That’s a trick lots of other Times writers can’t claim; the Times has described everything from children’s books to Brooklyn restaurants with a “Portlandia” adjective.

But they’re hardly the only writers obsessed with comparing things to the comedy show. From GQ and New York magazine to Gawker — and whether writing about arrests for public sex, coffee shops across America, or combination bike fair/film festivals — “Portlandia” has become a lazy shorthand for oddball, quirky cool. And no, don’t say that should be a “Portlandia” sketch.

“Portlandia” in the New York Times

Calyer, a restaurant in New York

One red (wine) is described as ”textured and bright with hints of volcano.” Those who like this sort of thing will find Calyer endearing. Those who don’t will be sure they’ve stumbled onto the set of ”Portlandia: East.” (Jan. 25, 2012)

A park in Portland

Trying to locate this year’s fifth annual Pie Off in Laurelhurst Park in Portland, Ore., was like a sketch from the TV show “Portlandia”: first you had to pass by what was billed (in chalk on the asphalt path) as an “organic free-range wedding,” then a free performance of Shakespeare’s “Much Ado About Nothing.” (T Magazine, Aug. 2, 2011)

Goings-on at a rich person’s estate in the Hamptons

If it all seems like an episode of ”Portlandia,” the arch sendup of Northern left coast culture featuring an ad agency where employees navigate Frisbee mazes and ideate in hot-air balloons, that’s no mistake. (July 27, 2011)

Coffee shops in Oregon that aren’t even in Portland

Later, I’d see the same barista manning the counter and squeegeeing condensation from the windows at the Blue Scorcher Bakery Cafe, in downtown Astoria, an organic, vegetarian cooperative with a quixotic magazine rack. Viewed through cynical eyes, the coffee shop might look like fodder for the satirical television series ”Portlandia,” which pokes fun at the region’s cultural quirks and earnest, progressive ideals. (March 25, 2011)

Things in Portland, as described by the city’s daily paper, the Portland Oregonian

Puppet shows

It sounds like a “Portlandia” sketch, but the “Quick ‘N’ Dirty” Puppet Slam is for real.

A bike fair/film fest

It’s an event so steeped in the eccentric ways of our fair city that it almost seems like something cooked up by the spoofmeisters of “Portlandia”: Scores — nay, hundreds — of bicyclists turning a modest commercial intersection into a spontaneous springtime fair, with craft beers flowing, DJs spinning, bikes and bikewear being flaunted, bike gear being raffled off, and, most importantly, independent short films about the world  — nay, the universe — of bicycling screening in a theater just steps from the action.

A bicycle-based talk show

Although it seems like something from a “Portlandia” sketch, “The Pedal Powered Talk Show” is the real deal.

Stocking stuffers

RadCat cat toys: These handmade pillows, collars and toys are made with recycled, vintage materials and are “Portlandia-style cute” …

Restaurants

In Queens

Highfalutin grilled cheese sandwiches, coffee-geek coffee, and craft beer together at last. Yes, it sounds like a “Portlandia” parody, but we’re not ashamed to admit that we like it. (New York magazine)

In Austin, Texas

What with its devotion to today’s locavore and organic philosophies, 24 Diner could star in an episode of “Portlandia”: it’s very serious about what it does. (Texas Monthly)

In Boulder, Colo.

From its top-notch farmers market on Wednesday evenings and Saturday mornings, to its “Portlandia”-(t)ype “Is it local? Yes, it’s local” menu options, you pretty much can’t miss, anywhere you hit. (Colorado Springs Independent)

In Portland

But this isn’t just some dutiful, farmy, “Portlandia”-esque ideal …  (GQ)

Pork festivals

This is the third year of the Cochon 555 tour, a production of Atlanta-based pig promoter Brady Lowe, which hit Los Angeles for the first time this year. The strip-club fracas after last year’s Oregon event, which began when a renowned local chef objected to the trophy awarded to an Iowan pig and ended at 2 a.m. with tasers, contusions, arrests and Lowe’s broken leg, could have been a sketch from “Portlandia.” (LA Weekly)

Spas

Billed as a “retail relaxation station,” Oasis carries everything from terrariums by Twig to bespoke lemonade by Sips and Bites to vegan beauty by Meow Meow Tweet, which sounds like a “Portlandia” sketch but is actually a line of handmade apothecary products. (Racked NY)

