The Accidental Hipster

I think I have become an accidental hipster.

I can't imagine how this assumption has come about.

I mean, how could anyone ever call me a hipster?

Okay, so this isn't actually how I dress/act. It was Halloween. On this night, I was an intentional hipster.

The irony (hipsters are all about irony, right?) is that being an intentional hipster completely defeats the essence of being a hipster. I'm pretty sure that trying to be a hipster is a big no no. So coming up with a costume, deliberately trying to hipsterize myself, was pretty darn complicated. To the untrained eye, we may look the part. But I'm sure a hipster (who wouldn't admit to being one anyway) would have plenty to critique about our ensembles. Or maybe a hipster, who doesn't think that they themselves are a hipster, would call us out for being hipsters and make fun of us for it?

Yeesh. Hipsters are complicated.

But have I (allegedly) become one of them?

Don't judge a rare leather bound book by its cover, okay?

This is going to be like a create your own ending novel. I suggest you stick around.

Okay, so here's how I think this all went down:

I've always liked the way my face looked in glasses. I once faked failing one of those eye exams in the auditorium in second grade so that I would be sent to the eye doctor. It wasn't until we were sitting in the waiting room at his office that I 'fessed up to my mom. She insisted that I go through the joys of a real eye exam since we had already made the drive. Good call, mom.

But then senior year of high school came around and my eyes made a rapid descent. I still think this may have been due to my illness and all of the medications I had recently started, but that is neither here nor there. Either way, glasses became necessary.

It wasn't until about five years later when eyeglasses started getting a little bit bigger that I waded into hipster-in-training waters.

I have a big face and I could pull them off, so I decided to go for it. And at the risk of succumbing to a major hipster stereotype right now, I'd still like to state for the record that I had these glasses before anyone I know.

The scarf isn't helping, is it?

I also happen to have a dad with great and varied taste in music. I grew up listening to the likes of Bob Dylan, U2, Simon & Garfunkel, Weezer, and old Santana. My dad is also known for discovering artists long before anyone else (maybe hispterism is a genetic trait?).

Dad has spent countless late nights at concerts, many of them for up and coming musicians.

I also need to mention that my dad is an artist. He sketches any time, anywhere. 

He sketched constantly at Bottlerock Music Festival. His work caught the eye of many concert goers.
I can only imagine how rad his sketches were to those under the festival "influence".

My dad has tons of books full of sketches and has developed a following at the places he frequents. We hear he has even gained quite a lot of social media attention.

He has only done a few sketches of me. Many have an unmistakable hipster air about them.

My dad has also developed an obsession with documentaries and film festivals. Two years ago we started the Spencer Family Film Festival. We invite over a group of friends, provide all the movie goodies, and screen our favorites from the year. 

This year we had a make-your-own-street-art station. So hip.

Dad's idea, of course.

I'm in charge of decorations. I go big and I love every second of it.

I'm not sure that hipsters love party planning.

Which brings me to this: a little game of Hip or Not Hip

I once had a group of drunk men yell "HIPSTER" at me at one of Aaron's baseball games. I was more surprised than offended. Some of my good friends have referred to my style as "hipster" on occasion (this isn't saying much as those same friends also consider my style preppy, girly, edgy, comfy, elegant, or earthy on all other occasions). I'm still not so sure where I fall on the Richter scale of hip. I'll let you decide for yourself as I provide you with as much evidence as possible to make an informed decision. 

Here we go:

A few years back, I was all about the Hipstamatic app.

Only a closed mouth smile felt appropriate.
Hip.

But then we just messed around and used it to take ridiculous pictures like this.

Jazz hands and smiles covered in rainbow?
Not hip.

I've become a frequent flyer in the Pacific Northwest. I fell in love with Portland and have been three times in the past year. I find more to love each time I visit.

I take lots of pictures like this while there. So hip.

While looking on Yelp for tasty places to try in Portland, I found the Waffle Window and actually cried when I saw that there were delicious waffles smothered in fresh berries being served up out of a little teal door. When we went, I made my own mark on their outdoor picnic table.

Hipsters would never quote Portlandia. Not hip.
Nor would they cry about The Waffle Window. NOT HIP.

I hung out at the Buena Vista in San Francisco which is famous for their Irish Coffee. It may be frequented by tourists, but it is still a great place.

Morning drinks being made by a seasoned man in a white suit?
Touristy hip.

I can't drink because of my pancreatitis, but I like to have a tiny taste of whatever Aaron orders. I was prepared to love my little taste of Irish Coffee and thought I'd have to lament about being unable to drink one.

Yup. I obviously loved it.
I loved it so much that my face contorted in disgust wonder for a good 30 seconds.
Not hip, Katie. Not hip at all.

Speaking of tasty things, let's talk treats. Last year I started going to free taste testings at the warehouse space for the now wildly popular Sidecar Doughnuts.

While there, I took pictures like this. I think we all know what this is: Hip.

I love cupcakes. Any treats will do, really, but I'll use any excuse to go to The Perfect Circle Cupcakery. St. Patrick's day was a perfect reason to celebrate. With cupcakes. And a tiny hat. 

A bowler hat is hip. A tiny, green bowler hat worn without irony? Not hip.

I enjoy all holidays. The political scientist in me actually considers Election Day a holiday.

No teeth smile and a filter to highlight my love for America?
So hip it hurts. Ow.

