Defining the Paradox

During my sophomore year of high school in Portland, Ore., a strange phenomenon took place. Jeans grew tighter, glasses thicker, t-shirts more ironic. Mason jars became the beverage containers de rigueur, and girls and boys alike eschewed shiny blond tresses for unisex haircuts that exuded a deliberately rakish air. “They’re called hipsters,” my sister explained to me. I shrugged, expecting the trend to fizzle out like the rare Oregon sunshine. Instead, it only spread. Those unsavvy to the ways of the thrift store went to Urban Outfitters and bought “vintage” and “distressed” clothing for hundreds of dollars, aspiring to the tastefully retro hipster aesthetic. The entire endeavor was steeped in irony: The intense effort involved in looking effortless, the renunciation of mainstream consumerism (in favor of another, more trendy type of consumerism) and the refusal, at all costs, to admit to being a hipster caused me to view the entire culture as a sort of enigma.

From an anthropological perspective, hipster culture is interesting, not only because of its idiosyncrasies but also because of its utility in the quest to understand how so-called “alternative” cultures define themselves in relation to the mainstream. This is an especially complicated question, since very few hipsters will admit to being members of the movement. I call this the hipster paradox: While the hipster culture defines itself as alternative, this definition rests upon the flimsy principle of being the “anti-mainstream.” Ultimately, this means that the definition of hipster is still dependent upon the mainstream that hipster culture seeks to supersede. Classifying hipsters into a distinct social group becomes especially complicated when one considers the fact that hipster culture is now seen as a subset of the mainstream instead of its antithesis. Gone are the days when thick glasses and year-round flannels were seen as edgy. These trends have been adopted by major retailers such as Forever 21, Nordstrom, and even JCPenney, all seeking to capitalize on the hipster aesthetic. In a Guardian article on this very topic, trend forecaster Chris Sanderson says that the “idea of the hipster has been swallowed by the mainstream.” He elaborates: "The hipster died the minute we called him a hipster. The word no longer had the same meaning."

The so-called division between mainstream and “hipster” becomes even more troubling when one considers the hipster trope of “before it was cool.” As in “I used to drink cold brewed coffee before it was cool” or “I listened to X band before they were cool.” This implies that one major aspect of hipster culture is adopting trends before they enter the mainstream; however, to simply say that hipster culture is “pre-mainstream” is to ignore many of the questions that make this specific culture so interesting. Why, for example, are old things seen as better and more authentic? What is the definition of authenticity? Why will no one claim the term hipster? Why is it that certain cities become centers of hipster culture while others do not? Is it possible to find an aesthetic philosophy, mainstream or otherwise, that exists beyond consumerism? And why will no one admit that the “effortless” aesthetic is actually the most effort-intensive?

Analyzing the contradictions of hipster culture is much deeper than figuring out why vinyl records have experienced such a resurgence. In a world where “culture” was the 2014 Merriam Webster most searched word of the year, the social divisions that we inherit and create are especially relevant. Because of increasing globalization and the the growth of corporations, more people can listen to the same songs and wear the same clothes. As our culture becomes more uniform, we are forced to search for new sources of distinction. By using hipster culture as a case study for the process of distinguishing oneself from the mainstream, we can better define the changing place of culture and individuality in our modern world.