Hippies Gone? Yes. Inaccessible Via EasyJet? Yup. Welcome to the Latest Hipster Travel Destination.

For the hipster, travel is merely an accessory. “The exclusivity of his cultural and geographical selection defines his personality, in much the same way that the suit he wears, the wristwatch he brandishes, or the car he drives defines him,” writes Simon Mills in an amusing story in the Guardian. Mills examines how a place becomes a hipster destination, and just how slippery that title can be in an age when information travels fast. He also gets inside a hipster traveler’s head and riffs.

For him, it’s not enough for a place to be just “nice”. Sunshine, sandy beaches and friendly hotels are not sufficient. He is looking for something more ambiguous than culture and history, topological beauty, tranquillity and relaxation. He is on a mission to mine that rarefied seam of holiday gold, the brand of vacation kudos known as “the hip resort”, somewhere that is on the cusp of word-of-mouth discovery and quiet but discerning commercialism. Somewhere off the track beaten by package deals and low-cost airlines, but knowingly furnished with down-filled mattresses, designer sheets and a wi-fi connection in the lobby. He wants equal measures of tranquillity and elegantly raucous hedonism, the perfect execution of rustic luxe, somewhere with an “authentic” culture and locally sourced food served with a metropolitan slickness.

Ideally, like Goa or Ibiza, this little Shangri-la should have the barefoot credibility of being first discovered by the hippies and having since enjoyed a tasteful gentrification.

Whatever happens, the hip resort seeker must get there at the right time. Too early is OK—at least he can brag about that later. Arriving too late, on the other hand, is unforgivable.

Poor hipster. With so many places out there to be explored, having such a narrow checklist is what’s really unforgivable.

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