Remember people, places, and things? It’s almost hard to remember a time when going out in public was something to look forward to, rather than an event that provokes fear. So to help you get back to a simpler time when being outside wasn’t almost illegal, listen to Brooke Alexx’s new song, called “Drunk”. Being drunk, remember it? When you could do it in the company of people and not like, your dog or maybe your parents’ disapproving glares?
But before we get into the song, we asked Brooke a few questions about the inspiration for this song, her virtual “party” planning tips, and more.
What was your inspiration for this song and video?
So, I actually don’t drink alcohol, but I still love going out with my friends and having a good time. Sometimes, I’ll act silly and people will joke that I’m drunk on life, which inspired the song idea. The concept for the music video parallels that and originated as a party where everyone is literally sober. I wanted to include the idea of me being drunk on life and spreading that joy to my friends—thus, I am the bartender serving glitter shots which, in turn, get the party started!
What is your go-to drink?
I’m pretty passionate about lemonade—I’ve got another song about that 😉
How are you “partying” in social distancing?
Lotssss of FaceTimes with friends! Luckily, I have roommates to dance around with and think up fun activities (TikTok has become a fan favorite). But one of my best friends has a birthday in a few days and we’re planning a bunch of virtual games. Definitely going to do it up as big as we can from a healthy distance!!
Any tips on hosting a virtual party amidst the pandemic?
Get the game “Who In The Room” to play with a group of close friends. It’s been my go-to! Also, Paper Plate Awards would be hype and you know it.
We’ve got the first listen of Brooke Alexx’s new song, “Drunk”, which you can listen to here before you see it anywhere else. We may not be able to be drunk with other people anytime soon, but this catchy song and fun video may help you temporarily forget that fact. We recommend blasting it in your apartment while you have your very own party of one.
Ah, it’s that time of year again. Even the most die-hard “summer is my season” person is forced to admit we’re heading into winter, fast. And that means whatever summer fling (congrats!) or winter cuff (less congrats because that’s very basic of you) you’ve picked up is now entering a weird stage. If they’ve stuck around this long, you can’t exactly keep them in the casual hookup zone. (And I’m assuming you like them if they’re still here, so why would you want to?) Faced with the prospect of Aunt Susan slipping you egg freezing pamphlets, it’s tempting to bring anyone home for Thanksgiving who’s willing.
But we both know that’s a bad idea. Anyone you bring home for Thanksgiving, you’ll be asked about for years to come. And your own memories of the holidays could well be tainted by a particularly good or bad visit. So, here are the signs your new relationship isn’t ready to be a part of your Thanksgiving. You’ll thank me later.
Your Sober Interactions Are Rare
Look, no one here is arguing that Thanksgiving is a sober event—far from it. But, generally speaking, there are at least a few hours when everyone’s still lucid. (This is the portion of the day when your mother will glare at you for “smelling like alcohol.”) So, have your interactions in this relationship been mostly inebriated? If so, Thanksgiving is not a great time to discover that sober, the person you brought is actually boring AF, or worse, very rude and kind of racist.
This goes for all layers of a “mostly drunk” relationship. If you’ve been increasingly branching out into brunches and daytime hangs and it’s looking like this could be for real, that’s awesome and I’m genuinely very happy for you. But if you’re only a month into that vibe, seriously consider how much you know about this person. Is it enough that you want to answer questions about them once a year until eternity? Probably not. You should have been hanging out sober long enough that you’ve agreed upon a “how we met” story. One that glosses over the 16 vodka sodas and waking up his roommate to borrow a condom.
If you suspect they’ll say this to one of your aunts, definitely don’t bring them home for Thanksgiving:
You Haven’t Discussed Your Family
For reasons totally unrelated to my aforementioned alcoholic fun-loving tendencies, I have a minor breakdown at most large family events. Maybe it’s the uncle who can’t understand that ANY comment about my weight is not appreciated. Or my mother saying something that sounds like a compliment—but later reveals itself as an intricate jab. Either way, family time is f*cking tough.
So, who do you want there when that stressful point hits? Will they react poorly if and when you lock yourself in your old bedroom with a bottle of wine? Or will they tell you they’re on your side and commiserate with family sh*t of their own? Ideally, the person you bring home will be aware of underlying tensions, and ready and willing to calm you down. And the only way to prepare someone for family sh*t, sadly, is to have those conversations. If you don’t tell them what to expect, you can’t even really be pissed off when they’re surprised by it. (I mean, you can be, but you’ll have to apologize later, which sucks.)
So if you haven’t gotten into those deeper conversations—or you have, and you felt like they didn’t or couldn’t respond correctly—maybe think twice before bringing them home. Their feelings aside—and believe me, they’ll have some—it’ll be an added stressor for you. Don’t bring someone home if you’re just going to worry all night that you’re scaring them off.
They Haven’t Asked What You’re Doing
It’s November, people! Extenuating circumstances aside—i.e., they’re working through the holidays, they’re not close with family/not American and therefore this holiday genuinely isn’t a thing for them—they probably have at least one Thanksgiving invitation insistently re-appearing on Gmail. If they’re anything like me, their family has booked them out months in advance with regular death threats for non-attendance. (In case me writing this article doesn’t make it clear enough, my family is not exactly chill about holidays.) Part of the reason that people enter relationships is often for exactly this reason. They want someone to take home for the holidays. Or just someone to spend time with around the holidays and feel less cripplingly lonely when love songs play on
the radio Spotify.
