It's empowering to be objectified. Especially wearing lace panties and an apron whipping up a pisco sour in the kitchen, while your fully clothed man waits outside.

I spy this scene in an open edition of Stab surf magazine at a hipster coffee shop (ironically, owned by two sassy young women). "Do you want sugar?" the barista asks. "No," I say, glaring at the cover, "a spoonful of sexism is more than sufficient."

A screenshot from a video on the Stab website, directed by Beren Hall and featuring surfers Alana Blanchard and Jack Freestone.

Welcome to the world of hipster sexism: the brother of surfer sexism; cousin of liberal sexism; and son of retro sexism. Under the umbrella of "self-aware sexism", this is the use of mockery, irony or satire to say, "Look, we're in the post-feminist era, so it's safe to pretend we're back in the 1950s."

Old-fashioned objects and ideas are rebranded as hip and cool. Like a guy calling his wife "the ball and chain". If you criticise it, you're a harpy with no sense of humour. (The barista barely conceals an eye-roll.)