Either in earnest or ironically--doesn't matter. They're douchebags and hipsters, and they're thirsty. Hipsters and douchebags come in many varieties, and so do their beers. Inclusion in this list isn't so much a dig on the quality of the tipple, but rather the character of its drinker. So take a good look in the mirror, folks--some of these might sound familiar.

Hipster Classic
Pabst Blue Ribbon suffers from a bit of First Amendment affliction--because it chooses to associate with hipsters, it faces discrimination. And that's almost a shame, because while it's a very pale lager with timid flavor profile, it's better than other American macrolagers. The red, white, and blue calls out to the patriot in me; the blue ribbon appeals to the gunner I might have once aspired to be. Then again, with a flavor as insultingly rail-thin and one-dimensional as the hipsters who drink it constantly, PBR is really weak. Among the watered down flavors, you can really taste the disaffection! I personally like to channel the DIY spirit of the hipster and mix these into something called a PBRoyale--equal parts Pabst and André Brut. Classy. Side note: reports Prof. Logue: "the beer of choice among law professors who sing Karaoke at the Circus Bar: PBR in a can for 50 cents."

The Alterna-Hipster
For those who have moved out of The Mission because it got too mainstream-y, who eschew the fixed-gear bike as lame, whose goal in life is to wear the biggest earlobe plugs ever, Miller High Life is on its way to becoming the new Pabst. It's crisp, slightly grassy, and artificially bubbly. It's also heavy on the grain flavor. Is it the "champagne of beers"? No. Says one fellow taster, "Miller High Life was my first beer. It was also my last one for a while."

The Alterna-Alterna-Hipster
So it's come to drinking Colt 45. I'm so alternative I don't have to drink beer. I like to drink thin watery beer-like substances that taste of grain, corn, dextrose, and irony. If PBR is the hipster way of saying, "I'm no longer confined by what corporate America dictates my tastes should be," then Colt 45 is hipster for "I'm no longer concerned with taste at all."

The I-Banker
Stella Artois pours the color of apple, with a sweet honey taste and a clean bitterness on the back of the tongue. It's light and fizzy in the mouth, with an aftertaste of stale bread and grass that starts out crisp and drinkable when it's ice cold, but as it warms, the beer gets underwhelming, and a cloying sweetness takes over quickly. Stella Artois rides the coattails of the great Belgian brewing tradition while effectively ignoring such tradition in its entirety. It's for people who want to be seen drinking something overpriced and Belgian but who would prefer not to have to drink beer. You'd do better melting a box of Godiva truffles into a mug and making a hot cocoa. Double-douche score: buy it in bottles for that super-classy foil wrapping. Triple-douche score: pronounce "Artois" with a sneer.

The Ivy-Leaguer
Heineken is the beer my college buddy used to drink to make himself feel special. Now, I think it made him look like a prestige whore. OK, I went to Princeton--we were all prestige whores. Heineken is pretty thin, with pronounced sugar sweetness instead of malt--possibly even coming from corn syrup. I'll admit it got pleasantly bitter at the tail end (much like a law student), but with an overwhelming taste of honey and an aftertaste of sour apple juice (not much like a law student). The carbonation was particularly unsubtle, and the beer left me with the taste of grass, light hops, and faux classiness.

"Fruit In My Beer is So Hip!"
I feel like Charlton Heston at the end of Soylent Green: Blue Moon is Coors! Tell everyone! But here's the thing: it's not half bad. It's creamy and rich, with hints of citrus and grassiness. So it's a really great facsimile of an actual beer, and that would be fine if it were marketed as such. Instead, Blue Moon has stoked sales by downplaying its megacorporate parent and pushing the slice of orange in the glass in order to pique consumer interest with "whenever there's an orange, there ought to be a stack of blue moon." So instead of being proud of an American megabrewery for creating something tasty, we intentionally and erroneously think of Blue Moon (along with Häagen-Dazs and Caesar Salad) as European.

The Semester-Abroad Student Comes Home
He's just back from a semester abroad, and he won't shut up about the Trappist ales he got so wrecked on back in the Old World. He looks on with a sneer when you order a single-fermentation beer, because he can handle the Tripel. He even insists on drinking Chimay in its own goblet. That's right, it's the I-know-Blue-Moon-isn't-from-Europe-and-that's-why-I-don't-drink-it beer snob. Despite being an exceptionally good beer, Chimay has three things going for it on the douche front: a.) it's Belgian, so it's got to be imported, b.) it's Trappist, which is Europe's version of "craft brewer," and c.) Chimay is easy enough to pronounce that any idiot from America can order it. All three export varieties are delicious--you should try them all. But don't be a douche about it.

Dude...
Good lord, there is a lot of corn in Milwaukee's Best Ice. It's the color of urine and has the aroma of stale bread. This, dear readers, is the aroma of undergrad life--the beer that both fratboys and bros can get behind. It's light and drinkable, but only because it goes down like water. It tastes like someone soaked a loaf of Wonder bread in a Brita filter. Not a lot of bitterness, or flavor of any kind. I had it with a side of Swedish Fish. Mmm...**

Joe wang welcomes your requests, as long as they are accompanied with a serious six-pack of brewskies. Reach him at rg@umich.edu.