Liking things on Facebook

IFC also has another clip for you, but you have to “like” “Portlandia” on Facebook before you can actually watch it. Which, ironically, seems like something out of a “Portlandia” sketch. (Crushable)

Commenting on websites

Of course, not everyone finds the city’s oddballs so charming. When the website Deadline Hollywood first posted about “Portlandia,” it inspired such ultraserious rants that it could’ve been a “Portlandia” sketch in itself. (Los Angeles Times)

Strange public sex

A Portland couple was arrested last night and accused of disorderly conduct after police heard multiple reports that a woman was “tied up in a car with duct tape over her mouth.”

The police thought they were dealing with a potential kidnapping case. Turns out the captive was just enjoying Valentine’s Day with her loving boyfriend.

The story reads something like a discarded “Portlandia” plot line-complete with a Subaru cameo. (Gawker)

Jodie Foster in “Carnage”

Foster’s performance makes the character resemble a really, really intense resident of politically correct “Portlandia.” (Creative Loafing)

Los Angeles hipsters excited about Vanilla Ice

“I personally liked it because we’ve been doing ukulele covers of Vanilla Ice on tour for years and years. It’s great, like, seeing the master,” says a local and possible “Portlandia” extra. (Curbed LA)

Colin Meloy and Carson Ellis’ children’s book

Sometimes things get almost too Portlandy, as though the characters from the brilliant TV satire “Portlandia” have gotten lost in Narnia. (New York Times)

C.S. Lewis meets “Portlandia” in Wildwood, the debut novel by Colin Meloy, frontman of the Decemberists and brother of “Apothecary” author Maile Meloy. (USA Today)

Prue, the book’s bicycle-pedaling, steamed-milk-sipping, library-book-addicted adolescent female protagonist acts like a child extra from the hipster-satire TV show “Portlandia.” (Creative Loafing)

Colin Meloy and Carson Ellis themselves

(As) they walk along the road in Forest Park, they could pass for the king and queen of Portlandia. (Portland Oregonian)

Sarah McLachlan

She’s sort of a hyper-ethical eco-mother, the type of individual who could easily be lampooned on “Portlandia,” even though she calls Vancouver, B.C., home. (Seattle Weekly)

Barn raisings

The very phrase seems somehow so very Portland, as if would inspire writers for the “Portlandia” TV show to immediately stand up and take notice: an urban barn raising. (Portland Architecture)

Media criticism about coverage of Portland

And we were all over it when The Wall Street Journal did a profile/real-estate story on Stumptown Coffee founder Duane Sorenson of Portland and managed to out-Portland “Portlandia,” the IFC show which purports to poke gentle fun at the city’s people but couldn’t have come up with a guy like Sorenson on a bet. (Seattle Weekly)

Portland boasts a world-class film and video industry (Grimm, Gus Van Sant, Todd Haynes), and more successful bands than almost any other town in the U.S. (Decemberists, Wild Flag, M Ward, Pink Martini, etc.). It leads the nation in eco-superiority, LEED buildings, recycling and banning plastic, clean sustainable living and has a bicycle industry that adds an estimated $90 million per year to the local economy. Local moms report that the kids at school excitedly lap up Brussels sprouts.

Yeah, Portland is better than you. And now it has “Portlandia.” In its first season, costars Fred Armisen and Carrie Brownstein added such Portlandisms to the zeitgeist as: “Portland is where young people go to retire,” “Put a bird on it” and “the dream of the ’90s is alive in Portland.”  Season 2, which begins Friday night on  IFC, features an impressive list of guest stars including Kyle MacLachlan, Andy Samberg, Johnny Marr, Kristen Wiig, Mary Lynn Rajskub and Tim Robbins.

“It feels like a second album,” says Brownstein. “There might not be as many singles. We don’t have a ‘Dream of the ’90s,’ we don’t have a ‘Put a bird on it.’ On the other hand, we didn’t know that ‘Put a bird on it’ would be a thing. Who knew? Season 2 is stronger: All the sketches have endings. It’s more focused, it’s more pointed, there’s better stories and characters. The writing is better.”

But while Brownstein has talked a lot of late about “Portlandia,” we wanted to talk about Portland — and why the city is such an interesting subject for satire.

