Halifax breeds hipsters like Europe bred the bubonic plague in the 1300s. On every street and wharf, and in every artisanal cafe and craft brewery, you’ll find an army of heavily-tattooed, scarf-covered, immaculately-groomed sentient beards discussing the latest Mac DeMarco album as they sip on locally-sourced tea. The average Haligonian is not the stereotypical fisherman; they are a walking embodiment of an Animal Collective song.
I love hipsters; they’re some of my best friends. I also hate hipsters; they’re some of my worst enemies. I love the diverse genres of music, film, and literature hipsters enjoy. I also despise how snobbish the typical hipster can be when you tell them you only have a passing familiarity with The Flaming Lips’ discography. I love the hipster’s willingness to step of their comfort zone and try something new just for the sake of it. I also hate how unwilling they are to even try to like something from the mainstream. I love hipsters because I see so much of myself in them. I also hate them because I see so many of my bad qualities in them.
Clearly, my feelings on hipsters run hot and cold, often at the same time.
Out here in the Prairies, I haven’t thought about hipsters in months. In Yorkton (and nearly every community I’ve visited), I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of any hipster. I thought the harsh winter climate or flat vistas didn’t agree with the average hipster’s temperament. They were as scarce in Saskatchewan as they are abundant in Nova Scotia. I actually found myself missing those pretentious people. In Halifax, they were a constant that reminded you everything was right and normal. They were like the daily trains that rip through Yorkton; I might not like them, but they’re oddly comforting.
Well, I found out Saskatchewan isn’t wholly bereft of hipsters; they’re just tucked away up north.
I visited Saskatoon for the first time last weekend. It was the last major Saskatchewan city on my bucket list, so I decided to check it out before we’re buried in snow in a few weeks (I pray I’m joking). I strolled along the river, roamed the Remai Modern art gallery, and manoeuvred through the busy streets. It’s a nice place, but it hides a sinister secret: The hipsters have taken over.
It was subtle at first. I noticed a few panama hats and loose toques here and there. Thick-rimmed glasses peered at me from across the street. I thought I saw a bowtie, but I shook it off. But when I stepped into a coffee house, it all came together.
I’d entered hipster central. Short pants, suspenders, and trimmed moustaches were the norm. People enjoyed live music as they feasted on crackers, fruit, and cheesecake. A stack of community papers rested in a corner. I’d been transported back to every coffee shop in Halifax.
After that, I saw hipsters everywhere. They’re overflowing in Saskatoon. They thrive best in big cities, harnessing their power. Saskatoon is a concentrated shot of hipsterdom.
It was good to see Saskatchewan isn’t totally hipster-free. Sure, some hipsters are pretentious, smug, and annoying. But, for me, no city feels complete without a collection of the bespectacled culture snobs. Much like The Dude’s rug in The Big Lebowski, they tie everything together. I’m glad they’ve found refuge in Saskatoon.
Now, if I find out there’s a strong contingent of crust punks in Prince Albert, my mind will be well and truly blown.
