How to Be an Insufferable Shotgun Snob, According to Jim Carmichel

This column, “How to Be a Shotgun Snob,” appeared in the January 1992 issue of Outdoor Life.

Have you heard about defensive snobbery? It’s not a new art exactly, having  been practiced in certain elite circles for centuries. Snobbery is fairly new to gunning, however, and having found this new and fertile ground in which to flourish, it will surely become a major social force wherever shotgunners gather. That means that if you own a shotgun, and if you are liable to shoot it in the company of two or more

other shotgunners, you’re going to need to acquire some skill in defensive snobbery. Mostly, defensive snobbery is a learned skill, similar to learning how to lead a target, but a privileged few seem to have a natural talent for it. My wife is one of this gifted class.

The main reason for the recent outbreak in shotgun snobbery is the imported game of Sporting Clays. Though the importers of the game did so with the very best of intentions, we must never forget that other exotic imports, such as kudzu and starlings, were similarly well-intended. Of course, we have been playing shotgun games here in America for generations, and in case you are wondering why a strong strain of snobbery didn’t develop earlier, the reason is easy to explain. The peculiar genetic aberration that makes people want to shoot Trap simply has not as yet mutated a snob chromosome. And, too, Trap shooters tend to be obsessed with more elemental goals, such as their equipment, their scores and winning enough money to get home. As one sage Trap shooter once pointed out, “It’s hard to be a snob when you’re carrying a lunch bucket.”

Skeet shooters have long had the potential for outlandish snobbery, but the tendency is held in check because in Skeet circles, the right to be a snob must be earned. If, for example, you score a perfect 100 straight with a .410, you are granted the temporary right to practice unlimited snobbery. This explains why there are relatively few Skeet snobs.

Sporting Clays, on the other hand, is the only shotgunning game in which a snob can miss every target on the course and emerge from the experience with his snobbery absolutely undiminished. Obviously, this sort of hard-core snobbishness is hard to stamp out, which is all the more reason why you’ll have to learn some defensive snobbery if you hope to survive as a wingshooter in the 21st century.

If you’ve been hanging out at upscale shotgunning clubs, you’ve already discovered that snobbery comes in several distinct forms, not necessarily related to each other. You’ve probably also noticed that snobbery begins at the parking lot, continuing into the clubhouse, on to the gun racks, and at every shooting station. That’s why it has been found necessary to categorize the various guises of shotgun snobbery and develop effective means for dealing with each. The various classifications of snobbery that you will most usually encounter at a gunning club are:

• Gun snobs

• Shooting snobs

• Dress snobs

• Vehicle snobs

• Dog snobs

• General snobs, or, if you will, snobs at large

Confronting perpetrators of these various forms of snobbery requires certain basic methods, but with time and experience you will develop an individual technique that best suits your temperament, and that will, in fact, become an extension of your personality.

Because you first encounter gun club snobbery the instant you drive into the parking lot, let’s begin with vehicle snobs. These individuals are easy to spot because the first thing a vehicle snob does upon emerging from his own vehicle is to size up every other car in the club parking lot so that he will know where he ranks. That’s why the first and most inflexible rule of defensive vehicle snobbery is to never drive your family sedan to the gun dub. Nothing makes a worse impression. Vehicle snobs will think that it is the only car you own, and no matter how new or expensive your sedan may be, the impression is a bad one with lingering side effects. Station wagons and vans do not make nearly as poor an impression, but they are risky because they place you in a somewhat vulnerable position.

Sports cars and pickup trucks were acceptable a few year ago, but nowadays they condemn you as surely as would wearing a narrow tie or new boots. Today, the only vehicle that you can be seen in at a proper gun club is a four-wheel-drive model. It doesn’t matter if every inch of road from your driveway to the club is paved and dry, or if you have no need or intention of ever shifting all four wheels to drive mode, the 4×4 is de rigueur at the club. Don’t be seen without one.

If you frequent one of the particularly snobbish Eastern clubs, I must further warn you that not just any 4×4 will do. You have, in fact, only two choices. The first option is that your 4×4 be very expensive and very new. But even this seemingly simple option has its pitfalls. lever, for example, show yourself in a sparkling clean 4×4. The vehicle should be well-covered with mud from bumper_ to bumper. This gives the impression that you are (a) a go-to-hell sort of fellow, or that (b) you have just returned from shooting a television commercial. Any romantics at the club (and there are always a few) will take it from there. In the event that no means are available for muddying your 4×4, you might make arrangements with your car dealer to have the vehicle periodically re-muddied. Remember, fresh mud impresses best.