The Portland Oregonian newspaper devotes a whole section to locals reviewing “Portlandia.” Why are some people so defensive?

I don’t need people to think it’s funny. I’m fine if people think it’s really serious. To me, the more serious or earnest you try to be, the sillier it is. It’s fine if people don’t laugh. There’s a lot of stuff I watch, like the Louis C.K. show, and I never laugh out loud. It’s an interesting show. So I don’t need to be judged by “Did this make me laugh?”

I’d rather put something out that’s a little more divisive. If the conversation is divided between lovers and haters or people that get it and people that don’t get it, that’s a better piece of work to me. Portland does take itself seriously. It’s a very sensitive city. Very self-reflective and it nurtures sensitivity here. People’s special needs are taken care of at every turn. I remember being in Whole Foods and their most obvious, well-displayed dessert section was their gluten-free section. I just thought, “Where’s the desserts for normal people?” Not that gluten-free people aren’t normal, but only here the inverse. Communities like Portland pride themselves on subverting the structure so people with special needs are taken care of first. That’s why people like living here. It’s a highly curated city.

Season 2 has some great characters who meet at an intersection. The local news recently reported that Portlanders are the safest drivers around — but they are more likely to report other drivers to the authorities. There are a lot of rules here.

There’s a tacit agreement you make with a city or community like Portland. If you think of Portland as an extension of any esoteric community like indie rock or environmentalists, there’s a very strict set of rules. It professes to be inclusive but really it’s so exclusive. It’s very hard to figure out what rules to follow because they’re so nuanced.

The intention here is to be good, but there’s a certain amount of frustration that comes from not knowing how to be good or feeling like you’re not being good in the right ways. So there’s a little bit of passive-aggressiveness, which I guess is what you’re taking about with people overreporting, a city of tattletales.

According to this article, Portland is the most promiscuous city in the country.

What?! There are young people here. I remember hearing a statistic that we were a city in a rare position with a high unemployment rate that was continuing to have people move here — because they were moving here not to work. Those are obviously people who don’t have three kids and a spouse. No one is going to take their family to a city where they can’t get a job. But somebody that’s 24 and thinks, “Yeah, I can get by doing odd jobs and living in a group house for $150 a month,” that’s the person who is going to thrive here and check the casual sex box on OK Cupid.

Let’s talk about food. Trying to consume local, sustainable, clean food is nothing to be ashamed of. What do Portlanders eat?

The reason I keep extrapolating out from Portland is that I don’t really think that our show is specific to Portland, but there is this exoticizing of the local. Portland chefs have found a way to make local seem like the most exotic food there is, and that’s a very clever approach to food, and also a sustainable approach. Portlanders are really enamored with that idea: the fanciest, most exotic dish could come from a farm within a 50-mile radius. That the essence of a place like Portland, and what I mean by it being a highly curated city is we found a way (to make) local seem rare and special and exotic. It’s such a huge shift: Even the notion of exotic implies that it comes from elsewhere. We live in a community that has completely inverted that meaning. Maybe that’s the crux of sustainability, to get people to exalt something local over something distant. It’s almost like the more nearby it is, the closer it is, the more valuable it is. That’s the opposite of most things.

Portland is hip, but there are also some subcultures that haven’t changed since the first wave. Portland charted at 36 out of 40 on GQ’s list of worst-dressed cities  (Keywords: The Hobbit. Extreme facial hair. Shoes with toes. Straight men styled as 1970s gay porn stars. Multiple tats.) What’s your take on Portland fashion? 


It’s hard as a native Northwesterner to know what is wrong with my personal fashion except that comfort here is highly regarded and it’s regarded across culinary lines, the ways we dwell and live, the way we eat, the way we dress, and comfort as a signifier says that I’m working hard — but not too hard. Portland is all about this balance of ambition and ease, leaning more toward ease, and to overdress here almost sends the wrong message: “I’m trying too hard. My motives are too calculated.” That’s kind of at odds with the lifestyle that people espouse here, which is to work less, to enjoy leisure.

There’s not a lot of glamour.

