I don't know if you already know the site, Unhappy Hipsters – it may be that I am the last person on the planet to catch on to this – but either way, I have to tell you, it spoke to me. Not least because it takes on something with which I have a deeply complicated relationship: the idea of the hipster parent.
I used to sorta half-way identify as hipster, although I didn't exactly identify it as hipster – more as an urban intellectual with a penchant for McSweeney's, vintage clothing, modernist anything and Super-8 cameras, which is to say, hipster. And I always figured that once I became a parent, I would continue in this cultural vein, decorating the nursery with slick Swedish furniture and toting my baby to gallery openings in slings made from deconstructed Pucci sundresses. Which I totally didn't do. I popped out those babies and moved out of the city and into yoga pants before I could even ask, whither Stokke?
So I really love Unhappy Hipsters, because it reassures me that I am totally better off in my yoga pants.
You can come out when you can properly explain the differences between Modernist architecture and postmodern ornamentation.
Although I do totally insist that my kids understand the difference between structuralism, modernism and post-modernism. That's just good parenting.
source: Unhappy Hipsters
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