Let’s No Longer Make Love, Nor Listen To Death From Above: The Hipster’s Eulogy
April 4, 2011 - By KYLE FITZPATRICK - Category: Design & Internet & NewsbitsIt is only the beginning of April 2011 but a lot of things are changing in the world around us. For one, we are facing massive government transitions throughout the world, namely in Egypt and closely followed by Libya. We have already faced a massive natural disaster that has shaken one of the world’s densest countries. We’ve mourned the loss of Elizabeth Taylor, a violet Hollywood gem amongst the modern rubbish we now see at the multiplexes. A lot has already happened in this still young year. But, I feel one large cultural item has gone overlooked, an item that relates directly to urban twentysomethings.
This item is the death of the hipster and the associated culture as it is perceived to be. I’ve noticed it’s dissipation for years now, as you hear people everywhere–from Wal-Marts to vintage stores–call each other and deny accusations of being a hipster. Young preteens in the suburbs are wearing Toms shoes and the emblematic keffiyeh scarf. Moms and Dads are downloading music by artists like Cut Copy and Sufjan Stevens for free, texting and video chatting their kids for help on how to use
Hype Machine in order to find out other things to listen to. Names like Aaron Sorkin, Paul Giamatti, Natalie Portman, David Fincher, and Trent Fucking Reznor are among household names. A movie like Juno can sweep the hearts of a nation, on the wings of a silver screen ingenue by the name of Ellen Page, performing a role penned by a woman by the name of “Diablo Cody”.
It sounds both pretentious and preposterous, but like grunge in the nineties, the underground has gone mainstream. We can’t hide it anymore, as city dwellers visit their suburban towns during holidays to walk past Urban Outfitters in place of where Hot Topics once stood. This seems like an easy enough (and obvious) transition, but a few really tangible things have happened within the past three months of this year that has nailed the hammer into the cold, ironic, European cigarette smoking coffin of the hipster.
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