It’s like someone took the crappy paper that some grizzled, 50-something Socialist guy tries to sell you at the farmer’s market and gave it an absurdly high design budget. Except whoever writes for it is, depressingly, part of my generation instead of an acid-fried, aging hippie. And, of course, what this person chooses to complain about is… the emptiness of hipsterdom, as though that tiny piece of upper-middle-class paraculture somehow speaks for all of us.
“We are a lost generation, desperately clinging to anything that feels real, but too afraid to become it ourselves. We are a defeated generation, resigned to the hypocrisy of those before us, who once sang songs of rebellion and now sell them back to us. We are the last generation, a culmination of all previous things, destroyed by the vapidity that surrounds us. The hipster represents the end of Western civilization – a culture so detached and disconnected that it has stopped giving birth to anything new.”
If I had a penny for every time someone called something “the end of Western civilization”…