Speaking of holidays...

CHRISTMAS!!!

In a pirate hat on dad's company's yacht in the Newport Beach Christmas Boat Parade.
Not an ounce of hip in that sentence.

Let's stay on the topic of holidays for a moment. Particularly, holidays that revolve around Jesus.

Next up, Easter!

If we pretend that I'm wearing the bunny ears ironically
(heck, let's even throw in a Donnie Darko reference)
then this is incredibly hip.

In case you were starting to think that the hipness had gotten the best of me, check out what I spent my time doing on Easter evening.

"Glamour" shots with mom. Totally not hip.

Spring is my favorite season. I love taking advantage of all that beautiful sunshine by getting out and walking around whenever I can. I particularly enjoy day trips up to LA. Silverlake is one of my favorite stops.

Silverlake is very hip.

Then I insist on making a stop at the Sprinkles Cupcake ATM in Beverly Hills.

This much excitement over cupcakes (or anything, really)?
Please. Not hip.

When I said spring was my favorite season, what I really to say was that fall is my favorite season. 

Grandpa sweater? Check. Combat boots? Check. Glasses (not pictured)? Check.
Hip? Check. 

Another thing I really love about fall? The reemergence of Starbucks red cups!! Don't lie to me, people. You feel a little happier on the inside when you see them, too.

Unless you're a hipster. In which case they probably bring a tinge of sadness.
Starbucks is too corporate and red cups are too colorful.
Not hip.

Fall also means the reemergence of Aaron's beanie.

Wearing a beanie and a v-neck while playing the guitar? Hot hip boyfriend.

Then spring comes around again and my seasonally hip boyfriend transforms back into his true form.

Hot baseball boyfriend is great...but not exactly hip.
We've come to the conclusion that baseball caps
(except for cheeky vintage throwbacks) are the least hip hats around.

As long as this guy keeps blowing my cover, I am not hip.

But let's throw in a Hip or Not Hip Speed Round just to be sure.

The theme of this speed round? Hip Accessories!! *cue game show music

Hip glasses: I've pretty much got this one dialed in (on my rotary dial telephone).

I present four pieces of convincing evidence:

I asked to go to the Warby Parker Class Trip bus for my birthday while it was in Venice Beach.

Hipsty Birthday to me!

An unexpected birthday surprise?

My boyfriend is a hipster Clark Kent! 

I like to wander into a vintage shop in Old Towne Orange from time to time. Sure, I look like a poser when you compare me to the workers who sport mustaches and wear decades old suspenders, pants, and glasses...but I'm a darn good poser.

I can bs my way around any clothing store.
Don't I look hip in these little boy glasses from 1940?
(Geez, Kate Spade phone case, you're ruining it)

I even had the opportunity to sport my glasses at the Inauguration.

I tried to bring my Polaroid but it got taken at the security screening.

Pretty hip, huh?

But what about mustaches? They've taken mainstream fashion and pop culture by storm, but the hipsters still lay current claim to them (hey, pipe down cowboys!).

Aside from me being a woman, I just can't seem to wear them properly.

I tried to match Aaron's but forgot to draw one on my finger.

I've instead just created an awkward perch for my nose.

Aaron then tried to make me mustache-cool using an app. 

Tom Selleck and I would never be caught being hip.

And then whatever this is.

She went full Yosemite Sam, folks.

Not hip.

So at the end of the day, I really don't know where I fall. I'll leave that up to you to decide (we can take a poll in the comments).

In my heart, I just don't feel like a hipster. I'll lay out my reasoning in my parting words.

The only vinyl I collect is Vinylmation.

I drink far more tea than coffee.

And I actually think real chai tastes like soup.

I thought PBR stood for Professional Bull Riding.

I'd prefer infinite rest to reading Infinite Jest.

The famous Powell Books in Portland gave me a panic attack.

I only wear cross body bags for ergonomic purposes.

As for when I dress like a hipster, I'll easily admit that on those days, I am in pain or am just being lazy. Are you kidding me? How easy is it to grab any color dark denim, a favorite Sevenly shirt or a "vintage" band tee (*cough* Target), and a big grandpa sweater?! 

If a hipster falls in the forest, which of her friends hears it last?
None. They all heard about it first.

Ultimately, I've come to the conclusion that my attitude just doesn't match that of the hipsters I come into contact with. I'm too perky and I smile too much. I'm not afraid to embarrass or laugh at myself (hence, this article). I don't think I'm cool at all, so I certainly can't think I'm too cool for anything.

I think the whole idea of identifying with one group is silly anyways. We are human. We are multifaceted. Dressing a certain way doesn't indicate much of anything to me about the type of person you are. I've maintained close friendships with people in all kinds of groups. Stereotyping is a slippery slope. I hope it has been clear in this article that I am making fun of myself more than anything. 

I'm Katie Spencer. I'm not sure what group I belong to and I rather like it that way. But if "hipster!" is the worst "insult" you can think of to yell at me at a ballgame, I'll take it.

DISCLAIMER: No harm was intended towards hipsters in the making of this post. The author does not claim to be an expert on hipsters, nor is she sure if she actually knows any in real life. She is also not sure if she does or does not maintain an affiliation with this group. She is content with either possibility of aforementioned affiliation. If at any time Miss Spencer realizes that she is indeed affiliated with said group, she is not obligated to admit affiliation.