How to spot a 'rusticarian' (the hipsters invading our country villages)

With their extravagant facial hair, non-prescription glasses and mandatory skinny jeans, urban hipsters have been a familiar sight on our city streets for some time. Should their ironic appropriation of anything once considered uncool grate on you, however, you might have thought this was an urban problem, and that you could escape them in  countryside. Think again, because a growing body of evidence supports the existence of a new breed: the rusticarian. As the name suggests, this village-based cousin of the urban hipster can increasingly be found in rural areas, draining the wifi and boring on about making cheese as if they invented the stuff.

The rusticarian was first identified in a report by Strutt & Parker, entitled The Village Revival. In it, the property firm referred to a tribe of “entrepreneurs and creatives who can bring dynamism to the village economy.” These countryside dwellers “embrace new approaches to work and lifestyle,” the report enthused, adding that the advent of decent rural broadband was the rusticarian’s key motivation for moving to the country.

Like the hippies who gravitated towards nature in the 1960s, their modern-day counterparts are also seeking the good life, which in their case roughly translates as “collective working with lovely views of the hills.” And business in bucolic settings is booming, with rural areas now boasting more enterprises per capita than cities (with the exception of London), according to Office for National Statistics figures.

Meanwhile, burnt-out middle-class professionals are even escaping to the countryside for fruit-picking holidays, where they make like low-paid Eastern European migrants and reconnect with the land by harvesting grapes and apples.

So how do you know if your village has been invaded by rusticarians? Here are five ways.

1. You’re down your local pub, enjoying a pint of Doom Bar by a roaring log fire, muddy boots on your feet and a pungent dog beside them, when from the bar you hear an irritating sound. You look around to see a man in his late thirties stroking his beard and inquiring which craft beers are served here. White iPhone ear buds trail from the neck of his ironic t-shirt and he is pairing an overly earnest expression with a silly moustache.

Do say: “Fancy playing a retro board game?”

Don’t say: “If you hurry, you’ll just make the last train back to Hoxton.”

2. That little village bakery down the road that was run by lovely old Elsie Pickles and her spinster daughter Martha? The one that did a great Eccles cakefor 80p? Yes, well it’s now an artisan coffee shop and old Elsie is nowhere to be seen. Apparently she was sent on her way after mispronouncing the words “espresso macchiato”. The woman who runs the new place is called Clio. She wears dungarees. There are no English words on the menu and the floral-patterned wall tiles have been replaced with exposed brick work.

Do say: “Do you serve ground Colombian Bucaramanga?”

Don’t say: “I’ll have an iced Chelsea bun, please.”    

3. While out shopping in your local Co-op, you spot the shy teenager from next door who works there, and he appears terrified. A couple wearing what look like his’n’hers checked shirts are vigorously cross-examining him about the selection of local cheeses on offer. They inquire if there’s anywhere nearby they can buy them “at source”. He shrugs and tentatively points them towards some Dairylea slices in the fridge. “Awesome!” they exclaim. “Are those made in the dairy down the road?”

Do say: “There’s a Waitrose in the nearest town where you might find what you’re after.”

Don’t say: “This is a local shop for local people. We’ll have no trouble here.”

4. What’s going on in the handy village store that used to sell candle wax, Cellotape, birthday cards and weed killer? You walked by recently and saw some desks had been installed, with strange people sitting at them, tapping away on Apple MacBooks and looking very earnest. You popped in to see if you could buy some paraffin, only to find the place was no longer a village store but something called a “collective work space” instead.

Do say:“What speed is the broadband here?”

Don’t say: “WHY ARE YOU ALL WEARING WOOLLY HATS INDOORS ANYWAY??”

5. The traffic’s been bad lately. You’re used to the old Land Rovers and family Volvos chugging around. But now there are new menaces on the roads: fold-up bicycles, adults on scooters and cycles with front carriages full of feral children wearing flowers in their hair. You didn’t know it was possible to fold up a bicycle. What a mind-boggling idea. And yes, you thought scooters were the preserve of the under-10s. Whatever next - cars that run on electricity? The byways of Little Popplethwaite were not designed for these things.

Do say: “Mind the bumpy tracks on that thing - the nearest hospital is 27 miles away.”

Don’t say: “On yer bike, sunshine.”

6. You’re awoken one morning to the sound of hens clucking. Not an uncommon noise in the countryside, sure, but today they sound far closer than usual. You fling open your curtains to see the new neighbours have set up a hen house in their garden. Oh - not a hen house, you’re informed, but an Eglu - the very hippest in chicken coops. That’s right, the newcomers - who have so far exhibited not one iota of rural knowledge - are now rearing their own bantams. They’re rescue chickens, they tell you smugly. The poor things could have died. Turns out there are now hundreds of thousands of amateur keepers out there. It’s just your luck you’re living next door to a couple of them.

Do say: “Ooh, I fancy a jackfruit omelette for breakfast.”

Don’t say: “Stop teaching the local farmer to suck eggs.”