Men can do their toilet business much faster than the ladies. And when girls just can’t wait in line, they may choose to hit up the men’s room. As case in point, go to Boiler Room at 11pm on a Friday night. Although socially questionable, this act would seem somewhat understandable.
Just a block away in Old Town/Chinatown at the Tube, you don’t even need to establish a Hipster’s His/Hers restroom line. It’s almost impossible to distinguish these denizen’s as Women or Men. From Pioneer Square to Belmont to Alberta, the streets run rampant with Androgynous Armies.
It seems a lot of individuals here feel challenged to put the cancellation of masculinity and femininity on trial – resulting in an almost third-kind of gender, “No Man’s Land” (no pun intended). Like a single zombie bite that turns an entire city into the infected, gender-neutral clothing has become the “rotten flesh” of Portland. Even our southern-state-transplant-posers feel the need to adopt the look and style of rain clouds. When Californians adopt the style sensibility from a Twilight film, you know something is wrong.
Now, there are those who like to stand out as individuals, but they mostly go to work then take the Max back home to Beaverton. When the sun comes out for three months, some of the infected actually wear shorts and whatever V-Neck t-shirt currently on sale for $9.99 at H&M. As the clouds roll back into their lives, so doth the goth in all of us.
He or She? We’ll will never know. That is the wonder of Portland. There are no gender roles. There is no clear definition of man or woman on the streets of Portland. There are no pink coats, cowboy hats or furry hoods. There are just black hoodies, tight jeans and Chuck Taylors.
