I know what the authors were trying to do.
I get it.
This book is very... "arty" for lack of a better word. But it's so arty that it drowns in itself. Flailing about wanting so desperately to be different that it just utterly chokes on its own pretension and dies a very slow arty death.
If this were an old black and white movie though... Oh boy!... It may be something vaguely entertaining and so fucking inflated that no one would have really understood it with the way the camera kept flicking around hinting and highlighting, zooming and glossing but everyone would have said they loved it because they want to be kitsch. To feel like they are "never-been-seen-before", a new type of human, a snowflake of humaness, we'll say, all "not one are ever alike" type of bullshit. Feeling all creative and so different its hard to be them. Buying clothes at a thrift shop because everyone knows people that shop at thrift shops are fucking whimsical and the air around them snaps instead of claps because they are. That. Fucking. Contrary. Not realizing that had they looked up from When The Lights Go Down: A Short Illustrated History of Film for longer than the time taken to sip their authentic Italian cappuccino they would see the throngs of other Indie/Hipsters that are just like them because people are not snowflakes. For everything that you love and hate there are thousands, millions even, that love and hate the same things.
Get over yourselves. Have a couple brews. Watch Spaceballs. Laugh your ass off. And Fangirl over Harry Potter like the rest of us. Damn.
All in all: I'm over it. The only thing I like about Hipsters is their style. Wish this was a lighter read, meaning that it wasn't so heavy in prose, because the idea was really cute.