I imagine being a hipster requires the most purposeful effortlessness imaginable. A little swoosh of the bangs here (hold on, let me grab my hairspray and bobby pins, aaand perfect), a little toss of the scarf there (ooo but, that's not right, it should be tucked in righhht thhhere) and a soft, old beanie sitting just right (but not too right, because that would look like I put it there on purpose, and I didn't!)
In my time in Madison, my exposure to this quirky, vintage-inspired fashion trend has increased greatly. In walking to class or grabbing a coffee off campus, one sees countless hipsters milling about in the mainstream world.
I would like to say that I dabble in hipster couture. Neighboring dozens of items of Badger gear in my dresser drawers and closet are a great many Urban Outfitters' sale items just waiting to be worn confidently on the indie-teeming streets of Madison.
I have added to my image over the past few years with cheap, plastic cameras (thank you, Lomography), partaking in the occasional PBR, buying huge, turquoise, noise-cancelling headphones and trying to get over to that fair trade coffee shop oh, maybe, every other month or two (uncomfortable imaginary collar tug). What can I say? It is pretty far down on State Street.
To further increase my chances of being identified as a hipster by a stranger (also to satisfy my need to get to class faster) I purchased a rusty, yellow Schwinn World Sport road bike for a mere $25. Soon, I was cruising in style: messenger bag slung over my shoulder, a half smug, half self-conscious smirk on my face and hundreds of revving mopeds around me not giving any shits.
Reality sinks in. If I want to be recognized as a potential hipster, I've got to do something drastic, but not something so drastic that it would be noticeable. I have to be drastically subtle... or subtly drastic. I don't know. I can't keep it straight, and there is no user's manual for this sort of thing.
Unfortunately nothing comes to mind. Instead, I continue to live out my life as a hipster hopeful; perhaps a hybrid, with synergy existing between trying really hard to make it look easy and buying Glamour's nail polish color of the week (it's a win-win). Plus, I endlessly add vintage-style pieces to my collection of clothes and accessories while still enjoying shopping at Forever 21.
But it is not so bad, really. I still try to make eye contact with the hipster bros on State Street, but I can never tell if they are gazing respectfully back at me as a near equal or if it is some weird reflection in the non-prescription lens of their horn-rimmed glasses.
Although I prefer lounging in yoga pants and a sweatshirt over a 1960s kimono robe and "vintage" lingerie stolen out of some poor grandma's dresser drawer, I still have massive respect for the hipster folk out there, men and women alike. I understand it is more than a label and more than the clothes you wear, but oh is it fun to dress up in tights and some resale Oxford heels every once in a while.
Have hipster advice for Emily? Share is at elindeman@wisc.edu.
