With apologies to anyone who’s been giving up their weekends to grow a turmeric beard or bang up a palette cot for their newborn… the hipster movement is over. The slow cooked meat, eating your eggs from a breadboard and macraméing your pubic hair into a stubby holder for your craft beer era is over. Thank you. You’ve given me more than you know. Not just endless jokes at your expense, but damn it if you don’t run a fine cafe. You made flannelette shirts so expensive, farmers had to start wearing hi vis instead. I would like to thank you for really improving the general appearance of chinless men, and for making my tattoo-free body something unique. You see, clean skin is the new tattoo – I’m now graphically deviant. Years from now, young people will gasp at the shocking sight of my un-inked arms. They’ll recoil muttering ‘how disgusting.’ They’ll know I was an old lady with a story.
The hipster trend has been at peak zietgeist for well over a decade. It’s clearly time for a new trend. Who decides? The young. They decide. They have always decided. As soon as old people start adopting your trend, it’s dead in the water. I don’t really do trends anymore – it’s too much effort, and I’m too worried I’ll look like a try-hard.
Unfortunately, being a try-hard has never been on-trend, otherwise Christians would be cool. There was a time however when I was a shameless trend follower. Trends are usually about fashion, music, haircuts and lifestyle choices. It’s never just fashion alone. My first major trend adoption was a three week attempt at being ‘punk’. This involved buying lace-up black boots and hand drawing an Anarchy sign on them, dying my hair black and shaving the sides and wearing lots of eyeliner. I joined an Anarchist group who met at a place called Annares; named after the planet in Ursula Le Guin’s Hainish Cycle, which was settled by Odionian separatists in exile from its double planet Urras. This ambiguous utopia was populated by surly-faced Brisbane punks, who knew a Queensland Summer was too hot to wear rubber, but pushed on. Makeup sweated off faster than you could apply it. I also did the typesetting for an anarchist publication – the only article I remember was about why it was our duty to shoplift to bring down capitalism. I could overthrow David Jones one stolen g-string at a time but I lost interest… well, I got caught subverting the dominant paradigm.
So I tried being a mod. This meant having to watch Quadrophenia and relate to angst-ridden postal workers – hence the Vespa. Girls sat on the back. Mod boys were too small to contend with a girl like me. When I sat on the back, the front wheel no longer touched the street. So I became a grunge-swampy-feminist. A Goth. It involved growing armpit and leg hair and telling everyone to get fucked. I was a natural. Except, staying pale was a problem because I have naturally olive skin. Oh how I longed for the pallid complexion of the unwell. I learnt how to dance in a lurching backwards forwards motion, and I got to listen to Nick Cave, which I actually liked, and a whole bunch of bands I used to pretend to like. I secretly loved Bruce Springsteen. Trends are exhausting and have this cult-like effect of curating your hair, your mind and your mix tape. So what’s post-hipster? Urban creatives? (Yuccies) Cutesters? They’re adults who dress like little kids wearing beanies and teddy backpacks. What about Normcore? That’s mum jeans and slippers, and unfashionable outdated bumbags and pyjamas. Hang on… I still wear that shit…
I have a trend prediction. I’ve seen a lot of young people in mullets. I have to admit they look good. Old people in mullets look like they’re on parole, young people look like they’re on a Paris catwalk. It’s soft bogan. Bogan Goth. Eco-Bogans. What do you think? What is your trend prediction for 2020?