As defined on the blog “Sexless in the City,” a whipster is a West Coast hipster. He conveys a kind of style-savvy cool, but is without both the metrosexual prissiness of a certain type of New York man and the avant-garde pretensions of the aspiring hipster. This is the kind of man only L.A. could breed: the guy with unabashed rock-star envy — in that Matchbox 20 kind of way.
The hair is what gives him away. The top — usually blond — is sculpted into a studied muss of short and manly waves (this works best if the hair in question tends to curl or even ’fro at longer lengths) cemented in place with mondo amounts of product. The face beneath is clean-shaven, except for a strategically cultivated tuft groomed to adorn the curve of an otherwise stubble-free chin.
“Man, when I was out in Arizona last weekend, I couldn’t believe all the whipsters around. Is precision shaving some kind of competition sport out there?!!”
Who says it has to be the opposite of metrosexual? A retrosexual is (in the female case) that woman who eschews the sexual-revolution plank of feminism in favor of more-traditional values. Perhaps even 1950s values (this is not to say she goes as far as the cone-bra). A little burlesque, a little Betty Crocker, the retrosexual woman has new-fangled spunk and old-fashioned values: she does for abstinence and monogamy what Slang Flashcards do for Dover illustrations. She may be, well, Sexless in the City, but only 'cause she chooses to be.
At my cocktail hour the other evening, we were discussing just how "retro" I am — that I have at some times sought to attract men by baking them cookies or knitting them slippers. "You're so RETRO!" someone cried. "Oh no," I replied. "I'm retrosexual."