What do I do when another sinister secret society is blowing up my spot?

Dear Kithis the Salient,

I’m a recent transplant from Carcosan Highlands who moved to Charlottesville in November of last year. As you might expect, it’s been hard adapting to the easy-going, coffee-sipping culture of not-quite-Appalachia. I’d hoped to find a community of like-minded elites with an interest in certain clandestine activities but was sad to discover that membership for these groups was closed. No big deal. That’s their loss.

Never one to take no for an answer, I decided to start my own organization, The Maligned Brotherhood of Excellently Coiffed Hair. Things were going well for a while--membership was growing, the robes I ordered off Etsy finally came in the mail, we even snagged a pretty sweet office in the CODE building for our meetings. But then, just last week, my other member told me another secret society had just rented a ritual space down the hall. Get this, they call themselves The Perfidious Order of Well-Tailored Slacks. I wouldn’t care so much but they play their binaural beats super loud and always order GrubHub. The other day, their delivery guy knocked on our door right in the middle of my Grand Pomadic Proclamation. I’ve had it up to here!

Now, I know I should probably mind my own business but it’s hard to have fun in an exclusive cabal when you know other people are doing the same thing two doors down. What can I do to curtail their activities?

Surreptitiously yours,

Pompadour d’Perilous

Dear Pompadour,

I’m sorry to hear of your recent troubles. Your words move me greatly and I confess I had to purge myself twice while reading your correspondence.

Unfortunately, we live in an age where secrecy is everybody’s secret. Gone are the glory days when you could strut about town, flashing your signet ring, chuckling bemusedly when others ask you about your weekend plans. I would be remiss if I advocated for your competitor’s destruction, but I can provide some useful tips and tricks to maximize the coherence of your coterie. The best revenge is conspiring well, after all.

• Commission a Sigil. Nothing too cluttered. Have one of Charlottesville's many local artists construct a calling card which will cinch sphincters across Albemarle County. It will take some time for it to gain infamy, so I recommend stamping said sigil on some folders, then conspicuously dropping them while entering a public place.

• Be Arch in All Things. When scheming with your fellow Brothers-in-Coif, be sure you speak only in vague metaphors. Only you should ever know your whole wicked plan, otherwise members may get the sense your group is some kind of meritocracy–and you can’t have that. Be sure to follow every instruction with a closed-lip snicker. Should your followers press for more information, invent a new rank within your hierarchy and tell them they must ascend before they can know the whole truth.

• Use Only the Olde-Timiest Methods of Conveyance Possible. If we’ve learned anything from the Five Families it's that flashiness always keeps the FBI off your back. While other criminals may engage in rampant conspicuous consumption, you must do so with a distinctly antiquarian flare. This will set you apart. Sell your bicycle for a penny farthing, clop down Water Street in a velvet-curtained coach. Need to fly to a wedding in Philly? Best call up your dirigible man.

• Learn How to Wink with Both Eyes. It is often necessary to send signals to your fellow conspirators while among the uninitiated. Unfortunately, Twin Peaks and other media have ruined the subtle hand gesture as a means of secret salute. The hot thing in contemporary esoterica is the coded wink. Consider devising your own wink language. Below is an example I observed in Mudhouse on the downtown mall just the other day:

Stranger A: (left wink, left wink, right wink) Hello, fellow initiate

Stranger B: (right wink, right wink, left wink) And hello to you.

Stranger A: (left wink, right wink, right wink, left wink) I have received the spores and await your instructions

Stranger B: (left wink, left wink, left wink, left wink, left wink) Excellent. They must be delivered to the inner sanctum before midnight.

Stranger A: (right wink, right wink, left wink, right wink, right wink, left wink) Understood. Did you happen to catch John Wick Chapter 4 yet?

Stranger B: (left wink, left wink, right wink, right wink, left wink, right wink, left wink, left wink, right wink, left wink) Yes

I hope these tips will provide for a more fulfilling occult experience and I wish you and your fellow subversives all the best. In time, I suspect you will barely notice The Perfidious Order of Well-Tailored Slacks. Who knows, perhaps you’ll absorb them into your own ranks before the year is out.

Happy Conniving,

Kithis the Salient