It doesn’t seem long ago that the sight of a young white face in this supermarket was a rare thing, but now the place is swarming with them. They look like the death of youth culture: mopey advertisements for their own redundancy, they sport an awkward array of incongruous, styleless hybrids; the sartorial leftovers of previous generations strewn together. The V Generation—as English critic Paul Morley dubbed them—as in Vintage. They all look different but they all end up looking the same.
The lines were long. I was obliged to eavesdrop upon the vacuous prattle of a young couple behind me as they amused themselves by squabbling ironically in a deliberate parody of a conventional Middle-American couple arguing; but despite their unusual (for Middle America) appearances there was nothing to separate them from any “normal” couple. They have jobs (in the entertainment industry, as quickly became apparent from their shamelessly loud conversation), they cohabit, they go to the supermarket together on Sunday nights. The male “half” of this annoying pair was scruffily attired in shorts and moccasins and succeeded in making himself appear much uglier and poorer than he actually was. Their conversation, liberally strewn with “likes” and other desecrations of the English language, could not easily be tolerated by an ear of any refinement.
To my right, in the next line over, which extended into the cleaning products aisle, stood two vertically challenged young men, modeling the new clean-cut uniform. They both sported deep-cut V-neck sweatshirts (or whatever they are), impractically tight pants, and neatly trimmed facial hair. Neither of them wore socks: an unfortunate trend that seems to be catching on among the smart/sloppy set. Is this supposed to make them look European? Or is it meant to suggest that by being uninhibited enough to go sockless that they’re wild in the sack? As well as being aesthetically displeasing, it looks uncomfortable: the tenderness of the foot must chafe against the roughness of the shoe.
There was no escape. I was forced to gaze upon the thick neck and porcine profile of the sullen, shaven-headed youth in front of me. His dress sense—shorts and a T-shirt—showed no sign of having developed since the state of infancy. He carried only a small bottle of ketchup, the label of which he studied intently, as if it contained some sacred runic text (but at least he was reading) throughout the interminable wait. When he finally reached the check-out counter the admirably sweet-tempered clerk remarked, “you must really like ketchup.” But he didn’t crack a smile. From what I’ve observed—and endured— the “hipster” sense of humor doesn’t seem to extend much further than their own comical appearances. Humor seems to confuse them. But then, they are a bit of a joke themselves.
Who are all these people? Where did they come from? They’re horrible. And they’re proliferating at an alarming rate. Back in the 1990s, which now seem like the dark ages, their spawning grounds were such boho-friendly cities as Portland and San Francisco. They used to hate LA and everything they thought it stood for. Now they’ve taken over here too. They can be found wherever commerce and bohemia converge, which these days is almost everywhere. As long as they’ve got five bars on their cell phone, they don’t have a worry in the world. One can’t entirely blame them. All the major cultural changes were rung in before they were born. But unlike earlier generations, who made something out of seemingly nothing, it’s all laid out for this lot; their every whim can instantly be gratified—on the internet with its various quick fixes and in the real world of gentrified neighborhoods and generic youth zones. There’s nothing to rebel against. How can you rebel against surfeit? Only by depriving yourself. And who’s going to do that? In being given everything, they haven’t been left with much. In which respect, they are deserving of the keenest, most tender sympathy.
I could go on, but I am beginning to choke on my own bile—delicious as it is.
The older one gets, naturally, the more young people there are, and the more annoying they are, especially if one’s own position in life hasn’t changed significantly. But it is probably folly to imagine that young people nowadays are any more idiotic than they have ever been. Such thinking, despite its obvious temptations, is far too convenient a trap for an old-timer to fall into. These days, in virtual, viral and vital reality, it is all too easy to satisfy the siren call of irritation. But I won’t be shopping at Vons on a Sunday night again in a hurry.
Dude, that’s harsh.
Utter rubbish. What is the point of this useless rant?
The point is that it’s young yuppies gentrifying a neighborhood and indulging in disingenuous hipness and trends which makes it difficult to make art that is based on a reality that doesn’t involve trends.
I think you really hit the nail on the head, John. A couple of them, actually. We should sympathize with youth as much as we can, even though their zombie-like behavior is hard to understand sometimes. Very nicely done, and very funny.
Well. I’ve had similar inner rants and battles at the checkout lines, faced with people who’s aesthetic appears to be designed exclusively to wage war on my practical and unpretentious (according to me) sensibility. I’ve even crossed the line once or twice and spoken out. “What’s with the giant beard? Don’t you know beards are OVER.”
