To say, as Christy Wampole did in the now infamous New York Times editorial, “How to Live Without Irony,” that we are “students of cool” incapable of sincere enjoyment implies that twenty-somethings are unauthentic assholes and that Generation X had it right all along.

Here’s what I have to say to all of you self-serious, hipster-bashing Gen X-ers in return: The mohawks of your youth may seem brighter under the crepuscular rays of nostalgia, but they still look like shit. Think piece after think piece might commend your life choices, but they unfairly vilify mine.

Take the recent phenomenon of so-called hipsters (especially male indie-rock fans) admitting their love for Taylor Swift and pop music in general. I’ve noticed on Facebook, Twitter, music blogs and forums a subset of twenty-something straight dudes casually posting about their favorite Taylor Swift songs.

“Problems? You wanna talk about problems?” an anonymous friend of mine wrote. “I just downloaded Bieber and T-Swizzle’s newest albums… Help me…”

This love cannot be sincere, Wampole would suggest. T. Swift bros are merely committing to one drawn out joke without a punch line, listening to the pop star from a safe, ironic distance.

Now, I’m not saying that every bro who memorized the lyrics to “Love Story” is a true fan. With so many people making public statements about their music taste via social media, it’s hard to tell whether “liking” someone is genuine or merely an ironic facet of the listener’s personal brand. It boils down to one of two options: Either Indie Bro loves Taylor Swift, has always loved Taylor Swift and he’s now unashamed of showing it — or Indie Bro is using the supposed uncoolness of Taylor Swift to prove that the rest of the music he listens to is authentic. It’s like he’s saying, “If I admit to loving a pop artist such as Taylor Swift than you have to believe everything else I say that I like.” So either his Internet persona is real, or he’s full of shit.

Bitter Gen X-ers, holding us to the impossible standard of the anti-establishment legacies of the ’80s and ’90s, tend to favor the latter — but I’m not that pessimistic. Irony isn’t as powerful as the Times editorial suggests; it can’t define every recent T. Swift fan, let alone the majority of them. Irony doesn’t force people to listen to a song on repeat in their bedroom or to buy Taylor Swift’s new album on vinyl. The recent embrace of pop music is clearly a loud, proud statement of sincerity — not a backhanded form of mockery. After all, the first album I owned was the Spice Girls, not Nirvana, and I sense a collective wave of nostalgia in my generation for this music of our childhoods: the bubblegum pop of Britney Spears, or the painfully honest confessions of emo Warped Tour vets.

Taylor Swift clearly exhibits both genres. There’s a distinct pleasure in screaming “TROUBLE, TROUBLE” on repeat along with a blonde superstar. It’s “Hit Me Baby One More Time” and “The Middle” at the same time, with a dubstep flourish to keep it modern. Oh — and it’s also catchy as hell.  

The point is: We give irony too much power when it’s the first thing we expect. If a hipster is loudly proclaiming her love for Ke$ha at a party, don’t assume she’s joking. Ask her about it instead. She’ll either be called out on her unfunny bullshit, or you’ll have the karaoke partner of your dreams.