The second option in vehicles guaranteed to stop a snob in his tracks is a battered 4×4 at least 20 years old. A 1970 Jeep Wagoneer, for example, implies that you drove a 4×4 long before it was fashionable to do so. This identifies you as a trend setter to be reckoned with. Of course, it’s all the better if rust is ample, and a cracked windshield goes a long way toward informing the world that you are a traveler of adventuresome trails.

Be careful that you don’t overstate your position, but there are a few accessories that will put your vehicle in a class by itself. My favorites include crumpled, half-empty boxes of shotshells (the older the better) lining the dash, along with a can or two of gun oil — never a domestic brand, mind you, but something exotic such as Holland & Holland Rangoon oil. When leaving the club, always raise the hood of your vehicle and check the oil. If anyone is watching (make sure someone is or the effect is wasted), explain, “It’s an old habit from my racing days.” This gives the impression that you and Jackie Stewart are old pals and probably shoot together. Blandly wiping the dipstick with your fingers and then your pants, the way race drivers do it, adds a particularly convincing touch and has a riveting effect on dress snobs.

Speaking of which, there are two very effective ways of defending yourself against dress snobs. But just as important, it is absolutely essential that you not succumb to any of the pitfalls that will unerringly label you as a poseur. In other words, the last thing you want co do is to look like the snobs you are defending yourself against.

Your first option in defensive dress is traveling to London and having yourself outfitted by a Savile Row tailor. The last time I priced a bespoke (made to measure) shooting jacket with matching accessories, the tally came to just short of $3,500 American. (The exchange rate is now less favorable.) And, of course, you’ll need at least two complete outfits; so what with air tickets, a decent London hotel and afternoon tea, you can round off the total tab at about $10,000. A bit steep? Not when you consider that it will keep the dress snobs at bay for at least a year.

Your second option in your defense against dress snobs at the gun club is reverse snobbery. It is my favorite gambit and can be deadly effective, but you must have a certainje ne sais quoi to pull it off. The trick is dressing like the club snobs, but with your own special effects. For example, never wear a new waxed cotton jacket to the club. To do so makes you look like just another bush league snob, and nothing — I mean nothing — is more passé than a new waxed cotton jacket. The impression you want to convey is that you were wearing waxed cotton before it was the thing to do. So your waxed cotton must be worn, torn and smelly.

The best way to break in a new jacket and pants is to crawl through a barbed-wire fence about 50 times. This will make you look like you’ve been hunting pheasants in South Dakota for years past, and every club snob will itch with envy. For all-around perfection, however, a new jacket should be used for kennel bedding for at least six months. Filling the packers with sand or birdshot aids in capturing the much sought after baggy effect as well as improving your shooting if you tend to over-lead the target.

Shooting gloves are de rigueur, of course, even on the hottest days, but again, the “olden is golden” rule applies. Ideally, gloves should be greasy and bloodstained so as to appear to have handled the hundreds of pheasants, quail and grouse you’ve bagged. This can be quickly and easily accomplished by simply wearing new gloves while making hamburger patties.

Footwear is a simple matter of always — summer and winter, wet or dry — appearing at the club wearing old rubber-bottomed, leather-topped boots. Never under any circumstances, however, lace them to the top. Ideally, the leather tops should flop open, and one trouser leg rucked in adds a dramatic touch. This is a powerful statement of your personal dash and flair for fashion.

Dog snobs are friendly enough, but they can be a nuisance if you let them. The worst sort of dog snobs, of course, are those who are convinced that everyone loves their dog(s) as much as they do and shares their delight when the unleashed beasts careen across the club grounds like predatory wolves while they themselves alternately shout and blow their whistles until their faces flame like radishes. Such performances are especially enjoyable if you are trying concentrate on the Bounding Rabbit or Flushing Woodcock stations.

The first line of defensive dog snobbery is to project the image of a dog handler of unmatched experience. This means that you should always wear a dog whistle whether you own a dog or not. The whistle and its lanyard (need I say?) must be extremely battered, signifying age and use, and a dozen or so duck bands strung like beads lends a powerful note of authority. The obvious way to make your whistle necklace look properly battered is to wear it all the time: to work, in the shower and, of course, while you sleep.

Your attitude toward dogs and their owners should be modeled after a judge at the Westminster Kennel Show, meaning that you regard them only with wordless contempt, hands clutched behind your back, as if guarding against a slobbering kiss. Gaze balefully at the animal, then at the owner, then back to the dog, as if they were a pair of trespassers and you are deciding the most appropriate punishment. Dog and owner will probably wilt under such scrutiny and slink away. If, however, they persist in demanding your attention, you might inquire whether the poor beast is still on medication. “What medication?” you’ll be asked. To which you respond, eyebrows raised in astonishment, “You mean this poor desperate creature isn’t being treated?” That will almost always do the trick.