But a couple thoughts: Your article (and my own rants) says more about US than them. It hints at resentment, perhaps even jealousy. Let’s face it. These annoying and self-aware 20-somethings with carefully curated outfits and iWhatevers are often attractive, energetic, and ambitious. They’re not tired, not sick of the redundancy and hypocrisy and imitation in culture around them, as they’re too young to recognize it yet. We were no different.
It also sounds like you live in a primariy non-white neighborhood, and don’t leave your zipcode as often as you might. Because this phenom you describe is in no way unique or new. Go to any Whole Foods market, or most Coffee Beans, or, God Forbid, Intelligentsia, where people wait 15 mins for a $6 coffee, and you’ll realize that what you saw at Vons was the tip of the iceberg, a tiny bit of run-off from a much larger culture that’s already been dominating the rest of the city for years.
I think the vast majority of this demographic DO have senses of humor, and the ketchup guy was an exception. I was fairly socially awkward when I was young. Let’s not mistake social ineptitude for lack of humor.
In the end, I’m not sure what’s more annoying: the eastside invaders you describe, or the hollywood LandRover driving, designer flaunting, creditcard maxing, genetically advantaged, perfect teeth crowd. At least the eastside hipsters aren’t *only* about money and commerce. At least they also define themselves by their esoteric tastes, and fancy themselves as early adopters, discoverers and purveyors of new ideas, whereas the hollywood crowd has no interest in anything that even slightly reeks of bohemia or steps outside of the narrow limits of mainstream culture and success.
I think I’ll take the new generation “bohemians” over the Beautiful People any day. Perhaps a better strategy is: ANYONE with a curated outfit, anyone who’s clearly self-aware and advertising themselves, whether it be all vintage or all gucci, is to be avoided. Hint: might have to leave town.
p.s. The fact the guys were vertically challenged has absolutely no relevance. Had they been 6’4″ would you have found their deep v-necks or lack of socks any less offensive? If your answer is yes, then there’s far more to the story here.
Delicious. Thank You!
Thank you. Men, please wear socks at all times unless you are on the beach.
V is for Vacuous
Should we feel sorry for aging GenX-ers who once shrilly prided themselves on their own difference/indifference from the history of the status-quo but can only now muster enough energy and imagination to tragically prop themselves up as the ahistorical gatekeepers of exactly that which they once vehemently denounced? Culture, the real big C, the very object the anti-hero artist once pilfered and parodied for his own use has now shamelessly become the wrongfully jailed muse of his classically revised demise.
By defending an imagined absence whose presence was once systematically rooted out, the faux-founders of a splintered generation, so tamed and named by the turn of a cheek, now at the zenith of their power and influence, have concocted their greatest pose and prank yet! Their generational swan song; the audacity to ask history to consider their whimpered wit, mumbled musings and endless ironies as what else? Nothing less than.. The Sincerest Of Sincerities!
O’ wot great befuddled buffoonery leads to such hilariously hellish displays of despair and desperation? She, the once celebrated queen rebel, who once upon a time had no need for societal respect nor success, now ‘finds herself’ unable to live without constant validation of having had achieved both, or at the least illusory belief in one or the other. When Bohos go Bougey… if only in thought alone. Their hypocritical self-professed bile, passed off as self-deprecating candor and wit. The inner strength that once came from being a justified outsider in a world gone bad, now that same self-serving guile withered and wrapped in it’s own sickly subculture of subhumans. A cell looking to sell to other cells that sell… Just add angst!
No longer is self-respect enough, a badge of the obscure to be forgotten by a decadent culture. To clamor not! Letting the childish games of howling egos piss and pass into untraced wind-ridden destinies with a deafening silence of refusal. No, now mutely cannibalized, then quietly valorized, thus inspiring a whispered rumor amongst neutered youth… it’s all so comforting for the sly, aged and defanged wannabe iconoclast, who futilely chases the shadows of his make-believe influence. Another proper pillow for dream bum sentiments and delusional charity. All the while, the truly ‘self’-aware, know that a funhouse mirror shows no mercy in its mercurial reflections.
Hence, an apologetic of hypocrisy must be hammered home, browbeaten-ed, into every last superficial simulation of rebellion, only then, can the so-called ‘V Generation’ be looked upon as the ‘true’ offspring of ‘vintage’ GenX self-loathing.
A once bright and snarling ironic sneer becoming a hapless, hypocritical, gum-toothed grin; begging to be heard at the feet of the youth and for once, finally… taken at his word.
Very, very funny. Thanks.
you’re a hoot
and an old coot.