One of my favorite movie scenes of all time is in “Waiting to Exhale.” The magnificent Angela Bassett, fresh from divorce court and dressed in a perfect brown suit and heels, slinks across an upscale hotel floor into the hotel bar. She pours herself slowly and sensually into a bar stool and quietly orders a scotch. You can’t take your eyes off her perfect skin, her cat-shaped eyes, those arms, those legs. It’s like she is carved out of granite.
There is not another single soul in the elegant bar. The bartender gently clinks glasses as he pours her a scotch while she voluptuously lights a cigarette. For ten seconds you watch her on the screen casually and sensually smoke her cigarette while the smoke tendrils curl around her. She drinks and stares dolefully into the distance before she is eventually joined by the equally granite-like Wesley Snipes.
Brilliant. And a reason I will never order scotch in a bar, because I know I could never do it like Angela.
When his work scheduled allowed, my husband and I enjoyed going to bars on hot summer days when everyone else was at the beach. We would drink gin and tonics, chat and watch whatever sport was on the television. He’s gone now, but I still enjoy having a cold gin and tonic in a quiet air-conditioned bar and watching the golf tournament, by myself, or a glass of red wine on a cold winter day in a cozy pub. But I’m a woman. By myself. In a bar. With no agenda.
What the hell is she up to, society seems to wonder. Is she lonely? Mental? A strumpet?
It became apparent to me that I made other people in the bar visibly uncomfortable. People from across the bar would talk to me loudly, invite me to join them, engage me in conversation. The bartender would huddle protectively near me, engage me in small talk. Men would offer to buy me drinks, just as a friendly gesture. I was polite but declined most offers of solicitation.
I just wanted to sit quietly and relax, so I tried different ways to not attract attention. I mean, think of cool men drinking bar scenes. Charles Durning in “Tootsie.” Ryan Gosling in “Crazy Stupid Love.” Paul Giamatti in “Sideways.” Jack Nicholson in “As Good As It Gets.” And any time Don Draper hunches over a piece of mahogany, he just looks cool.
What would a woman have to do to look cool and unobtrusive? I decided to engage in a sociological experiment.
(Like the time at the airport when I tested how many feet I could wait and let the person in front of me move up in the security line without the person in back of me getting anxious and asking me to please move up (answer: 9 feet))
I’d pick a bar when I was traveling or far enough away that I knew I wouldn’t know anyone. I’d dress modestly, not to attract attention- neat, attractive. Always in the middle of the day and I tried to avoid weekends. I wanted to see if an attractive woman could sit at a bar, alone, comfortably, without attracting unwonted attention.
I tried reading a book, and people would badger me about what I was reading, sometimes even tapping the cover and making jokes.
I tried playing on my phone, but people kept making wisecracks that whoever I was waiting for was obviously late and I should dump him. Besides, it’s hard to judge people’s reaction when you just look an asshole. Anyone who plunks away on his phone in public just looks like an asshole.
No one ever in the history of the world: Wow, look how cool he looks on his phone, he must be really busy and important.
I tried dressing up to the nines, like Angela Bassett, and going into swanky bars, and people moved a wide girth around me, assuming I was….what? A prostitute? A CEO? Trying to pick someone up? A crazy lady who gets her jollies by dressing up and sitting in bars alone? Men hit on me, but I NEVER met anyone who looked like Wesley Snipes.
I tried switching it up, chatting people up, making the first move by making eye contact and engaging in small talk, but this tactic made people more uncomfortable than any other method. People were friendly and receptive, but always the underlying vibe was, “Definitely nuts and lonely.”
But no matter what I tried, the fact that I was an attractive woman sitting at a bar, alone, never made society comfortable. I still do it on occasion, but I’m very careful about the location and the time of day. Not for my sake, but for others.
It was my assumption that men have it easy, but upon researching this blog, I was actually surprised at the number of articles geared towards men with titles like, “How A Guy Can Sit Alone at a Bar Without Looking Like a Total Dick,” “Guy Alone at a Bar, Cool or Fool?” and “Don’t Do It, Dude. Drink In Your Hotel Room.”
Wow. If men can’t do it, what hope do we have?
