I was looking for a gift for a little child in the art gallery store. I realised quickly that most of the gifts for sale there were not really aimed at children at all, rather at their hipster parents or well-wishers. A story about a bear finding a cute hat in an op shop, for example, might tickle a hipster's whimsical fancy, but wouldn't do much for her two-year-old son. That amount of overpriced quirk, of which children were the unwitting butts, made me uncomfortable, so I left.
I don't know what the opposite of a hipster is, I mused as I walked away, but it might just be a child. Of all human beings, children are the least capable of irony, the least pretentious, and the least detached. They are blissfully unaware of social codes and foibles, and they are avid and unquestioning consumers. The hipster parent might want his kid to love Wes Anderson films, but I don't know any kids (alas) who don't prefer Disney. The hipster parent might gleefully buy Augustus Finds a Deck Hat, but his child will every time prefer We're Going on a Bear Hunt.