I’m not a hipster
But you might be.

One of the first nights I arrived to Portland this summer, we met friends at Amnesia, where there are great microbrews and hipsters. Funny enough, I wasn’t thinking about the hipster part when we decided on a location. I was just thinking it was within stumbling distance of where I needed to end up at night.

So, I have a beer or two, and by No. 3, my eyes go wide at the bar because OH MY GOD there are two total hipsters sitting at the bar counter. Wide-framed black glasses, checked long-sleeve shirts, tight jeans, the whole deal.

I prance back outside to our table and start convincing my wonderful friend that of course she wants to strategically pose for a picture by the bar so that I can really take a picture of the hipsters. Back inside we go, she leans up to the bar, and SNAP. I take my blinding-flash photo, and we run back outside. Super subtle, right?

Apparently not. Friends who went in for beers right after my photo op heard the hipsters saying things like “what the fuck was that?” One even answered them: “You’re just so hipsterlishous.” And they were okay with that.