties. When that curtain was dropped--right around the start of the Korean War--the youth of this nation began to turn away from the quaint, Christian moralising that had so well permeated the population for nearly two centuries.
Disclaimer: I am not trying to paint over any flaws, idiosyncrasies, or hypocrisies that existed in this nation. I am simply saying that--more than less--this nation was two parts constitution and three parts Bible since 1776, even if our founders and framers may not have been. Not exclusively anyway.
Back to it--in light of this revelation, the youth of my father's day took to drugs, sex, and rock and roll in a way to break down the social parameters that had been placed on them--making it okay to say, "Make Love Not War" and "Power to the People." It was very much the same way that his father's generation threw off the anachronistic ideals of workers' rights, Unionization, and Anti-Monopoly policy that had made it possible for giants like J.P Morgan, Andrew Carnegie, Vanderbilt, and others to make giant, money raking companies that could generate so much wealth at the expense of the health and safety of those at the bottom.
For the millennials, the new coping mechanism is irony, and--much like Love and Drugs--we do not fully understand it, or its ramifications on our lives. Luckily, it does not have the long term physical effects of LSD, but irony--or rather constant ironic living--does, like any mask worn too long, have an affect nonetheless. Socially it affects you. I alters your own view into one of apathy, which--like those of the 70s, who tried to drink and drug themselves into cheer--makes for a much bleaker outlook on the world. And--it cannot be denial--so called ironic gifts are the worst sort of White Elephant idea ever! Just don't go to the party or skip out on your own name. You would be doing the world a favour.
However, I do not dislike ironic living, because--like I said--it is a means of coping with the stresses of this world as this generation makes its transition into adulthood, where we might very well forget all about our hipster past. And that is fine. Look back on these days and laugh, because--of all our coping mechanisms--laughter is still the cure-all that, though it is safe and free, is seldom used.
My last disclaimer: I do not mean to try and trivialize the strife of the past. Certainly, the long fought war for worker rights was one of such singular importance...Hippies? Sorry. You don't make that cut. But, in our time, the great struggles have increasingly gone to the arena of the mind. We think things out in ways that we could not before. Mostly, this is due to the physical fights being already fought years ago. Honestly, I prefer it that way. We shouldn't have to refight for healthcare just because, "Dammit! My Gran-Pappy did!" We should build on it, and whatever we accomplish should not be devalued because someone was fighting for something in a different way before us. To every generation, there are new challenges. Romanticizing the past only serves to distract. It is subterfuge. Avoid it at all cost.
Saturday, 5 January 2013
Hipster
I'm not old. Or, at least, I don't think I am. Yet, when I started hearing the word "hipster" stuck on me about two years ago, I will admit to being confounded. That is until I found out what the word hipster meant.
Somewhere in my college years, when I had little to no real access to the internet, news, and most other forms of information dissemination, I had accidentally ebayed and dressed myself into a movement. My glasses are 1970's chic, as are most of my clothes. I love old things (you might have noticed when I dedicated two posts to typewriters) and, in fact, see these vintage pieces of tech as superior to the delicate, finicky, and O so willing to be outmoded devices we have today.
I, however, am not a hipster.
A hipster--as I have come to learn--needs to go into this gig with an almost ludicrous amount of self-awareness. A hipster says, "Man, the 70's seemed like such a cooler time to be in, therefore I shall replicate it." Hipsters buy typewriters to be noticed--one internet blurb said it all. And hipsters do this knowing full well just how--well, I am hesitant to say--silly? or maybe just preposterous the endeavor is.
Me? I just fell into it. I found a typewriter at a resale shop, and said, "How cool! I want another." And a collector was born. My clothes were bought for me by others--Christmas gifts, birthdays, etc--and it was them saying, "You would look so good in this." And my glasses? That is the best story of all. They were put on my face by a pregnant woman working at the clinic. "I," she said, "have only sold maybe one pair of these. You have the face for them." Reluctantly, I bought them; you don't say know to pregnant girls. That's just a rule of life.
"So what?" you say. "You're still a hipster."
I am not. And I will explain why next time in part two: IRONY.
Somewhere in my college years, when I had little to no real access to the internet, news, and most other forms of information dissemination, I had accidentally ebayed and dressed myself into a movement. My glasses are 1970's chic, as are most of my clothes. I love old things (you might have noticed when I dedicated two posts to typewriters) and, in fact, see these vintage pieces of tech as superior to the delicate, finicky, and O so willing to be outmoded devices we have today.
I, however, am not a hipster.
A hipster--as I have come to learn--needs to go into this gig with an almost ludicrous amount of self-awareness. A hipster says, "Man, the 70's seemed like such a cooler time to be in, therefore I shall replicate it." Hipsters buy typewriters to be noticed--one internet blurb said it all. And hipsters do this knowing full well just how--well, I am hesitant to say--silly? or maybe just preposterous the endeavor is.
Me? I just fell into it. I found a typewriter at a resale shop, and said, "How cool! I want another." And a collector was born. My clothes were bought for me by others--Christmas gifts, birthdays, etc--and it was them saying, "You would look so good in this." And my glasses? That is the best story of all. They were put on my face by a pregnant woman working at the clinic. "I," she said, "have only sold maybe one pair of these. You have the face for them." Reluctantly, I bought them; you don't say know to pregnant girls. That's just a rule of life.
"So what?" you say. "You're still a hipster."
I am not. And I will explain why next time in part two: IRONY.
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