Stop Saying "Reputation Problem"

The biggest challenge to Portland's recovery is the lack of clarity over who the real audience is

The original Feast Night Market in 2012

I remember the actual moment I wanted to change everything.

It was the last true year of Feast Portland, the festival we had launched seven years earlier in 2012—and already, Portland felt like a very different place. We had teamed up with Williams Sonoma to take over every public space at the newly opened, London-based Hoxton Hotel in Old Town. When I walked through the lobby doors, I could barely find my way through the sea of people lined up for bites from chefs in Portland and Seattle, a memorable custom ice cream flavor by Salt & Straw, and an actual tattoo parlor sponsored by our friends at the New York City apron company Tilit—which, to my surprise, gave out more than 50 tattoos that night to over 900 attendees.

“Who would get a tattoo at a Feast after-party?” I had cynically asked the event team a week earlier as our attorney Darius drafted a very weighty liability waiver.

Apparently, 50 people.

I was with my friend Aaron Franklin of Austin BBQ fame, and because the elevator lines were too long, we trudged up ten flights of stairs to the rooftop bar, La Tope, only to be greeted immediately by a troop of social media influencers intent on snapping selfies with Aaron.

It was a beautiful night.

The music pumped, and I looked across a sea of stylish people packed from corner to crevasse.

My initial thought—Wow, look at all these people—was almost immediately overtaken by a sense of loss and a question that rushed through my head, one I will never forget.

“Who the fuck are all these people?”

With a partnership with a national magazine, an annual roster of chefs from around the world, and collaborations with major global culinary brands, it may seem ironic to some that I’m grappling with the changes facing Portland—while also being one of its foremost change agents.

And while there’s more than a morsel of truth in that, the reality is far more complicated.

Even though Willamette Week made panning our so-called elitist industry parties something of an annual hobby (their editors always happily attended), they didn’t start out fancy at all—and being elitist was never the intention. Our goal in creating Feast was simple: to make Portland feel like the center of the food world for one weekend every year—to connect chefs, writers, and local businesses to a larger national conversation—and for Portlanders to play host and take pride in their city. Portland is a well of creativity but has always struggled to see beyond its own urban growth boundary. Feast, I hoped, would make the world feel smaller—and Portland feel bigger. That was the goal from day one.

And as long as it could deliver on that, it was worth the effort.

Our first afterparty in 2012 was a much more low-key affair. The team from Laurelhurst Market offered to host a late-night gathering that started at 10 p.m. on Feast’s opening Thursday. Ryan from Aria Gin contributed a few bottles, and I grabbed a case of tonic at Cash and Carry on the way. Tom and Kate from Division Wines threw in a couple of cases of wine, and I asked Aaron Franklin and Rodney from Podnah’s Pit to fire off a few extra briskets. We sliced them up just in time for the red double-decker bus that the Eater National team had rented to shuttle chefs and media from the Ace Hotel—because in those early Feast years, Clyde Common at the Ace Hotel was something of a chefs’ clubhouse during the weekend.

What happened next was one of the most surreal moments of my life.

After 18 months of planning, sleepless nights, and telling myself that, depending on how the first Feast went, I’d either be able to run for mayor or have to leave town—it all just unfolded perfectly.

The bus arrived, and the room filled. Naomi and Mika were in the corner with Fergus Henderson and April Bloomfield—and her young head chef, Peter Cho, then a rising star in New York. Jeffrey Steingarten was deep in conversation with two Portland food writers, while the entire Bon Appétit editorial team stood outside, snacking on brisket tacos and smoking Parliaments with a crew of young Portland chefs.

By the time I left, the room was packed with about 80 people.

And it was clear: I wouldn’t have to leave town after all.

If you talk to the chefs who were there from the beginning, they’ll tell you the first two years of Feast were the best years—and would wholeheartedly agree. But isn’t that how these things always go?

Whether it’s your favorite band, restaurant, or festival, those early years—fueled by daring dreams, pinched pennies, and a love of the game—are always the most creatively pure, before the reality of economics comes along and sullies the entire affair. If you compare Feast to Pavement albums, years one and two were Slanted and Enchanted and Crooked Rain. Our Wowee Zowee (year three) was great and a step into new territory (that first Night Market at Zidell Yards was fire, as the kids say), but after that, the band got bigger, and suddenly, there were more mouths to feed, babies to kiss, sponsors to satisfy—all set against the backdrop of a city that, almost overnight, felt like it was built for an audience that didn’t live here.

A magic cocktail of Portlandia, Instagram, rising popularity not just in Portland but in all cities (and the rising rents that followed), low interest rates, a housing boom, a housing shortage, the gospel of the urban growth boundary (great for pinot noir; complicated for housing prices), being big in Japan, being loved in Europe, apartment demand, remote capitalism, and so much more changed everything—and fast.

Feast tickets still sold out in 2019, but it didn’t feel like the same crowd—and neither did my neighborhood in Southeast Portland, for that matter. My friend Charles refers to 2015 as the beginning of “Peak Portland,” the year it all started to feel different, and it was a momentum that was impossible to stop.

It’s true that a lot of places during this period faced changes—Austin, Brooklyn, Silverlake—but Portland had never really been in the limelight before—and also kinda relished in its own reputation as the indie rock kid—the Elliott Smith of cities.

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It had been a few months since I last spoke with Linda Baker at Bloomberg CityLab, so reading today’s article about Portland—featuring a quote or two from yours truly—felt like Christmas morning.

Maybe it’s because it’s the erudite-yet-fun Bloomberg CityLab, or maybe it’s because it’s Linda Baker, who has long written about Portland as the former editor of Oregon Business Magazine, but this felt like the best article on Portland’s recovery to date.

The overall theme and direction of the piece frames Portland in a 30-year cycle that started with smart decisions, and then a multiplication of various factors that caused less-than-stellar outcomes. We all know the story. Still, the tone of the article was very positive and I believe underscored a growing belief that many of us in Portland share—that we are slowly but surely putting smart pieces in place to build the foundation for the next cycle—namely calling out projects like the James Beard Public Market, the WNBA team, and the Albina vision trust.

As I read this, it helped articulate why I’ve struggled to stomach the phrase “reputation challenges” as Portland’s biggest hurdle.

The problem with that phrasing is that it suggests the people who matter most aren’t the ones who actually live here—and that maybe we need to re-evaluate the process thorough which we build a reputation.

And if there’s anything we should have learned from the last ten—or even the last thirty—or at that weird LA-vibe Feast after party—it should this:

A city’s reputation is directly tied to the well-being of the city itself. And well being and quality of life should be the outcomes.

Reputations aren’t managed; they’re earned—through quality of life, happiness, and the reality on the ground. In other words, a good reputation is the outcome of high quality of life, good governance, and smart decisions.

This is more about culture than clicks.

As we look at Portland’s future in 2025, we need to focus on the outcomes that will create the kind of city where we want to live, work, and invest—and we can’t forget that the most important audience is not The New York Times—it’s us. They will come around—they always do. In fact, they already are.

And why wouldn’t they? Portland is rad.

Looking back at the chaotic years leading up to the pandemic, I don’t believe Portland’s challenges were caused by growth but rather by a lack of planning for it—and honestly who among us could have been ready for that? There’s plenty of room for improvement, and beating ourselves up serves no one.

If climate-driven migration projections hold true, Oregon is likely to see a significant influx of new residents in the coming decades.

Smart growth can strengthen a region.

The real question is whether we will shape that growth—or let it shape us.

Let’s go Portland.