Hipsters age, just as we all do. Pabst cans are not a fountain of youth. And when hipsters grow up, their tastes can start to run just a little more expensive. It seems the flanneled, plastic-rim-bespectacled masses have jumped ship from their pizza delivery jobs in favor of gigs at downtown's corporate HQ. They've shunned their five-roommates-to-a-duplex-cum-practice-space hovels in Seward and the cheaper corners of Uptown in favor of converted warehouse spaces in Minneapolis's North Loop. They've dropped their membership at the local dive bar and sprung for the tab at spendy restaurants like the Bachelor Farmer, Haute Dish, and Bar La Grassa. Did we even spy them in designer jeans, sipping wine at a Clubhouse Jäger DJ night? When Forbes names your stamping ground the 12th Best Hipster Neighborhood in the country, you know you've arrived. Arrived somewhere. Somewhere hip? Definitely. Does this make you still a hipster? On second thought, maybe it's time we revoke that card you've been carrying. But hey, at least your parents are proud. Way to grow, Hipster.