Where Do Hipsters Go to Die?

After my night of rockin' with the COMO Hipsterocracy and reading this article about indie rockers populating Hipster-mecca Portland, I have been contemplating where hipsters go to retire, or, more likely to die.

In the early aughts, many hipsters descended upon once-ignored Brooklyn due to its "affordable" rent and cool music scene. Those who did not leave their liberal arts colleges for NYC made treks to Seattle (post-grunge), Chicago, and San Francisco. Some have stayed in their college towns. Wherever they have landed, hipsters have inadvertently caused great gentrification by flipping ghettos into the affordable, artsy, indie rock centers of the urban universe. They have made it possible for gay men to gut and reconstruct dilapidated Victorian homes without fearing that poor people will dirty them or gay bash.

Now, hipsters everywhere are aging. Not since the Boomers' threat of mass retirement has this country had to deal with such a retirement crisis. Where will these hipsters go? Will there be art house theaters, indie rock clubs, and soy chai lattes? Can they supplement their income as greeters for your local art gallery or record store?

The reason I wonder about this is that I am somewhat of an aging hipster. I frequent the same clubs as the Hipsterocracy. I was at the last US Pavement show and the first Village Voice Siren Festival (Can you see my sister and me in the picture?). I've built my own Readymade meat cart bed. I own an American Apparel hoody and retro Pumas. Now, I am over 30, and that's over-the-hill in hipster years. Retirement and death are real concerns for me.

The next step is probably parenthood which will cause me change my lifestyle drastically. If we lived in Brooklyn (which we obviously do not), we'd prepare to move to...I don't know...a quaint, Midwestern college town, ideal for raising families. I'll have to navigate one of those SUV-size strollers through a crowd of younger hipsters in clubs and at festivals. I'll read blogs like Zooglobble for all the latest in indie kid pop. My hipster years are numbered.

So, when I go out to a rock show or check out the latest Jim Jarmusch flick, I'll look at that hipster girl pouring my beer and think, "I bet she'll retire to Portland once her bar tending days are over and hang out with her neighbor, Stephen Malkmus." Or that hipster guy looking all aloof and wonder, "Does he have a 401k plan?"

Like everyone, hipsters will grow old. Instead of our kids complaining about old, burnt-out hippies (well, that will never go out of style), they will go on and on about the old fart at the record store with the really tight black jeans and ironic t-shirt.

So, maybe it's time to consider the end of the hipster era. I mean, irony is dead. Why not prepare for the next sub-culture. Maybe b-boys will make the comeback they have been threatening for the last decade. Whatever group takes the place of today's hipsters, let's just hope that there is a nice place for them (me) to retire...or die.