In an increasingly internet-driven, image-based society, it’s never been easier to know about what’s cool and to replicate what you see. That’s not to say that hypebeasts and hipsters didn’t exist in the past — back in the day, a curled mustachio and ruffled shirt collar must’ve been the business — but there just wasn’t as much social capital, or even financial and material demand, to acquire the newest, dopest, most unheard of threads to flex in public and on social media as aggressively as there is today.
Sign up for The Bold Italic newsletter to get the best of the Bay Area in your inbox every week.
Whether being dripped in the latest bomber jacket or attending a barely promoted music performance, being known as someone with a sense of underground street awareness has become the trend in every metro region, and is especially present in the East Bay Area.
For proof of this, head over to Oakland’s Uptown or Lake Merritt neighborhoods, or take a walk down Telegraph Ave in Berkeley, where you’re guaranteed to see flocks of cool-looking youths and millennials from diverse backgrounds rocking their alternative logos, colored hairstyles, and recently released sneakers while bouncing around from graffiti-covered shops to bars to cafes and art galleries (at least, that was the scene before Covid-19).
That’s because the East Bay has long been a mecca for these youthful hipsters and fashionistas, who seek out any way to be alternative, indie, and appear effortlessly in the know about what’s cool and what’s not. I’ve seen it over the years growing up here — how the aesthetic has grown — but over this time, this group of in-the-know hipsters have gotten hate for how they consume whatever is trendy.
I don’t completely disagree with this sentiment. But I’m also not one to hate on their hipsterism just for the sake of it. While I don’t support those who blindly follow trends, hop on massive bandwagons, or alter the energy of a community with no regard or respect for the culture of long-time residents (aka gentrification), I’m glad when a hypebeast is geared towards supporting underground, artistic Bay Area sensibilities, rather than just replicating whatever is popular in other markets.
Younger generations have historically challenged the norm here — that’s not new — and it’s especially prominent in the East Bay, where today’s cool scenes have remained rooted in the deep subcultures of local, independent, and one-of-a-kind aesthetics.
Here, the norm isn’t simply defined by what is popular in other places; it’s defined by our hyper-alternative independence, in our “out-the-trunk” approach, and I love when others can join in and support this. I’d be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge that these cities — specifically Oakland and Berkeley — have long been a mecca for countercultural trendsetting. Whereas many cities around the country would rather cater to more populist or conservative tastes — have you ever been to San Diego, Buffalo, or Salt Lake City? — the Bay has always been — at the risk of sounding ridiculous — extra avant-garde.
Living in such proximity to L.A., it could’ve been easy for Northern Californians to simply try to bite from our neighbors and try to perpetuate Hollywood’s fashionable, though highly mainstream, appeal (I think we all can imagine how embarrassingly bad this would’ve gone). Luckily, the Yay Area pioneers created their own brands and lifestyles, and continue to do so, particularly from Vallejo to Oakland. From the Black Panther Party to the flower-draped hippies to the hyphy movement, East Bay Area creatives and activists from diverse socioeconomic and ethnic backgrounds have always found ways to challenge the norm and set their own trends. We live in a way that feels liberating and authentic to who we are, without just repeating whatever is cool or fashionable for others. We make our own slang, wear our own brands, listen to our own music, and even drink our own 40 ounces.
This isn’t as true as it once was though; a thriving sense of independent artistry and rebellion has slightly faded over the decades here due to factors such as gentrification, the rising cost of living, social media, and globalization (which are inextricably overlapping issues worldwide). But, beneath the surface of certain characteristics that might remind you of any other cities in the U.S. — a commercial downtown with major chain businesses — Oakland and the surrounding cities have undoubtedly retained an unconventional fearlessness when it comes to independent fashion, activism, music, and unique culture.
The best example of this is the Smart Bomb series at the Legionnaire. Located in an easily-missed room inside one of stinkiest bars in the city, this low-key event is where the hypebeasts roam. Before Covid-19, this series took place on every third Saturday of the month, in a tiny upstairs attic that transformed itself into the sweatiest stage for the most unknown but extremely local beat makers, performers, lyricists, and singers. It wasn’t always the best music you’ve ever heard — often unrefined or half-finished (literally, many songs were being tested for the first time on the spot and sometimes the artists would just stop mid-song if they weren’t feeling it) — but this is what I find attractive about these events and the “trendy” people who attend them.
Unlike many other cities I’ve lived in or visited — where doing the cool thing means attending the most popular venue possible at the most popular time to see the biggest marquee performance — Oakland seems to thrive on providing an abundance of underground spaces for emerging artists and designers to organically collaborate. There isn’t as much emphasis placed here on whatever is played out in the mainstream as there is on what’s coming next — and how to support their vision.
