It all seems suspiciously cyclical. The same accusations were lobbed at my generation of New York transplants, who, in the ’90s, were also accused of ruining the city and raising rents. Except we were called “20-somethings,” and we didn’t look half as put-together. Hipsters, conversely, look adorable in their unkempt-but-still-dressy duds. In fact, it seems as if every guy I know under 28 dresses really well. Recently I visited a store in South Williamsburg called Yoko Devereaux, where young hipster men find clothing to adorn themselves. The moment I walked in and saw the fresh, lovely styles available, I realized that they want the same things we do: love, attention, cheap cocktails and a nice-fitting shirt.