Hipper Than Thou

We’ve come down to San Francisco for a few days, so I’m sitting here in a coffeeshop in the Mission District feeling very much like the country mouse among all the city mice hipsters around me. The trio of barristas are like right out of Central Casting for a PBR commercial; each one has a cooler tweed cap than the other, more stylish facial piercings, and only the girl isn’t sporting the regulation lip biscuit jazz patch.

I’m not complaining, honest; I just find it rather remarkable and it makes me wonder whether life is imitating advertising or vice-versa. Do Madison Avenue executives copy the coffeeshop kids or do the scenesters ape what they see in ads and on TV?

Whenenever we come to San Francisco, I’m reminded what a small and relatively homogenous town Seattle is; our aspirations to diversity notwithstanding, the city is really pretty Wonder Bread in comparison to a truly diverse place like this.

But today, I’m really flashing on how square my town is, too. A guy just pulled up in a fuckin’ Dune Buggy! Is that a commitment to coolness or what?

This is also party central for slick single-speed and fixie bikes. As I ride around Seattle, I might see half a dozen or so track frames here and there, mostly at the walk-up espresso stand downtown that the messengers frequent. Strolling down Valencia this morning, I’ve already seen dozens of tricked-out fixies, including a lovely pink Bianchi, a gold Raleigh SuperCourse converted to single-speed; a bunch of Surleys and Somas, and numerous no-names hand-painted or powercoated for city use. And almost all of them have some sort of groovy top-tube protector for style and protection.

When I was a young man here in the late 70s and early 80s, I fancied myself something of a trendsetter; I had spiked-up hair and wore my zip-up jacket inside-out with the flannel and satin showing.

I was something, but nothing like this.