Glamour and effort go hand in hand. People in Portland want things to seem effortless. It’s kind of an inherently beautiful city. Things here taste good, they look good, why push it? When I go to a place like New York or when I’m on tour and I’m required to wear things that are nicer, I always come home thinking I’m going to wear nicer clothes here. But there is never a reason to dress up here. I’ve been to the fanciest events and seen fleece as an acceptable outerwear option. You would never go somewhere in New York and have a woman in a dress and heels and thinking that fleece is an appropriate overcoat. Definitely people want to be relaxed here, for better or worse.

Are “Portlandia” characters West Coast stereotypes?

Those people are everywhere. We’ve reached a tipping point of an ideological sameness — like Brooklyn, Portland and Silver Lake don’t seem that different. There’s sort of pop culture and this kind of niche culture. They have a similar broad appeal. One person goes to a city and looks for a Starbucks, the other person goes to a city and looks for a Stumptown (Coffee) or something close to it. Both those people exist and both can be satisfied in almost any part of the country. You can go to St. Louis and find a coffee shop that most resembles your Brooklyn coffee shop. It’s an aesthetic, a taste, a lifestyle.

People used to complain about Californians moving here, but Seattle feels more like the nemesis. Portland does have that underdog quality. Maybe it’s harder to define characteristics of cities with so many people moving between them.

But that becomes a characteristic of a city. Everyone wants to get here — they’re a non-native but they want to shut the door on the next person coming in. It’s just that in-group, out-group dynamic. You get here, you embrace it and all of a sudden you’re wary of the next group of people.

Which character on the show is most like you? 


Honestly, there isn’t a character that’s not close to me. I would say Kath and Dave (they set a tied-up dog free in Season 1), that (mix) of angst and aggression.

Kath and Dave like rules.

And also giving a speech when it’s not necessary — you’re having a conversation with your spouse or partner, but it’s also for everyone else’s benefit, which I hear all the time. It’s a very didactic, self-righteous thing — you always hear what should be a private conversation, and then somebody thinks that what they’re saying is so important they should speak out to the room. There’s a phenomenon I heard about on “Freakonomics” — I’d have to look up the name, but it’s the thing where people buy a Prius not to own a Prius but to be able to tell people that they own a Prius. The most fascinating one was people who buy solar panels will often put them not on the sunny side of the house but on the street side. There’s a lot of those characters on the show.

I can’t see you actually dumpster-diving.

But the core of that is just that sense of what you’re doing is better — that sense of self-righteousness runs through everyone. The bike guy is a good example. I wouldn’t dress like that and nor would Fred. But when I get on my bike — I bike 20 days a year — it’s as if I never drove a car. I pull up next to someone in a car and I’m like, “Really? You’re going to drive today, it’s so nice. Look how much exercise I’m getting.” I feel like even if you’re a dabbler or a tourist of a lifestyle or an activity — especially if you know that other people perceive that as good or that culturally it’s perceived as relevant or progressive — you so immediately embrace it, you over-embrace it, you swing so far to the pendulum, you proselytize.

That reminds me of pet owners. You wouldn’t want to own a non-rescue dog in Portland because everyone would be horrified. How dare you get a regular dog!

Right. That one-upping of everything. Even among the rescues, it’s like “Ours was rescued from a flood zone or Japan.” Where’d you get your dog? “I brought it back from Mexico.” OK, you win. My dog just came from a shelter here. I didn’t go down to a third-world country and get a street dog. One interesting thing about a generally well-functioning city like Portland is that you do lose a little bit of perspective of what a real battle is. That’s your battle? How bad off your dog was before you got it? That’s a pretty minor battle in the grand scheme of things. There was a guy in front of me at Whole Foods who was complaining that they don’t sell local fresh-made pasta and the guy was like, “Actually, we do have it,” and the guy said, “It’s from Seattle.” I wanted to turn to him and be like, “You’re in Whole Foods, you could be in New Seasons (a local alternative to Whole Foods) if you really care about local.”

A local food co-op would be even better.


Or you could be making your own pasta in your own kitchen. That kind of stuff drives me crazy even though I know what he’s saying; as Portlanders we totally get this. I’m sure there’s someone making pasta in Portland, why Seattle? The bigger scheme is: Hey, you get to shop at Whole Foods, you can pay for fresh pasta, you must be doing OK. That’s the anger part of me. That’s the part of the show that people relate to. This lifestyle has reached a point where it’s OK to critique it now, enough people are living by these rules. You sometimes do think, Is this a better choice? Am I somehow bettering myself by eating this way? We don’t really know. That’s why the show works outside Portland.

