I think you can probably guess where this is going, but, how about the difference, if any, between San Diego hipsters and Portland hipsters.
Portland hipsters have acquired some legendary statues these days on account of the exaggerations of that one TV show, but they actually aren’t so different from our local hipsters. Understanding the difference between a San Diego hipster and a Portland hipster is like settling the conflict between metal and metalcore. Outside observers seldom see the differences, till they make the odious misstep of telling a true metalhead that Killswitch Engage or As I Lay Dying is a metal band — or so I’m told by the few Bolt Thrower fans I’ve known. Both classes of hipster love to DIY whatever, sniff craft beer, and consume copious volumes of medical marijuana for unspecified anxiety disorders; but the devil is in the details.
San Diego hipster received his first tattoo (something Japanese) at age 16, from a world-renowned tattoo artist...who later did a stint in prison for (allegedly) beating up a Minnesotan tourist who wanted a Vikings logo on his chest. The San Diego hipster constantly threatens to move to Portland but doesn’t. He is totally down with the Guadalupe Valley wine scene, even though he doesn’t know or care much about wine per se, but stuff from Mexico just seems legit. He rode his bike to work 259 out of the 261 working days in 2016, and he only missed those two because it had the audacity to rain, so he called in sick. He thinks you should come to visit San Diego, and he will show you around all the hot spots. He has friends who work at breweries!
The Portland hipster received her first tattoo (an earthen jar of sauerkraut and a single leaf of thyme discretely inked onto her left shoulder blade) at age 42, from a friend who bought the tattoo gun as a means of self-expression during a period of personal turmoil. The Portland hipster keeps threatening to move to Detroit/Baltimore/Tallahassee, or anywhere susceptible to an “unhip” designation, if one more silly California hipster relocates. She thinks Willamette Valley pinot noir is better than burgundy, and she isn’t afraid to tell you. She has to drive to work due to circumstances beyond her control, but it’s cool because (a) she has a Prius; (b) she drives the speed limit for maximum safety and efficiency; and (c) the time in the car lets her catch up on Audible biographies of famous women industrialists. She heard Seattle was nice for vacation this time of year.
Of course, maybe you meant “hipsters from Portland, Maine,” in which case the difference is much starker. All the hipsters in Maine smell faintly of lobster and don’t know how to say “chowder” without sounding like a bad character actor in an old made-for-TV version of a Stephen King novel. Far Portland — as opposed to Near Portland — might as well be The Shipping News as far as San Diego hipsters are concerned. Of course, it might be an undiscovered gem of dilapidated warehouse buildings ripe for repurposement as craft breweries/artisan chowderhouses, but nobody would let the secret out if that were the case, because that’s how you get a lot of hipster carpetbaggers