YOU could be forgiven for thinking that in between all the double shot soy macchiatos and accessorising with a well-teamed top hat and mismatching colored socks tucked into scuffed brogues, that there is little time left in the day for hipsters to get those exercise endorphins flowing like the rest of us. I mean, how can one worry about trying to stave off the ‘heathrow injection’ when one can’t get out of one’s skinny leg jeans and into exercise pants without assistance.…… Plus, sweating might mess up my rockabilly side fringe, dude!
But in London, fear not, there is a refuge for those who still want make their arms pop in their rolled up tee. Where one can go when one is over-caffeinated, in need of a work-out and has decided to put aside a DNA infused aversion to sport and risk the ridicule of fellow hipsters who think time is much better spent analysing old .
A place where one can maintain an ironic detachment to physical activity whilst still enhancing the core.
Here’s how you do it. Take one disused space ripe for urban reinvention and insert a slickly painted aerobics room (the more neon the colour scheme the better). I recommend an old warehouse, a disused Tube station or a rundown church antechamber. As long as it doesn’t look to passerby’s like visitors might be on their way to a gym class when securing their fixies to the bike rack outside, but instead off to an all-in knit-in in anticipation of next week’s guerrilla knitting attack.
Make sure all classes offered have nothing traditional in the titles — Les Mills is not welcome, nor is Yoga, Aerobics or Pilates. Instead, ensure there is enough hip-hop trampolining, 80s interpretative dance and strip burlesque to satisfy the whole population of Hoxton, and set the whole thing to a continuous sound track of mashed-up pop and rehashed 90s songs. Finally, make sure attendees have access to a wardrobe of neon crop-tops, leg warmers and stylishly low cut singlet tops that suitably show off a toy robot side boob tattoo when partaking in jazz boxercise.
However, whilst this may seem like a magical refuge for the exercise minded hipster – for those of us who work out in a t-shirt left over from a Year 6 T-Ball competition, target leggings and have trouble coordinating two legs into a simple lunge – the only thing getting exercised in such a place is deep-seeded feelings of inadequacy. Now, not only are my sartorial failings once again highlighted but also my physical ineptness becomes manifestly evident. As it turns out, not only do hipsters dress better than me, they are fitter too. And are probably going to come and unleash their well-toned tattooed bicep on my face once they read this article…
