By Óscar Broc
I smell hipsters. Sssssh. Don't make a sound. Can you hear their unpleasant whispers, there, where the light of the oil-lamp doesn't shine? Of course you can. Half-close your eyes, do you see them? They're sitting there, in the corner, their hands together, gnawing on a piece of cheese wrapped in a photo of Terry Richardson. They're like evil leprechauns. They'll laugh at your check shirts, they'll say Marc Jacobs' cologne smells like the diarrhoea of a sick dog on your loser skin, they'll ask you why you get your hair cut at a barber shop and they'll ridicule you rimless glasses because they're so ten minutes ago. And when you're still asking yourself what in God's name just hit you - they'll jump from their hiding place and they'll give you the finishing stroke; with a “junkie-cool” look from American Apparel, complete with designer foulard and their collection of La Roux and Junior Boys records under their arms.
Easy, take my hand, they're gone now. Don't let the rage take you over. DWH, Down With Hipsters, is here to bring justice. It's time to put hipness in its place, it's time for the fringes to face the music, it's time that someone laughs at them and their obsessions. We'll do so in this column, oh, how we will. We'll love it and we'll have a good laugh at ourselves at well. Because, let's admit it: who hasn't stepped into the trap of coolness, however brief the moment? Who hasn't fantasised about being the sexless designer of the hour? Who has wished they were in a Vice photo report with their mascara all over the place and a straw up their nose? However, the question today is: who hasn't left an ironic moustache during their morning shave, only to take it off after five seconds?
In principle, there's nothing wrong with sporting a bit of hair under one's nose. In fact, there have been great defenders of this particular piece of facial hair. Stalin without a 'tache would have had less authority than Papa Smurf. Hell, Tom Selleck looks daft without one. The moustache makes sense if you need to reaffirm your personality in some way and - above all - if you want to give the face you're stuck with another dimension. I'm sure Nietzsche didn't grow a big ferret over his upper lip just for the fun of it: the man couldn't get any nookie and the facial hair gave him some margin with the ladies. Do you think Adolf Hitler was sporting that thing because he liked it? Apparently, in the Berlin leather clubs of the time, wearing a moustache like that was a sign you were available and you liked it hard.
In short, for those who don't know it yet, the moustache wasn't invented by Brad Pitt. It's always been there, it has always had a specific function, a meaning. Nobody had prepared us for the fact that a couple of lifestyle magazine directors and some bored designers would take the sacred item and banalise it until it became what we now know as the “ironic 'tache”, surely one of the most stunning signs of idiocy we have seen in centuries. Because basically, the moustachioed hipsters want that feeling of rejection. They know the facial hair makes them look stupid, that the people take them for imbeciles rather that fashion champions - but there they are, sporting them with pride, much to our horror. Why? Probably because it's the height of “being cool” in the present hipster community. I'd say. Moreover, I would say it's not only a way to be as stupid as can be, it could even be seen as the ultimate test to see if you really deserve to be a hipster, like the brutal initiation rites of the Latin Kings: are you cool enough to grow a moustache ridiculous enough to have even old ladies hit you over the head with their purses? Have you got the balls? I don't understand all that trouble, they don't actually need that laughable strip of hair to be perceived as the idiots that they are. While they keep thinking their lives are a Wes Anderson film, we'll have reason enough to hate them. The moral: you don't need to eat garlic to have bad breath.
Absurd as it may be, the truth is that the proliferation of the moustache among hipsters has been stunning and viral. Within a matter of two or three years, all the independent music festivals have been flooded with hairy lips - that seem taken from seventies gay porn flicks. Let's not kid ourselves; humans are sheep, no matter how often they walk around The Brandery dressed like an idiot. But the worst thing is not that, the worst thing is that the same old fashion has transcended the extremely closed-off masonry of cool and has spread even to the wannabes, the faux-hipsters and the normal people: the moustache is no longer ironic. It's no longer exclusive to illustrators, DJs, designers and junkie-fashion photographers. Now it's on TV, collaborators of the tabloid press are sporting them, fusion cooks, teens at Sónar, publicists. They weren't satisfied with fucking up their own lives; they had to spoil the lives of normal people.
So, it's clear what should be in our prayers. Hipsters, get rid of that ironic moustache right now, I'm telling you as a friend. You think you're years ahead of your time with that strip of dandruffy fluff above your upper lip, but you're not. You only produce embarrassment and you take us back to the times of eighties porn (Ron Jeremy). More than enough reason, methinks, to kindly ask you to remove the thing immediately -because that's not a moustache, it's nothing. Leave the real moustache to those who actually need it; Saddam before they hung him, or former Spanish PM Aznar (who took it off before you would make it fashionable). In fact, if you're so crazy, do as the distinguished Groucho Marx: pick up a marker and draw a lustrous rectangle under your noses. The world will be a better place for it. Just when we thought the hipster plague was dying out, new hipsters come to the surface. From here - and shooting ourselves in the foot - we undertake an ironic crusade against ironic people. This month we're going after the moustache.
Terry Richardson´s moustache