Many homies I know criticize these types of events and people as being “fake” or “wannabe” — as if trying to show off. Even the internet seems to look down on them. According to Urban Dictionary (because you know, that’s the most credible, empirical source of information on these topics, right?), “hypebeasts” are “kids that collect clothing, shoes, and accessories for the sole purpose of impressing others… even though the individual may not have a dime to their name they like to front like they are making far more then [sic] everybody else.” In other words, being associated with hypeness is often seen as derogatory and useless.
But I actually disagree with this. Here’s why: If people ,especially youth, are going to spend their money, which they will, I’d much rather see them throwing their support at obscure and lesser known artists, brands, and venues. And to me, that’s such a Bay thing to do. Even if some folks in the crowd are doing it for clout, their funds are still going into an independent person’s pocket and not always to Nike (although, let’s be real, Nike is obviously making bank off these kids, too). Rather than simply being in a bar where every other person has the exact same pair of kicks and generic shirt they bought without putting any thought into where that money went, I get excited and curious when the person next to me has a flamboyant hoodie with some brand I’ve never seen — because it means the person has found a way to not only express themselves, but to put some coin in a local entrepreneur’s pocket. I’m thinking of San Leandro’s Dirty Pesos, San Jose’s Cukui, Oakland’s DOPE ERA, and Best One Productions, as a few examples.
Of course, there are socioeconomic factors to this all, and I know a lot of my folks only want to rock a Raiders jersey and some Cortez (not hating on it). But I also know lots of people who could support these other brands and simply don’t, because they either don’t know about them, don’t care, or think that caring about what you wear is somehow feminine — obviously a toxic and sexist mindset to have. But that’s changing, for all of us.
Whether in the hoods or in the suburbs, wearing clothes that stand out and support a local artist and aesthetic is becoming more popular and universal than ever — something that embodies the spirit of independent expression that has always been true in the Bay. Hypebeasts, maybe, but at least it’s a sign of paying attention to something different and a potentially emerging sense of self-articulation and local pride. And that’s what I most find appealing about it, because this attempt of wanting to be different can become a form of expressing your identity.
Of course, the paradox is that in doing so and adding to the trend, there is potential to convert whatever was once-underground into the mainstream, and therefore you could argue this sense of wanting to be different isn’t actually being different at the end of the day, but I would rather see someone reaching to be different — even if simply for the sake of feeling like they are cooler-than-thou — than feeding into whatever easier trends or brands are out there.
For all the hate it gets, it actually takes work to constantly seek out new fashions and attend underground events, and it often leads to dialogues and networking with the actual creators and emerging artists behind the scenes in fields like fashion, music, literature, and even food. And that spirit drives Bay Area creativity in a way that has made us one of the most marketable geographic regions in the world — often coming from young, independent, out-of-pocket minds. I’m fascinated by the early stages of this process, when it’s all still new, and still fresh, and still undiscovered by most. That’s the sweet spot, and one that still largely exists here.
I miss standing in those rooms, like I once stood in a crowded venue of people in Oakland — with many others who share my interests, who probably get labeled as hipsters or hypebeasts. These were sacred spaces that you couldn’t just find anywhere else — not even in places like Austin or Portland, because they have their own brand of hipsterism. There are so many places in the East Bay where the audience is in attendance not because of how popular the performers or venue are, but exactly because of how unpopular they are and the potential of knowing that their contribution could help make it more popular, even if only for benefiting their own social image.
The esoteric performers at the 30th edition of Smart Bomb I attended — long before social distance was enforced back in December — were artists I would have never come across if I just settled for the easier venue with recognizable names. That night, I discovered a female vocalist and producer from Vallejo with major mainstream appeal (SELA); a socially awkward emcee and beatmaker from East Oakland rapping about the internet and video games (didn’t catch his name, sorry); and a ski-mask wearing DJ from San Francisco (Ritchrd). Each one deserved to have our energetic audience to practice their imperfect craft.
Personally, I would rather pay $10 to see these types of artists who are still fumbling around and searching for their sound and image rather than dropping over $50 to stand next to every other person in line waiting for Travis Scott or Migos to autotune their way across the stage, a mile away from where I’m standing. For me it has nothing to do with wanting the appeal of seeming cool, but really for supporting an independent artist as an independent artist myself, and studying what works and doesn’t work for them in real time.
I can’t say that everyone in these underground venues has this same purpose — especially those white dudes who you can just tell want so badly to not be white, and are trying really hard with one of those Supreme sling bags and a tie-dye neon hoodie — but even those guys, in their weird way, are somehow doing their part by being present and paying the entrance fee to help an underground artists potentially increase their popularity and success here in our own backyard.
So the next time you find yourself judging or being critical of that person who looks like they’re trying too hard to be cool or to be underground, at least recognize that in doing so, they are often supporting some independent brands of clothing while attending some basement concert to see an unknown DJ with a name like ON MOMMAS, and indirectly helping to keep the spirit of counterculture alive by (strangely) giving their dollar bills to products and people they think will boost their apartness from the mainstream.
