The writer is editorial consultant at The Express Tribune, news junkie, bibliophile, cat lover and occasional cyclist
And then it was into the whirl and straightway bumping into people I knew and people who knew me — or at least knew of me courtesy of these columns that have a readership wider than I imagined. They were the Bright Young Things. And I do mean bright. They might have been out on the town and all glammed up and flashing the bling right and left but these were not idle drones, creatures of the night only. Dear me no. These were people with real jobs in the real world. They had salaries that enabled them to buy the clothes and carry the bags and jingle the accessories and employment in IT, banking, service sector generally, the beauty business, fashion, travel, academia, entrepreneurial businesses and startups — in short a veritable cornucopia of gainful employment. They were not just decoration pieces, they did something useful.
The bubble exuded style and impeccable taste. And I know both when I see ‘em. This was the stratospheric end of getting your hair done. No walk-ins here, you make an appointment first with your bank manager and then with the people who are the crimpers and snippers who will pamper and preen you and deliver the goods with flair and aplomb and wave bye-bye and come again won’t you as you totter off into the acidic haze of a ‘Pindi rush-hour.
Let it be known also that there were Hipsters. Real Hipsters or a reasonable facsimile thereof. Hipsters. In ‘Pindi. On a Friday night. Hipsterdom is a subculture made up mostly but not exclusively of affluent and middle class people generally under 30. They have a non-mainstream fashion sensibility and the males of the species tend towards the bearded but in the local iteration this being no indication of latent or actual piety. The term tends to be pejorative, and you don’t get the average hipster wandering around with a t-shirt advertising their lifestyle choice, it being more likely used to indicate somebody with a little too much trendiness coupled with an effete and affected style. There in droves, with one or two local variations on a theme that was distinctly steam-punk derived. (Steam-punk? Look it up, Daaahlings.)
So there I was pushing 70 amidst a crowd two generations younger and quite likely considerably richer and pondering the state of the nation. Where do they all go when the sun comes up — workplace apart that is? How typical this? How atypical? A subcultural aberration or a trend?
It was a later conversation with the man who put the show together that shed some light — no names but ‘famous hairdresser and style guru’ might ring a bell for some. It’s happening all over says he. Style and culture evolving on fast forwards fuelled by greater exposure and embraced by a wealthier, better-educated and worldlier middle class younger generation that at the high end are plugged into the universality of it all. The New Globals if you will. Post-everything and pre-anything you care to think of. They are never going to take over the world and in time will move on, grow out of it, look back on those hipster days with a sly and knowing smile as they wheel the baby around the supermarket whilst juggling the toddler who is dressed in the height of under-3’s threads. Ah yes…do you remember that night in Bahria Town? The opening of that salon? I know I will. Right… I’m off to get a haircut. Tootle-pip!
Published in The Express Tribune, December 8th, 2016.
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