Allow me to defend the hipster hoards. I spent a decade of my adult life among them. At passing glance, they come across as “holier than thou” and arrogant douchebags; skinny jeans and ironic sunglasses and emaciated skin over brittle, decalcified bones, cloying caricatures killing time between seasons of Portlandia, their only source of income being the pay they receive as extras on that truly awful piece of shit of a show.
These assumptions couldn’t be any further from the truth. You never see these folks talking through shows, getting stupidly drunk and mean or behaving in a terribly uncouth manner. The Doug Fir at its worse is a million times better than the “Bridge and Tunnel” scene at Departure or any number of overpriced hoity-toity cocktail lounges sprinkled across downtown and the Pearl District; establishments where the spiteful disdain hanging in the air is as strong and off-putting as the drinks are weak.
Furthermore, like hard-working gnomes o’ coolness, they create wonderful things like Stumptown Coffee, Voodoo Doughnuts, Ground Kontrol, the Alberta District, Roadside Attraction, the farmers markets, Trek in the Park and all those nifty little shops along Hawthorne. They are the backbone of Portland and the blood that keeps the city interesting. If you doubt this, take a drive through Beaverton. See any hipsters out there? I rest my goddamn case.
If you can handle the reek of cigarette smoke wafting off of them and the stale coffee on their breath, they’re downright lovable. So find a hipster and hug them…and be sure to take a shower afterward.