The Hipster Problem

It used to be that the cycling cap was the sole domain of cyclists, and was worn with the same rakish dorky charm as our absurd tan lines.

Then Wesley Snipes happened.

After the eighties, peace returned to our humble valley and we resumed life-as-normal, with CYCLING caps being worn mostly by CYCLISTS.

Now it seems as though la casquette is in dire peril again:

Since when can a bike messenger afford a $90 hat?

The cycling cap, along with nearly everything else I hold dear, has been claimed as sacred manna by hipsters. Want a fixie? You'll need to shoulder past a horde of college kids in skinny jeans on their way to get one. (At Urban Outfitters no less).

Love the eighties? So do they. Just because most of them weren't born yet doesn't mean they can't buy a six foot tall velour cutout poster of Cindy Lauper.  Apparently its cool because its ironic... I don't get it.

Still have a record player? Well, if you've gone through the trouble of thrift-shopping a turntable, and are rocking to dusty LPs of the Beatles and the Flying Burrito Brothers, you probably are a hipster -- Or are horribly, horribly out of touch -- Just give in, buy some gender-neutral clothes and embrace it.

It has been mentioned that perhaps I myself am merely an over-aged hipster filled with self loathing and unable to cope.  This is, of course, hurtful and untrue.  I'm hardly over-aged.  Sure I love my fixed-gear bike, and who doesn’t like looking moody all the time?  But I fervently maintain that I had an affection for Swatch watches, sarcasm and crappy punk music long before it was "hip".