In twenty years we’ll look back at Hipster fashion and attitude and regard it with the same pity and disgust with which we view the Kountry Kitchen Old West nostalgia of the 1970s, which left us with wagon wheel coffee tables and cigarette smoke-stained gingham wallpaper. At its best, Hipster culture is a look back at late 19th and early 20th century American culture and wish for a return to the time when you rode a velocipede to the carnival to see strongmen in shorty onesies lift spherical weights without mussing their carefully waxed walrus moustaches. At its worst it is twenty-somethings riding a fixie to the coffee shop to bang out a third-rate screenplay on a typewriter, trying to conceal a five-hundred dollar smartphone on the pocket of thrift shop vintage polyester pants, and smelling yourself to see if you’ve crossed the line between unwashed Bohemian and unwashed bag person. I mean come ON, ironic Hipster moustaches have completely jumped the shark. Don’t believe me? Once kids this young have them, the fad is over, it’s gone the way of parachute pants and faux-hawks.