This is from Stuff Hipsters Hate (on Tumblr…new favorite blog?)

Daytime Dates

Technically, nary a hipster would actually call a date a date, but for the sake of simplicity I shall henceforth refer to these drunken forays into the tortured realm of romance thusly. When a hipster male begins courting a hipster female, he will rarely ask said female to “hang” during daylight hours. Nay, often he will select an establishment that serves alcoholic beverages from a slim repertoire of acceptable watering holes (i.e. one that is “real” and/or “cheap” and/or “close to my apartment”) and casually ask the female to meet him “sometime around 11 p.m. … midnight … thereabouts.”

The lateness of the hour will ensure a multitude of things:

1). The hipster male will have awoken from his daily disco nap, which is usually taken around 9 p.m.,

2). The hipster female will be in the mood for drinkin’,

3). The lateness of the hour will prevent the female from getting home in a timely fashion, making it much more likely that she will sleep over,

4). Consequently, the sexin’ will occur.

Now, let us suppose that this same hipster couple planned a daytime outing to, say, the museum of holography, a local coffee shop or the park. This state of affairs presents myriad issues:

1). Neither hipster will likely be awake in time for the scheduled meeting.

2). The pair will be able to see — in vivid daylight — each and every blemish and imperfection marring the appearance of the other, cracks in the unearthly vessel that would otherwise be softened by whiskey and the low light of a bar, loft party or sketchy waterfront park,

3). Unless daydrinking is to occur, the two will be painfully, unavoidably sober,

4). Consequently, sex will likely not occur, rendering the entire affair completely and totally pointless.

In all honesty, hipster dating has little to do with “getting to know you,” “hearing about your childhood” or “making a connection” — a hipster is often much more absorbed with the “idea” of the other person as opposed to the person him or herself, and when one only sees said person under the cloak of night, under a fattened harvest moon or dancing in his or her underwear to the Monkees pre-coitus, one can preserve this untarnished idea. When morning comes, each will be merely a dream to the other: pleasant at the time of consummation, but basically forgotten by noon.