That reminds me of a product they sell at the vegan grocery store in the vegan mini mall — it’s fake cheese that they ship over from the U.K.

There’s so many blind spots in the reasoning and a lot of the characters on the show are operating in that blind spot. They start in that blind spot and they can’t see their way out of it. That’s where we start — at the point when somebody’s belief system has gone off the rails, right at the point of absurdity. Most people are aware of their own belief system and how a little nudge in any direction and you would be the most intolerable person around. It’s the people who don’t get that that are offended by the show.

But as the creators of IFC’s “Portlandia,” which returns for its second season on Friday, they’ve got hipster culture – the culture they both come from – in their sights. They skewer twee urban preciousness with such precision – feminist bookstores, organic food, magazine obsessives, the ubiquity of birds – that it’s easy to imagine their gentle mockery forever putting the end to trends in Portland or Brooklyn. It’s certainly hard to walk into a gift shop and not be reminded of their viral hit “Put a bird on it” – in Portlandia, you can “put a bird on something and call it art” — or to question a waiter about a menu and not feel a little like the “Portlandia” characters who want to know if the chicken is “USDA organic or Portland organic.” If it took Nixon to go to China, evidently it requires a “Saturday Night Live” vet and a beloved indie-rocker to point out the absurdity of adult hide-and-seek, the vintage cocktail craze and DJ nights.

Season two brings more attention, and as musicians, Brownstein and Armisen are well aware that second albums are especially hard. IFC asked for 10 episodes instead of six. Brownstein’s the subject of a profile in the current New Yorker. But as Armisen and Brownstein explained over the phone last month, all they need to do is walk around town or have lunch to generate more material.

The new season of “Portlandia” opens with the return of Bryce and Lisa – but instead of putting birds on things, they’ve become master picklers with the catch-phrase “We can pickle that.” So it wasn’t enough to target all of Etsy culture – now you’re determined to do in the poor picklers.

Carrie Brownstein: I know, we’re going to shut it down. It’s a conspiracy. I hate pickles, so I want it to stop.

It’s a great observation – pickle plates are suddenly everywhere, in all these rustic locavore restaurants, but they’ve become super-common without anyone really noticing it, or even demanding it. How did you and Fred come to realize there was a sketch in this?

CB: We would go out to lunch during the writing process, and almost every restaurant we went to had an option of a pickle plate — and the variety of things that they were pickling just kept getting broader and broader. What always struck me about pickling was just the idea that you could improve upon something that was a little bit unwanted to begin with — by preserving it forever. It’s sort of a weird idea.

Fred Armisen: That was more about the sort of late-1800s-ish curating of stuff that we saw. We were like, “Wow, there’s a lot of, like, jars happening. A lot of things wrapped in paper, old paper…” And you know, when we thought of jars, that just led right to pickling. I feel like iced tea is served in jars a lot. It was more about the sort of 1800s framework.

I like how Bryce and Lisa change their look for some extra authenticity in the pickling world.

CB: Yes, Bryce is now sporting a mustache. I think you’re only allowed to pickle with a little bit of facial hair. And then my character, Lisa, has real earthy, thick braids, which look better with the apron than her old hair style. They’re real trend setters. Or, I should say, trend spotters.

Is that where a sketch like the waiter with an endless number of specials comes from as well? Or the cashier who shames the poor customer who arrives at the grocery store without his reusable bags – just being out and observing the ridiculous things you see?

CB: Yes and no. I mean, I guess that they are ridiculous, but at the same time they’re things that I embrace — it’s a set of behaviors and an ideology that I enact, and that I think many of us sort of perform or follow. But then, at the same time, as you’re doing it, I think there is an awareness sometimes that probably somewhere, for someone else, there is a bigger battle than, you know, making sure that your fresh pasta is local, or whether or not the ingredients or organic.

You know, it takes a certain amount of good fortune, privilege and entitlement to have those things be what you’re worried about. And I think that most of us know that. So I think it’s a little bit of a stifling way to live, because it’s so well-meaning, and so well-intentioned, but, like you said, there’s part of you that knows that it’s a little bit ridiculous. And many of the characters on the show, I think, start right when someone’s belief system has just gone off the rails — or is about to.

