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The Seven Shades of Hipster

Hipsters have walked among us "conformists" since the dawn of day. Okay, maybe more like a fistful of years -- who the hell is counting? Since their subcultural conception in the early 2000s, they have been garnered with a notorious rep of looking -- and sometimes smelling -- all the...
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Hipsters have walked among us "conformists" since the dawn of day. Okay, maybe more like a fistful of years -- who the hell is counting? Since their subcultural conception in the early 2000s, they have been garnered with a notorious rep of looking -- and sometimes smelling -- all the same.

The phrase "that's so hipster" is the inferred diagnosis if you've been caught: A) Wearing a bowler hat on the reg; B) Buying a pair of leather ankle booties usually donning some sort of conspicuous hardware, or C) Neglecting your hygienic duties of slappin' on some deodorant. Hey, no judgment.

Regardless of the stereotypes, all hipsters are not created equally. In fact, you probably never even heard about the assortment of different subcategories within in the subculture -- sub-subcultures, if you will. (Creating new words is so hipster.)

See also: Wynwood Named One of the Hippest Hipster Neighborhoods In the Nation

On a hunched-backed, indie-lovin', black-lipstick wearin' level, us Miamians are no match for Hipster meccas like Silverlake, Williamsburg, or even Bushwick. But this weekend told a different story at the Wynwood Life festival in (gasp!) Wynwood. It seems the counter-cultured tides have been churning and spitting out our very own unique species of Hipsters.

In our observation of these sub species at the three-day shit show of art, music, and fashion, Cultist found the Hipster menu of style to be vast. You can order just about any type of Hipster - extra authentic, light on the greasy hair, or even a la Nasty Gal. Take your pick. There's a flavor for everyone.

Caution: Never accuse a hipster of being a "hipster." They'll deny the shit out of it, and you'll have no one else to blame but yourself for forcing them out of their natural habitat, you fucking hipster killer. For shame.

Hipsters Con Lechon

These two tykes served as fine representatives from the Latin American Hipster community, hailing all the way from Cuba and Venezuela. How you'll distinguish them from your average hipster is by their slightly lower V-necks and bling-bling adornment, oscillating in front of their semi-bare chests. They didn't say so, but I know deep down they were just dying to let our one big "WEPA!" Ay.

The Nasty Gal Hipster

The bangs; the wide-brimmed, floppy, felt hat; the platform tennis. Does this not scream Sofia Amoruso's twinsie?

The Either-Or Hipster

The fringe says Indians; The Western-inspired fedora says cowboys. Well, which one are you? Either way, you do "culturally confused" well, girl. Work.

The '90s Hipster

What do you get when Zack Morris, "Hammer Time," and Clarissa Explains It All have an explosive bowel mishap all over your body? Otto von Schirach alongside his more toned-down hipster friend, Mr. Feathers. Feces never looked so good.

The Warm'n'Fuzzy Hipster

You're not shit in the realm of "hipsterism" until you have a Chia Pet of pubic hair growing on your chin - or at least, some peach fuzz. Take this Belushi-meets-Matisyahu fellow, for example. His creed: Step up your beard game and put the razor down, buddy.

The Eyes-Wide-Shut Hipster

He's "tired." God, we love how hipster you are.

The Real Deal

This is what we like to call "The Godfather of Hipsters," "The Original Hipster of Hipsters" - the legitimate truth. Still not convinced? After we took the above snapshot of "The Chosen One," he gave us his "business card," - a college ruled piece of parchment, crumpled up - like the Einstein's bag on the passenger seat of our car that we've neglected to throw away for the past three days - in a rusted birdcage, spinning on a turntable, that read "I found myself lost. How is that? I am clearly confused," written with a black sharpie. If that's not a hipster, ladies and gentlemen, then we don't know what the fuck is.

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