Oh, hello. Sorry, I didn't see you over there, surreptitiously gazing at me with your weird little bedroom eyes. Something you are no doubt asking yourself is, "Who is that oddly alluring man? What is his secret? Why am I so inconceivably drawn to him?"

Firstly, I commend you on your impeccable taste. It's not an easy task in the morning for me to cultivate this "look" of mine, so I never take it for granted when I spot someone giving me the once-over. As you must have noticed from all the way across the room - and later confirmed when I suddenly approached you with my high-stepping gait - I am what is commonly referred to as a "hipster." I am also fond of using "inappropriate air quotes in everyday conversation." In the interest of further clearing the air, my name is Ormly Gumfudgin - a name I was given via an Ironic Name Generator linked to on Vice.com.

Now that all of our cards are out on the table, I can see you waiting, wondering, incapable of vocalizing those words that are now spinning about in your brain. Don't worry, I'll say it for you: "How is this man so damn successful with the ladies, and how can I begin to model myself after him?" Well, there's no man better equipped to answer my question than me. You were smart to insinuate that you wanted my advice. It's just my luck that I happen to have with me a collapsible pointer, which I will use to gesticulate in your face as I tell you the secret to attracting a mate.

STAGE ONE: An Immaculate Visage

You will first take note of the way I am dressed. Every article of clothing I am wearing is from a different decade. To further complicate matters, the season-appropriateness of my clothes is mixed and therefore ineffective. My faux-raccoon-fur coat is in direct opposition to my boardshorts and tap shoes. I'm not really even sure just what era or climate my hat was designed for, but, as you can see, it's somewhat conical and flared around the edges, so it serves my purposes nicely.

A classic trope of the modern hipster is some sort of waxed mustache. With all do respect to Salvador Dali - whose work I've never seen, but I've heard is quaintly interesting - I moved on from mustaches back in 2008. I'm onto some next level shit now: EYEBROWS. Have you noticed my crazy eyebrows? Lean in and feel them. Bristly, right? But thick, and with the slightest suggestion of unibrow.

This is all to say I am an interesting person. It non-verbally signals potential future lovers and lets them know, hey, I am the most interesting person you're likely to meet all night. It tells them that I am a worldly man. Mind you, I haven't left Tacoma since my parents took me to SeaWorld in the first grade, but I've spent a lot of time on the Internet and in some of the poorer neighborhoods in town - completely by choice.

Now, once you have attracted that certain someone, here is the hardest part.

STAGE TWO: Suffocating Conversation

It's helpful to have an opening salvo, perhaps a joke. If there's some bread in the vicinity, you could say something like, "Yeah, this bread's all right, but I liked it better when it was flour and yeast. You know, before it sold out."

This is a joke so ironic that you may be in danger of making your potential future lover weak in the knees right then and there. You see, it's a joke about something a "hipster" would say - a "hipster" like me - except that I only said it because it would be funny if I was the type of person who would say something like that, which I am and I did.

Moving on from pleasant bon mots, you should up the ante and start laying out all things societal that irk you and see how your potential lover reacts. Possible topics include: Critical Mass; the breakup between Thurston Moore and Kim Gordon; whether "we" could ever find love like the kind they had; whether Sonic Youth, ultimately, was overrated or underrated; the deeply emotional roles Chuck Klosterman and David Foster Wallace have played in our lives; and the retroactive genius of conspiracy theories regarding the Aaron Sorkin debacle, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip.

With this riveting conversation out of the way, we move on to the third and final stage.

STAGE THREE: "Sealing" the "Deal"

By now, you've hopefully consumed many tincture-infused cocktails with your potential future lover, and are beginning to feel medicinally sloshed. This is a good thing. After all, it's not called "social lubrication" for nothing. Science has now proven that alcohol, once absorbed into your blood stream, makes a mystical journey through your heart and eyeballs, eventually settling in the soft part of your cranium that usually houses nightmares, lies, rudimentary paintings of the devil and memories of past trips through space and time. From there, it starts a family, and its babies then emerge through your hair follicles and out into the ether.

Anywho, having now wined and dined your potential future lover, all that's left to do is invite her for a ride on your old-timey bicycle with the one giant wheel. The "deal," as they say, is "SeaWorld." Er, I mean, sealed. I'm feeling woozy. Would you mind holding my conical hat and raccoon coat?

Now, be off with you. I've imparted all the wisdom the accordion-like folds and creases in my brain are capable of manufacturing. Which reminds me: Buy an accordion. Use it to venture out and find that special someone.

Will these tips work for you? Were the Shaggs - though immensely flawed and effectively unlistenable, in their time and even with 40 years of hindsight - actually better than the Beatles?

To be honest, I don't even know any more.