It’s the end of the week, right after my last class of the day, and all I want to do is eat some grub and grab a pint before I pass out. So I order a 6-inch sub and a beer at Eastside Deli.
Two guys sit down at the table next to me. One is fully clad in denim, with greasy spiked hair. This crazy hair guy is jabbering the other guy’s ear off. His story starts with the line “so I was at a bar last night,” and ends with this mysterious man of denim taking two girls home for the night. “But I didn’t sleep with them,” he tells his friend. He goes on to explain that these two girls, though “super hot,” were way too “hipster” for his taste. “I just hate these Portland hipsters, trying to be so freakin’ different all the time,” he tells his friend. “Me, I’m not like that. I’m all about punching hipsterness in the face!”
Here’s this guy, with so much gel in his hair that his head is shining, wearing a denim onesie like it’s no big deal, claiming that he’s not at all like “these hipsters, trying to be so freakin’ different all the time.”
I could barely stop myself from laughing.
And the worst part is, I hear this sort of thing all the time—“I’m not like these Portland hipsters, I’m just different in my own way, but I’m not a hipster.” I’ll admit it, I’ve even heard myself say something like this. Now I’m starting to wonder: WHAT THE HECK IS A HIPSTER AFTER ALL? Are we all hipsters in our own way?
I don’t think I’m a hipster… but if hipster is the norm in Portland, am I being a hipster for not being a hipster?