Earlier this month, The New Yorker ran one of the most insightful pieces of cultural criticism I have ever read. Or at least I think it was about culture. Or a critique. It was definitely in the New Yorker, though not online so if you are some sort of philistine and don’t subscribe then you’ll just have to trust me. In any case, “Borough Haul” by Patricia Marx is hilarious.
Amid the heavily picked-through scrap heap of fodder that is gentrified hipster Brooklyn, Marx managed to find a new target for snarky derision: Brooklyn retail. An anthropological guide book of sorts, Marx takes the reader on a tour of the idiosyncratic neighborhoods that make up New York City’s most populous borough (at least, the neighborhoods where New Yorker readers live). Her sociological signposts for the circuit are the quirky boutiques that dot Brooklyn’s hippest hoods, from the edgy (C.B I Hate Perfume) to the whimsical (Stinky Bklyn cheesemonger) to the cringeworthy (Buttercup’s Paw-tisserie for $22 canine birthday cakes).
Since the story’s not online, I thought it might be a valuable use of time to parse the article for a few of its more genius insights. Hopefully this will also give my parents, who are constantly asking me what a hipster does/looks like/smells like, a better idea of the town in which I currently reside.
Marx starts the shopping spree in Park Slope, the charming-verging-on-precious ‘hood I call home. Its popularity with broody urbanites (or the “swim and spawn” crowd in that they crossed the East River in search of yards and an extra bedroom) have made the Slope a target for that childless segment of the NYC population who see double-wide strollers as a greater threat than terrorism. Indeed, kiddies rule PS. Tantrums rank with fire trucks as the most common noise polluters, strollers outnumber pedestrians and if you enjoy a 5 pm cocktail, be prepared to quaff alongside a toddler. Indulgent parenting is by no means unique to Park Slope- my most traumatic baby-in-a-bar experience occurred on the Upper West Side- yet the phenomenon seems particularly offensive to the Slope’s childless set who chose to move to Brooklyn because it was cool, not because it was affordable, practical or more spacious. To the aggrieved hipsters, for whom Brooklyn’s “ethnological authenticity” was a major draw, nesters are the true gentrifiers.
In Marx’s map of Brooklyn, the neighborhood boundaries are determined by the ratio of hipster stores to nester stores.* In Park Slope, nester dominates: Brooklyn Superhero Supply Company ($30 for a gallon of Invisibility), the aforementioned Paw-tisserie, Bump Brooklyn (“give up wine, coffee, sushi, not fashion” or in this case $148 sarongs).
Ford the smelly Gowanus Canal west to Carroll Gardens to find a retail landscape more evenly split down the hip-nest divide. A traditionally Italian neighborhood slightly more convenient to Manhattan than Prospect Park makes it a popular choice for newly-minted college grads or outer-borough newbies. A smattering of the storefronts Marx finds: Cozbi (linen dolls, $250 and up), Proteus Gowanus (glow-in-the-dark bike vests emblazoned with “UNINSURED,” $20).
Marx proceeds to shop her way through Boreum Hill (60-50 nester/hipster), Fort Greene (35-65), DUMBO (30-70) and Greenpoint (20-80 unless you count Polish families, then the ratio is statistically insignificant). Here, Marx loses her sardonic edge. She unabashedly loves the ‘Point’s purveyors, including the proprietor of Pip-Squeak Chapeau, Sveta Dresher who explains the store’s appeal is simply that “it is for grown-ups.” Ed. note: “pipsqueak” is pronounced with an eye-roll.
Her findings in those three enclaves are all very fascinating but for the sake of space I’ll fast-forward to Williamsburg, the hipster heartland. If my parents ever come to town and want to observe the hipster in it’s native habitat, we will hop a G train (G for God willing it will show up) for the snaky journey north to the intersection of Bedford and Myrtle, streets which will later inspire names for future progeny of the hipsters turned nesters. Here, on Billyburg’s flat, brownstone-less avenues Marx finds a plethora of ironic boutiques: CB I Hate Perfume (eau de Burning Leaves, $65), Moon River Chattel (unbleached hemp linens from Transylvania, $15-$320) and Red Pearl (fire-resistant smoking mittens, $26). Best of all, Marx includes field notes for your hipster shopping safari- should you encounter a “local” you should know how to behave…or at least what not to wear/discuss/visibly enjoy:
According to the depressingly astute Web site stuffhipstershate.tumblr.com, among the many things that fill hipsters with loathing are: Starbucks, lip gloss, hard sciences, monogamy, standing up straight, flip-flops, condos, spiky hair, cell-phone holsters, U2, biceps, the Kindle, Seth Rogen, knowing their bank balance, Manhattan, bras, running, oldsters, other hipsters and You.
So maybe you shouldn’t worry too much about how to behave- maybe you should just grab your trove of indie kitsch, and run.
For more tips on hipster spotting: The Hipster Handbook, Look at this F&*$ing Hipster, Hipster is the New Homeless
*A calculation complicated by consistent overlap between the two demographics. Can be refined by parsing “breeding hipsters” as the Venn diagram blue area. Most common in transition areas, i.e. South Slope, Williambsburg/Greenpoint border.