Developments this week in the Sincerity Wars – the almost entirely fake, generational distinction between those for whom "irony is the primary mode" (New York Times op-ed, 17 November, "How To Live Without Irony"), for whom "the emphasis on sincerity and authenticity … has made it un-ironically cool to care" (the Atlantic, 20 November, "Sincerity, Not Irony, is our Age's Ethos"), and those who celebrate the meeting of the two as the only way to get through this terrible life (the Awl, this week, "Irony is Wonderful, Terrific, Fantastic!" – which I think is just sarcasm, but that's a whole other debate).

Just as the discussion was threatening to disappear up its own … oh, hang on. Anyway, news lately in to give it a sudden real-world dimension: SoulCycle, the Manhattan-based exercise cult embraced by those most unironic of creatures, people striving to get ahead in life while showing their workings, is opening a new location in Brooklyn – specifically, Williamsburg: ground zero of so-called ironic hipster culture.

The realtor, Geoffrey Bailey of TerraCRG, seemed in his statement touchingly innocent of subcultures within fashionable New York, or else – more probably – extremely savvy about those distinctions, and understanding of the fact that wherever you place on the Irony Spectrum, you basically want to be thin. Said Bailey:

"I targeted SoulCycle as an ideal tenant for the space and made the initial outreach to acquaint them with the Williamsburg market." [my smirky italics]

Continuing:

"Williamsburg has become one of New York City's most fashionable addresses … The young, affluent, and trend-conscious demographic is driving demand for retail in the neighborhood. SoulCycle serves this demographic in Manhattan, making Williamsburg a natural first choice in Brooklyn. Several high-end brands are actively looking for space in the area."

So uncool.

But here's the thing: you can run around the park in a vest and children's plimsolls; you can ride your vintage bike in flowing skirts without a helmet; you can co-opt any number of other exercise regimes into your self-conscious hipster style. But in the furnace of spin class, you will sit, ravaged, exposed, like Prometheus on an exercise bike, and all schtick will fall away. It's Sincerity Bootcamp; and yes, on the way out, I'm afraid you will want to buy a t-shirt.

Some details will obviously have to be tweaked for the Williamsburg market, primarily the playlist – less Top 40, more Biffy Clyro and Them Crooked Vultures; the dress code (natural fibres over spandex; no bandanas), and minor concessions in the spin room – more towelettes for all the ironic moustaches in class.

But the bones of the thing will probably stay the same: sitting on a bike, surrounded by 50 others, while, at the front, someone jumps around exhorting you to push harder, climb higher, dig deeper, run faster and do any number of things which, if you weren't seconds away from having a heart attack, you would consider hilarious.

And yet, here's the other thing: somewhere in there, it turns out to be fun. In the war between irony and sincerity, this might just turn out to be the ultimate test – and I have a hunch about the outcome.

Spotted coming out of SoulCycle over the summer: one Lena Dunham.