Copyright Arkansas Times
You’re cruising down Interstate 630. “Hellooo, Woodrow Street.” Two minutes later, you’ve just crunched through the gravel lot and made your way into the White Water Tavern. Ten-dollar door paid, step up onto charmingly creaky floorboards. You fix your corduroy ballcap, never sure of who you might run into that night. Mustache? Perfectly mowed. The Phlegms are tearing up the stage, full blast, kicking ass. You fix your hat again. All right. “Hey, yeah, I’ll take the Bluewing.” You’re on your way to a night that will almost certainly rock. You are the hip, young Arkansas millennial. Now, before you get all up in arms and start assuming that this is some sort of hit piece, relax! As The Observer sits here and bangs this thing out, my Flyway Brewing growler is staring me down across the kitchen, much like yours probably is. I too look forward to enjoying many fall nights out on the Hill Station patio. I’m also the sort of dipshit who loves a Razorback tailgate and has no idea what’s going on during the game. Who talks about Jasper’s Ozark Cafe like I’m the one that discovered it. Who brags about going to the Arkansas Museum of Fine Arts’ day-early screening of “The Brutalist” like everyone else in the circle wasn’t also there. Seventy-five-cent PBRs — you and I both know where to find them. We all saw King Gizzard take glorious flight at JJ’s in Fayetteville back in November. Loads of people might say, “Hey buddy, you’re just talking about hipsters.” You would be right … sort of. Drop into any capital city or big old college town and you’ll find these folks everywhere. The staches (you can’t mention these enough), the cuffed jeans — these sorts of features abound whether you’re in Fayetteville or France. We’re like roaches for communities, burrowing into every cultural, hoppy and aesthetically appealing nook and cranny that we can find. Pick up a rock at a local brewery and we scatter. It’s just what hipsters do. We’re not all the same, though. Like every state, Arkansas has its own special brand of pushing-middle-age-millennial. The hip, young Arkansas millennial is a staunch supporter of everything Natural State. They want to “save the Buffalo River” and even have that cool bumper sticker to back it up. They, or someone in their friend group, certainly rocked something Fayettechill in college. In their early teens, they probably informed someone that Evanescence is from Little Rock. They likely owe a good chunk of their bookshelf to a certain shop off of Dickson Street. They’ve spoken the name “Jeff Nichols.” They know the drive between Fayetteville and Little Rock — as well as the hike to Hot Springs — like the back of their hand, all while looking forward to various landmarks along the way. We all know what I mean when I say, “Two presidents and a king.” We’re caffeinated. We’re cultured. We’re outdoorsy. We’re Arkansas. I spoke with a few buddies around the state to see if anyone had thought about this much. The one thing that everyone agreed on was that, growing up, we all found ourselves turning into the Arkansas millennial hipster by experiencing some of the same Natural State gateway drugs. Your first Vino’s show. Sitting outside at Puritan Coffee & Beer in Fayetteville on a sunny, 70-degree day. Climbing Chenal Mountain and pitching a hammock. The romance of throwing up on Dickson! On the other side of things, there are those that I spoke to who don’t enjoy our generation’s very loud, shared local cultural interests. It isn’t surprising that biting words like “performative” and “cliquey” have been thrown around. Not only are you going to find plenty of close-knit, monolithic scenes, but you’ll also find the annoying person who tries to out-Arkansas everyone in the room. We all know the guy who goes as far out of his way as possible to thrift old Razorback gear. That person who posts visits to cool Natural State spots a few times a day, essentially shouting, with hoarse digital paranoia, “I support local, I swear! See??” Of course, we can’t forget the sweet soul who shames you for ever falling into the sin of convenience, otherwise known as ordering a cup of coffee from Starbucks. You know the aggressive and unnecessary side-eye, the haughty tone of voice. “Oh yeah? Man, I hate Starbucks. It’s terrible. It’s either local or I brew it at home.” That obnoxious blowhard doesn’t need to taint the image of our people, though. We share our commonalities, not only because of our age, but because we kick ass! Sure, every so often, folks will pack it up and move on to “bigger and better things.” New York City. Nashville. LA. There’s some sort of mirage on the horizon that has promised many Arkansans a community and culture that they, apparently, won’t find here. The Observer has a hard time believing that. At the end of the day, Arkansas is a pretty big small town. Everyone knows everyone. People can actually add some flair and difference to our culture with very little effort. What’s so great about surrounding yourself with thousands (or millions) of more people and spending way more money? In the meantime, sure, you might keep running into that insufferable barfly with the irony-tinged mustache. Your friends might not always get down with your favorite local coffee shop. The Razorbacks might not always win. Yes, we all need to look in the mirror and accept the fact that many of us have thrifted our personalities and presentations, but we’ve found the right people in the right place. I’d rather push 30 in Arkansas than anywhere else. One more Bluewing, please.
