Dan Casto
In a conversation with a fellow writer about the recent acquisition by Facebook of Instagram, he deemed the app a service for “hipsterfying.” Interestingly enough, I had just come from a conversation with two hallmates about the overwhelming presence of hipsters or hipster culture in advertising — apparently these days, Honda CRVs symbolize a success only availed to flannel-flaunting, cardigan-clad, Bon Iver fans.
But here’s the thing: the hipsterdom we’ve all come to know, the archetype we’ve learned to love, or learned to love to hate, hardly bears any resemblance to the unattainable pretention which initially spawned its nomenclature, or characterized its ironically bashful foot-soldiers. While only a few years ago the skinny-jeaned bore the flags of this social nationality, those same vinyl vigilantes are at this very moment bearing the pall to the grave of their own movement.
Instagram’s takeover by Facebook is only one example of a trend in which all things “hipster” are being sublimated into and digested by the mainstream like vegan waffles to the collective stomach of not only Portland; but everywhere else as well.
It is no coincidence that hipsterdom and advertising, like that commercial, have become aligned. The two, in fact, are readily symbiotic. They both rely on the perpetuation of the aesthetic of the unattainable. Advertising makes us feel special for buying a certain product. hipsterdom, in the same economy of identity, makes us feel special for knowing certain things and acting certain ways. In this sense, the commodification of hipsterdom is no different than any other aesthetic of social identity, no other adoptable image (hippy, jock, stoner, etc.).
The problem here is that a key ingredient in this particular social outfit is its unattainability. The things that the mainstream has begun to digest and imitate — flannels and cardigans and Bon Iver — no longer count. Their digestion, their popular consumption, has undermined the Hipster cred that their consumers seek to embody. Flannels? Ubiquitous. Cardigans? Go to H&M. Bon Iver? Pssssshhhhh.
Furthermore, as this popular consumption takes place, that all-important unattainability is also imitated. “Oh my god, sorry I’m being such a hipster,” is a phrase that shouldn’t sound uncommon. The problem here is that because hipsterdom has come to be commoditized and digested, because it wins Grammys and gets sold at malls, its embodiment, no matter how spot on it appears, is no longer valid. “Sorry I’m being such a hipster” will always ring false, as the people apologizing for their hipsterdom aren’t apologizing so much as they are surreptitiously staking claim to that particular identity, and marking themselves as “fakers” in the process.
So let’s get this straight. Let’s call it like it is. Those things that the mainstream has adopted as evidence towards its hipster cred — flannels and cardigans and Bon Iver (and apparently Honda CRVs) — don’t count anymore. Nobody has to apologize for them. The real hipsters are running from them anyway, or at least should be if they plan on remaining inimitable; because that’s what makes them hip — not Bon Iver — and please, save your reservoir tips for your prophylactics, not your beanies.
Dan Casto is a contributor to the Voice and can be reached for comment at DCasto12@wooster.edu