Betty didn’t want to go home without seeing a hipster.
Betty had spent the previous week visiting Sydney with her husband Merv, seeing the sights and remarking on how much had changed since they had last visited the city. Before they returned to their retirement village on the Central Coast, Betty was determined to go to Surry Hills, the official hangout of the hipster.
Merv went along with her idea, as he had gone along with many of Betty’s ideas over the years. Clutching a map and a newspaper article, they headed south along Elizabeth Street.
“According to this article,” Merv squinted, “hipsters are known for their full beards, drop crotch pants and ironic lumberjack shirts. The girls wear floral dresses, leather jackets and ankle boots, or animal-themed onesies. Hipsters are commonly found in coffee shops, blogging or developing internet start-ups.”
“That’s unusual,” Betty nodded.
Although Betty and Merv followed the map, they found themselves in a maze of streets that led past old industrial buildings and concrete office blocks. Not realising Surry Hills was just over the crest of the hill, they wandered, lost, for half an hour.
“We didn’t see one hipster,” Betty lamented as they reluctantly turned around.
“Don’t worry love,” Merv patted her arm, “Next time.”
* * * * *
High above the street, the creative team at an advertising agency was desperate for ideas, fearing the hipster trend was ending. The director peered out the window, his eyes lighting on Merv and Betty.
“Polyester jackets, pastel pants, sun visors. I’ve got it! How about – ‘senior citizen chic’?”
A young woman in an animal onesie, said slowly, “You mean, not hipsters, but senior cit-zers?”
The ad executives nodded wildly. Although Merv and Betty had not found a hipster, they had unwittingly become the inspiration for the fashion’s next great trend.
© M. C. Dulac 2015
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