There’s a Whole Foods near my house, and I always forget my bag. And I just keep buying the bag. I’m just accruing more and more of these reusable bags, which I’m going to end up throwing out when I move. I’m hoarding reusable bags. So now I’m a hoarder. What’s worse?

There’s this gentle mocking of these groups, but we all consider ourselves part of them at the same time. Do you ever feel pushback? The well-meaning and the earnest are used to being applauded; they’re not necessarily used to being made fun of by their heroes from indie-rock and comedy…

CB: Right. You know, I think it is hard, because I think there’s an inherent sensitivity that I know that I possess, and I think Portland and cities and communities of its ilk also possess this kind of hyper-sensitivity. I think that’s part of what makes us tick — this constant self-reflectiveness, and self-awareness. And so yeah, to have it come back at you on television, I think might be weird. But I also think that I am so much from this world, and I think it seems more like part of a conversation. We’re not talking at people; I feel like we’re sort of engaged in this conversation that people are having anyway. So I haven’t felt a lot of backlash, even though I’m sure there’s….

A Tumblr blog about how “Portlandia” is hurting the world…

CB: I’m sure it exists. And if I want to cry for the next hour, I can probably go online and find some anonymous commenter somewhere and make myself feel really shitty. But yeah, I think for the most part, the show is earnest — or, I should say, it’s not cynical — which I think helps people relate to it. It’s not a cynical show. We’re trying to be specific; we’re not trying to be realistic. I think there’s a difference. And I think you just can’t worry about insulting people with what you create. If you start at a place where you’re considering your audience’s feelings, you’re already stuck. You’ve already lost. So I think the idea is just to put something out there that hopefully people can relate to, and not worry about whether they’re going to be angry, or not get it. And hopefully, not everyone will get it. I’ve never liked things that are benign — or banal. So, I’m OK with it. Haters, hate on.

FA: I get confused, too. You know, we shot this one thing, in season one, where I was in this “technology loop,” where I had my iPad and everything else out. We wrote it as this sketch, but I straight-up do that all the time. I’ll sit on my couch, and I have every device out, and it’ll make perfect sense to me. That’s where it gets blurry, because it’s like, are we making fun of anything? Or are we just — it’s just ourselves, really.

The one couple that almost felt a little different in these new episodes — like maybe they were the target of the joke — was the couple getting married who were so concerned about being cool, but without looking cool…

CB: I don’t know if they were. It’s interesting that you say that they were more of a target, because that first scene in the wedding planner’s office, everything that Fred and I are saying, I feel like — oh my God, this might be our philosophy about marriage. We definitely are two people that have stumbled through many relationships, and they have ended very ungracefully, and I think that that kind of negativity… it’s so self-effacing, that couple, they barely want to exist as a couple, and I think that even those guys are not targets. I definitely see myself in Iris, and in her sense that It’s so depressing, that, “Oh, there’s nothing else to do but get married.” I think that’s everyone’s fear, that marriage is a default when you don’t know what else to do.

In the first season, one of my favorite sketches was the video about how “the dream of the ‘90s is alive in Portland.” It’s back in a lot of cities, I think – cities where there’s pickling and birds on things and vintage cocktails. Is it possible that despite the recession, we’re in a similar moment now? Or has that Clinton-era, post-Nirvana optimism been quashed? All the ‘90s bands are certainly getting back together…

CB: I think that’s exactly right. The dream of the ’90s, I think, certainly was that Clintonian dream — and there was something as we approached the millennium, people just thought that we were on a linear path that would only continue to move up. That we were going to keep progressing and moving forward. And there was certainly an optimism that obviously came crashing down with 9/11, where we realized, no — the future is very much uncertain. It is darker than we had imagined. It’s certainly not as hopeful. That anxiety obviously is still very much pervasive in the collective psyche. But at the same time, certainly, micro-niche communities have developed … It’s almost like the way it functions on the Internet, where like-minded people kind of find each other. I think cities have gotten like that too, and I think the cities that have sort of maintained their sense of optimism, or pulled themselves up by the bootstraps, are the cities that have built up the downtown area, stopped spreading out towards the suburbs… and have sort of congealed in these communities [where] the focus is more sort of curated, and pointed. And it is weird that even ’90s culture and music is having a sort of renaissance moment right now. So, yes — certainly that dream did die, but I do feel like that sense of free spiritedness is sort of returning.

