I've found myself thinking "Hippies? Yay!" these past few years, but I can't understand why. All the hippies I have for comparison around here are people who really aren't all that truly hippyish. For the most part, there are two kinds of self-identifying hippie around here: the artsy fartsies that happen to like doing art and perhaps wearing hippie-type clothes, and the "Do I hear someone smoking some weed? brb" kind that also throw in some occasional instances of sitting on the grass outside.
In both of the cases to which I get treated locally, I can't really interface. In the first case, I found they tended to worship the fact that people would have no fucking clue what they (the artist) were thinking when they made some piece. In the second case, I found that their rare few philosophical discussions were made of steaming bullshit; not a single person had either a clue or a real purpose in what they'd say.
Despite the dearth of "my kind" of hippie, I still enjoy the hippie-riffic notions of directness to nature, enjoyment of grass (the kind that you cut and throw away the clippings) and skies, and freedom from unnecessary conformities and ugly, short haircuts. (long hair for the win)
So, what makes a hippie a hippie?