The unintended hipster

I am not a hipster, nor have I ever claimed to be. Everyone else seems to think I am, just because I love classic rock, black-and-white movies, and avoid wearing clothes from massive chain-stores (those ones that are real dark and pound music out into the mall really scare me). I embrace the fact that I am opposed to the typical. But does this make me a hipster?

Maybe I have it wrong and I don't even properly know what a hipster really is. Apart from what I have gathered from urban dictionary and American Apparel ads, there's a kind of vagueness in that whole world that I can't begin to understand.

But here is what I do know: I don't value 'ironic' eighties fashion or eye glasses as accessories. I look for the whimsical and beautiful, not the ironic and hip. I do buy a lot of things that I think are funny or amusing, but I also on some level think they are beautiful as well. I purchase things that are furry, metallic, plastic, glittery, floaty, studded, insane, bohemian - the things I would wear if I was five years old again. Or a tranny.

My look changes so many times a day, sometimes I can barely keep up. I want to be an impish Parisian in ballerina flats and boatneck shirts, then a tough rock 'n' roller in my leather motorcycle jacket and never-brushed hair, then Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca, but then why not Anita Pallenberg, or Grace Kelly? And then I wind up at the end of the day wishing I was a glamorous as Marie Antoinette.

My head is entirely in the clouds, my heart in my dreams. I wish I could say my look is entirely carefree, but if it was I wouldn't care so much about being labeled a 'hipster'. Maybe I've got it all wrong and I am, in fact, a hipster and I didn't even know it. Are there any hep cats out there with an answer?