In a Russell’s Paradox, the moment a particular circumstance is declared to be true is the precise moment that it cannot be true. Much like a Russell’s Paradox, hipsters don’t actually exist. They cannot.
Most are familiar with the ‘Barber’ paradox in which the barber shaves all—and only—those men of the town who do not shave themselves. In this case, who shaves the barber? Any attempt to answer this question lends itself to a contradiction in which the seemingly plausible scenario simply cannot be. This is hipsters.
Hipsters, for those who already know, seek in every way to differentiate themselves from the unwashed masses upon whom they rely on for figuratively everything, yet simultaneously disdain. You will see hipsters in cafes writing shit-tier poetry on a mac. You will see hipsters riding a fixie bike in formerly black neighborhoods, wearing clothes that make them look poor. You will see them on the interweb taking ironic photos of themselves with old-timey facial hair and drinking cheap beer. It’s all by design. The hipster code. And it’s instantly recognizable.
But therein lies the rub, for the principle tenet of hipsterdom mandates a wholesale refusal of conformity, and commensurate labels. Thus, for a hipster to call a hipster a hipster would be in violation of the first and only rule—Don’t Be Someone. But if nobody ever mentions the beanie-wearing elephant hipster in the room, then they cannot be said to exist at all. In other words, if a hipster is a hipster, then they cannot be a hipster, but if they are not a hipster, then there are no hipsters. I know this because Tyler knows this.
Any attempt to positively identify a hipster results in a cataclysm where you start speaking in tongues and the world opens up and swallows everyone involved and nobody even notices they’re gone and Thom Yorke’s there. Spooky.