Hipster Metro. Photo by furcafe

Cry into that tall boy of PBR, D.C. hipsters—we’ve been declared a town of squares.

This month Travel + Leisure went about ranking America’s 20 best cities for hipsters, and not only did we not make the cut, but we were beat out by the likes of Providence (#6), San Juan, Puerto Rico (#8) and Kansas City, Missouri (#20). Seattle topped this list, followed by Portland and San Francisco.

Obviously, there’s reason to be skeptical—defining what is and is not a hipster is notoriously difficult, after all. The magazine explained its methodology thusly:

It’s no wonder that pilsner originated in Seattle, where a local taste for the retro, artsy, and wee-bit ironic boosted it to the top of America’s best cities for hipsters, according to Travel + Leisure readers who voted in the annual America’s Favorite Cities survey. They ranked 35 metropolitan areas on culturally relevant features like live music, coffee bars, and independent boutiques. To zero in on the biggest hipster crowds, we also factored in the results for the best microbrews and the most offbeat and tech-savvy locals.

It’s our take on the debated term hipster, which can inspire eye rolls or admiration. Once used to describe counterculture types, hipster is now so prevalent it’s at a possible tipping point. Whatever your take, you generally know hipsters when you see them—most likely in funky, up-and-coming neighborhoods. A smirking attitude toward mainstream institutions means they tend to frequent cool, often idiosyncratic restaurants, shops, and bars—the same kinds of venues that appeal to travelers looking for what they can’t find at home. (Yelp.com now even has a search feature for “hipster” ambience.)

Sigh. We know it’s going to take a long time for us to escape the image of this is a buttoned-down government town. In many ways, it is. But we’ve also got local breweries. (Heck, even a distillery is on the way.) We’ve got food trucks. Lots of ’em. And look at the hipster places we go out to! We’ve got guys who make sausages in their living room and girls who make pickles. And tweed rides. A Million Mustache March. Even our murder defendants are getting in on the act—they’re wearing hipster glasses to play on the emotions and empathies of the juries. If we have to get Marion Barry in skinny leg jeans and on a fixie, we will, damn it!

Well, maybe the only consolation pride is that there’s nothing more hipster than not being a hipster at all, right?