It's a Tuesday night in late July. New York City's bones feel hollow. Even the Internet is running dry. You tried Williamsburg, but the women all seem to be away, off somewhere you can't see, in bikinis. So what's a thirtysomething East Village man—one with an extremely specific urge involving star tattoos and chunky glasses and a playfully defiant glimpse of a tauntingly bare "female hipster" ass—supposed to do?

Now that the Crackstarter has closed, you're probably scouring the internet for another worthy cause to crowd-fund. We've found one for you! Zosia Mamet and her sister Clara Mamet, both children of David Mamet, have started a hipster folk band and no one is giving them a penny to make their music video.

You hipsters really came through. We asked for a new slur to replace "hipster," and nearly a thousand of you (presumably unemployed) commenters made suggestions. Jesus. We've narrowed it down to 20. Cast your vote below.

Yes, the Kari Ferrell thing looked like it was getting played out, but a tipster snapped this poster at "a thing in Williamsburg on Friday night." A good grifter is always on the comeback!

We suggested yesterday that society accessory and downtown gadabout Moby is a dedicated doglover. We even had some strong photographic evidence to back us up. But a vigilant reader — who we're assuming isn't some snot-nosed NYU kid "testing" us — begs to differ:

In the killing of hipsters for sport, realtors are the ruthless bounty hunters, quietly sniffing out dive bars and thrift stores and gay enclaves before moving in for the kill. Once the realtors smell blood, it's only a matter of time before the endangered hipster is priced out of his or her own habitat. (For reference, read: most of lower Manhattan, Park Slope, Williamsburg.) So where, then, are the homeless bohos to go? Somewhere unchartered, undiscovered, untouched by the hands of trendiness — the Upper East Side, of course. Just ask pioneering 27-year-old Will Hooks, who recently defected from Williamsburg and is a fan of uptown life:

Surprisingly, this boy was not identified as Jonathan Safran Foer or Conor Oberst.

Hot on the cracked heels of the declaration of Gay Vague as the new straight and the new gay comes a tirade against "male infantilism" and all the Seth Cohens it has spawned. Writer Matthew Wilder recalls the era of manly men and sheds a tear for what's become of good, clean testosterone:

Unretouched Post captions: Left, "Joe Praino say he texts 'amazing revelations' to his ex-girlfriend." Right, "Williamsburg Warriors Siri Wilson and Eve Sibley flash 'W' hand signs to demonstrate their allegiance to the hipster 'hood."

For today's Young Jews in Prada report, we venture to Soho, where a new congregation called the Soho Synagogue plans a heady mix of Orthodox services, "Torah cocktails" and excursions to the Hamptons. Reports Intelligencer,

Yeah, we know your type: beat-up cowboy boots, pink tights, vintage Balenciaga military coat shredded to look like you found it in a dumpster. You think just because you blew some rails off a Boyracer test pressing, you're hip? Think again. Unless you're reading Gothamist, NYHappenings, or Manicmess, you're just another poseur:

Another week, another New York Times story that would be perfect for a Hollywood adaptation: To the Ramparts, Hipsters, and Hold the Latte, from this weekend's 'City' section.

Gawker exclusive: Hilary Duff has defiled the ironically disastrous alcoves normally reserved for downtown New York's finest assymetrical haircuts! In what can only be described as a painful fit of post-punk partying, Miss Liquid Ice spent Friday night asserting her hipster cred and spacing out to Joy Division at East Village inferno Lit. This only prepared her for Saturday night, where she graced the weekly Misshapes party with her DJ skills. (She played a lot of Smiths, we hear, and we bet she made friends with Queen Leigh Lezark. But did she use the bathrooms? That's the real question.) So, um, what the fuck? How could bubbly clean Duff invade these smoke-filled, drug-oozing dens of indie sin? And, more importantly, what will Disney think?

Earlier today we looked at Maureen Callahan's Post article about important, influential downtown hipsters who get lots of free shit while they spread their nebulous 'influence' hither and yon. (For those who couldn't get enough, we'd also direct you to Robert Lanham's Free Williamsburg piece on basically the same subject from December 2003.)

What a blast from the past!
Friendster, Love and Money [NYT]

When Michael T., one of the madmen behind the notoriously insane Motherfucker parties, has a birthday party, you know it's worth checking out. Photographer Nikola Tamindzic documents the sweaty action at last night's party, populated by the infectious likes of Carlos D from Interpol and every downtown kid this side of Misshapes.

To: Signers of this petition

We're a little concerned about the anti-hipster sentiment that's running through the culture right now. Yesterday, we directed you to Christian Lorentzen's anti-Wes Anderson/anti-hipster essay in n+1.

We don't know how anyone in their right mind managed to carve up over 1600 words on Wes Anderson's Life Aquatic as emblematic of the hipster bell curve, but we're convinced the writer is either brilliantly retarded or batshit insane, if not both. A taste:

Screw 'VICE', right? Those dudes suck! Screw 'em!