I got a drink with a couple of friends tonight at the Spider House, a mildly-to-highly irritating Austin institution that serves as coffeeshop, restaurant, bar and hipster spawning ground in roughly equal measures. While trying to quietly get through my drink order (double espresso; Campari and soda), my line of sight was befouled by a pair of hipsters in pea coats, floppy haircuts, super-tight pants and extreme winklepicker shoes. And that’s when I made a terrible realization: hipsters, having exhausted the sartorial possibilities of the ’80s and ’70s, are turning into mods. The time to invest in Vespa is now – and that’s the only stock tip you’ll ever get around here.
But what truly frightens me is the possibility that once the hipsterati have, in their time-honored way, chewed up scooters, thin ties, and ska and spit them back out for the proles at Urban Outfitters and American Apparel, they will take the logical step backward in time, embrace the beat movement, and start pretending to like Charlie Parker. That is not okay with me. I love jazz. It is far too excellent to become 2009’s James Taylor mustache.
The only bright side, of course, is that eventually they’ll move on to swing dancing and ironic appreciations of Glenn Miller, and then I won’t have to care anymore.