Fred, you mentioned “Portlandia’s” love of the ‘90s earlier – but you meant the 1890s, not the 1990s. Other than pre-prohibition cocktails and pickling, what else are you seeing from that era in hipster culture?

FA: Mustaches — and then the way that meat is treated. Meat, for some reason — I feel like in Brooklyn, people just really love cuts of meat, and it’s almost unacceptable to go to a crappy butcher. It’s like — “No, I’ve got to go to this purveyor.” Why? Do we feel like you can trust it more?

For some reason, decades and generations love to look at each other. If you look back at stuff from the ’70s, during variety shows, somewhere in the mid-’70s they had this fascination with the ’20s. You’d see all these sketches about Charlie Chaplin, and flappers — and it’s arbitrary. Why did that happen? Why were they so into the ’20s? And I feel like the ’80s had this obsession with film noir, a lot of the videos were kind of 1940s-ish, and everyone had fedoras on… So I wish I knew why that happens, and why decades pick other decades — why they choose to be so nostalgic about this specific, weird thing.

How does “Portlandia” differ from “SNL”? You don’t have to be as broad certainly, and can be a little more specific and niche with “Portlandia.”

FA: They’re both different, and at the same time they’re the same in that we try to be entertaining — which, even though “Portlandia” is a very specialized kind of show, we still try not to get too indulgent, or — we still try to focus on what the premise of the sketch is. The other thing with “SNL” is that it’s a variety show, with a cast, and that’s what makes it work. And with this show, it’s just Carrie and me.

Carrie, your music with Wild Flag and Sleater-Kinney is so intensely physical, an irrepressible force, and “Portlandia” is so smartly observed. Is it easy for you to go back and forth between these worlds? How does each help fulfill your creative needs?

CB: I think it’s kind of an issue of intentionality. In terms of music, I take it very seriously — I never was drawn to music that’s funny. There’s kind of a desperation to me, with music. It’s always been about urgency, and salvation, and it’s a little bit of a darker place for me to go, creatively. I think just because of when music came into my life — it’s true for a lot of people, it comes in during those angsty, formative teenage years. It sometimes maintains this emotional fear that’s very complicated, and often a little melancholy. It’s definitely sort of a soundtrack. And comedy, I feel like I have a wider range of emotions to explore, which in some ways makes it a relief. When I’m writing or performing for “Portlandia,” I feel there’s just a place of levity, that I just automatically go to that. Obviously, I get there with music, but I think that, in terms of the process, [comedy] has a wider range of emotional possibilities for me. But both of them, to me, are earnest endeavors. Sometimes comedy comes from a place of trying to be really serious anyway. I don’t feel schizophrenic about it, but I definitely kind of appreciate the ways that they both vacillate between a visceral and an intellectual realm. They both allow for that; they both allow me moments to sort of let go, and get out of my head a little bit. But there is something about the process of writing for the show that is a lot more difficult, I think, than writing music — because you’re just sitting there, and it can be sort of brutal.

Especially if you’re used to working with a collective like Wild Flag, or getting the feedback rush of playing live.

CB: Oh my gosh, I know. It’s so much more immediate to play in front of an audience. And Fred has that from “SNL” — we’re both used to it. That’s probably why we’re so desperate to hear applause…

So when you go into boutiques or gift shops, do you still get “put a bird on it” jokes? Any artists complain that you ruined their art/business of putting birds on things?

FA: It’s always positive. People seem embarrassed sometimes; they’re like, “Oh, I can’t believe you did that — I actually have birds on my bag,” But the nice side of it is, people will put birds on things. They’ll give me something — and then, there’s a bird on it. It’s nice. At least it’s pretty. It’s nice that it’s something pretty. I’m glad we didn’t do, you know, “Put a potato on it.”

Luckily for the show’s fans, Fred Armisen went to a Portland high school and gave a commencement speech recently. It reminded us both why “Portlandia” is so funny and also why Armisen should be given every public speaking engagement ever.

The part where he says that no matter what failures you go through in life, everything turns out great? Kind of bold statement to make to graduating high schoolers.