But Dern is often at his most convincing when he is not being Dern per se. As a category, the first-person nonfiction essays did the least for me, which meant the book got off to a slow start. However, he had me by the second chapter: “Before We Begin Our Yoga Practice, a Few Words About Our Other Offerings and That Hissing Sound.”

First off, points for the title.

Second, this essay is the first of many that demonstrate Dern’s gift for satire, a gift I became intimately familiar with and snobbily judgmental of during my five years working for The Onion. Dern effectively mimics the voice, style and tone of a yoga instructor to gradually reveal the demonic cult that this studio actually serves. It’s a slow and sneaky revelation that I, much like the studio’s imaginary clients, did not see coming. Also, it’s worth listening to the audio edition of the book just to hear Dern perform the word “Ujjayi.”

Throughout the book, Dern proves himself a pro at creatively commenting on seemingly banal, annoying or trendy aspects of contemporary life in a way that actually feels and, more important, sounds interesting. Man buns, handwashing signs, the cold-pressed juice industry: Each of these is obviously deserving of ridicule and public mockery, but Dern’s approach was refreshingly original.

When I heard the chapter heading “Walt Whitman, Spin Class Instructor,” I laughed out loud while walking down the street. “Whatever satisfies the soul is truth. Pedal to the beat,” the American poet/fitness instructor preaches. “Keep your face always toward the sunshine — and shadows will fall behind you. Also, keep your heels down — and your core will be engaged,” he continues, offering an optimistic, nonreligious path through his verse. There are many ways and reasons to clown spin classes. Invoking Walt Whitman to do so is one of the most inspired devices I’ve yet encountered.