The greatest challenges of all, naturally, are the gun snobs. Not only are they the most obnoxious, but there are more of them. They are arguably the most fun to deal with (dress snobs not included), but by the same token, a hard-core gun snob can be a tough nut to crack, often requiring radical defensive measures.

Before launching your anti-snob attack, you must first look to your own defenses. It is an absolute certainty that your shotgun(s) will be closely scrutinized by every gun snob at the club, and the impressions derived therefrom will form their opinions and judgments on everything from how your potty training was conducted to your current love life. This means that you’ve got to be mighty careful about what sort of guns to take to the club — especially on your first visit. There are two schools of thought on how to approach this timeless problem.

The first, and obviously the easiest course of action, is simply to show up with a Fabbri embellished with a Galeazzi engraving of your parents on one side and your family tree, inlaid in gold, on the other. There was an easier time when you could pass muster with a pair of Purdeys, a Boss or two, or a set of Holland & Holland Royal self-openers, but now that simply everyone shoots them, you’d be just another shootist in the crowd. However, a 1930s-era Woodward or Boss over/under is still a safe bet.

Of course, the danger of taking an expensive gun to the club is what do you do for an encore? After all, shooting last year’s Purdey is as dismally gauche as driving last year’s Mercedes. Once the gun snobs detect such a weakness in your defense, they’ll be on you like a pack of hyenas. That’s why the smart movement in defensive gun snobbery is toward the other end of the price scale — that’s right, the cheapest, roughest shotgun that will fire safely and allow you to hit the occasional target. It takes a lot of nerve, but standing your ground is an essential part of the anti-snob defensive posture. Sooner or later someone is bound to ask why you own such paltry shooting ware, and this is where you make your big move: “Oh, it isn’t mine [be casually matter-of-fact]; it belongs to (name the manufacturer); they sent it to me to try because they need my opinion.” This drives gun snobs bonkers because it instantly categorizes you as a recognized expert on guns and shooting. Only very few gun snobs dare joust with so powerful a presence, and at the same time you are forever freed to take whatever gun to the club that pleases you.

Still, though, there are the formidable problems of dealing with snobs who insist that you be impressed by their guns. Happily, there are a few phrases and tricks that provide some relief. For example, when a snob appears overly proud of a particularly nice shotgun, stick your hands in your pockets. (The body English will imply that you wouldn’t want to touch such a thing.) And state simply, “Oh, yes, they’re rather nice. I owned six or eight of them when I was at [name an exclusive prep school], but got rid of them when I upgraded my collection.” (Note: Always use the terms “got rid of’ or “disposed of” because to say you “sold” or “traded” a gun relegates you to the merchant class. Also, referring to all shotguns, yours and others, as “sticks” has a nice ring to it, and gun snobs will be jealous of your fluent familiarity.)

If a gun snob persists in eliciting your admiration for his stick, your next defense volley is to remove your rings, then put on your shooting gloves. The ring gambit shows that you know and respect guns, and that you don’t want to risk marring any gun, even his, with finger jewelry. This demonstration has a decisively humbling effect, and thereafter he’ll probably remove his rings, too, in obedient imitation of your example. Donning your shooting gloves with all of the hamburger grease and blood will like-wise make an unforgettable impression-especially if the gun snob is also a closet dress snob.

When handling the proffered shotgun, it is vital that you register no interest whatever in the beauty of the wood, the quality of the engraving or any of the other features normally admired about a fine shotgun. This gives the impression that you either own or have seen so many great guns that you couldn’t care less about looking at another. Instead, peer intently under the barrels. “Nothing there,” you remark casually, returning the gun. “Nothing what?” the snob will inquire desperately, galvanized by your comment.

“Oh, nothing much, really,” you say with a shrug. “It’s just that I am personally acquainted with most of the craftsmen who make this particular model, and happen to be one of the few people who know that when they turn out a particularly good specimen, they mark it with a secret bench code. Nothing on your gun, though; must have been made for the walk-in trade.”

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Some gun snobs are already onto this trick, and may, in fact, attempt to use it to put you in your place. This calls for powerful counter-counter measures. The best defense in the case of a gun snob who proclaims mechanical expertise of your gun is simply stated in a tone as dry and glacial as a martini: “Oh, really, I wasn’t aware. After all, Gentlemen aren’t concerned with machinery. Are you a repairman or iron monger? I’ll have my gardener contact you when our mowers next need sharpening.”

And finally, dealing with the shooting snob who just ran a straight at a difficult station is quite simple. The only defense I know of is to appear not to have noticed, gazing off in absent-minded boredom. When he approaches for the congratulations he feels his due, you appear to awaken and say, “Oh, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching. Did you hit any?”