So, if the person you’ve been seeing has kept eerily quiet about the idea of going home for Thanksgiving, it’s a pretty sure sign that—sorry—they don’t see you being a part of it. This doesn’t mean the relationship is doomed. It’s perfectly normal not to want to involve your family with a relationship that’s still new. It’s just a sign of where they’re at, and something you should pay attention to—especially if you had thought you were in a more serious place.
So, if you’re with someone who’s been sending you calendar nudges for November 22, knows which grandmother expresses love through attacks on your character, and has seen you sober more often than drunk—by all means, invite the f*cker home. Shove it in your smug cousin’s face who brought home her high school sweetheart for five years and said “don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find someone” while eyeing your fourth piece of pie. But if you think the visit will put undue stress on both your relationship and your time at home, it’s so not worth it. Not bringing someone home for Thanksgiving doesn’t mean you’re over. And in many cases, choosing not to spend it together means you have a shot at still being together next year. Choose wisely, and don’t forget the wine.
Images: Giphy (3); StockSnap / Pixabay
For the past few weeks, one question has started to haunt me as I watch Vanderpump Rules. No, not “why am I still watching this drivel” (though that’s a close second). Instead, I’m increasingly concerned about Tom Schwartz and his drinking. Don’t get me wrong—I understand that this cast is pretty much contractually obligated to get shitfaced on camera. And I also know that drunken live footage is universally unflattering, and that’s why I don’t let my friends post Insta stories anymore. But even so, Schwartz has been toeing the line between occasionally sloppy party boy and straight-up hard to watch. I did a little digging to see how worried we should be about Schwartz’s drinking.
Part 1: A Brief History of Schwartz’s Drinking
TBH my memories of early Schwartz are as follows: dry spell, panic attack, afraid of commitment. So let’s skip ahead to last season, for which Schwartz was problematically drunk roughly 90% of the time. Notable drunk moments include Schwartz screaming at Katie and calling her a bitch on their pre-wedding Vegas trip, vowing not to go through with the wedding, and then waking up as though everything was completely fine. Also, let’s not forget how so many of these drunken pre-wedding fights began. Schwartz cheated on Katie with a girl in Vegas (a VPR rite of passage, I guess). You can take a guess as to whether alcohol was involved there too. Overall, Schwartz came into season 6 with a definite reputation as a heavy drinker. But for obvious reasons, the viewer’s focus was less on his drinking and more on why TF the wedding wasn’t cancelled.
Part 2: Tom “I Have No Recollection Of That” Schwartz
From episode 2 of this season, we were seeing a whole new side to drunk Schwartz. Namely, we see Schwartz doing what you do every Friday night and calling up his bestie Jax and sobbing about how he has no idea what he’s doing in life. Relatable? Yes. But also a conversation that makes you hope Schwartz is getting a redemption arc this season, starting by sobering up. We get the opposite.
Starting in episode 4, drunk Schwartz drama starts to really heat up. Lala shares with the group that (married) Schwartz made out with her friend a few weeks ago. Schwartz doesn’t remember this, but doesn’t really claim it didn’t happen, either. He seems to find this a sufficient explanation to his wife. Even more troublingly, when Katie responds to the incident with reasonable rules like “stop taking shots” and “this is the last time you’re using ‘I have no recollection’ as an excuse,” he acts like she’s putting him on house arrest. Uh, no. Even if you weren’t making out with random girls when you got blackout, that’s still a perfectly reasonable request. In true Schwartz form, FYI, he chases with conversation with a round of absinthe shots.
Part 3: Less Cheating, More Drinking
I’ll spare you the details of every time we see too-drunk Schwartz fucking up, but here are the highlights. Katie continues to plead with him about his drinking. Schwartz continues to tell her to fuck off and refer to their marriage as a prison sentence. Gradually, the marriage dynamic improves, but the drinking doesn’t. One night, he gets so wasted he can’t make it home. Another, he’s drinking straight from the bottle at 3am the night before an important TomTom meeting. (He of course shows up late and reeking of alcohol and possibly tweaked out on coke.) In Mexico, Schwartz reaches the height of sad-drunk aesthetic. He’s mainlining tequila, he wanders into a different resort, he nearly pukes in a golf cart, and he tries to get Kristen and James to ride bikes with him at 7am. If that isn’t the saddest lost-drunk-boy thing you’ve ever heard, IDK what is.
*rare footage of Scheana making a good point*
Part 4: Comments From The ‘VPR’ Cast
The couple spoke to US Weekly back in January, when Lala first aired the rumors of Schwartz’s post-marriage makeout. When asked directly whether he has a drinking problem, Schwartz vehemently denied it. (The direct quote here is “I don’t have a drinking problem, I’m not in denial or anything.” Which like…no one had asked whether you were in denial, but now that you mention it…)
He goes on to admit that he has “a tendency to push to the extreme” and that he’s “got to chill with the shots.” Katie, while standing 100% behind her husband in a way that’s somewhere between heartwarming and enabling, chimes in with her very real concerns here too. “I don’t want to have to worry about his safety,” she says, adding that it’s “really serious if you’re black-out drunk and know what has happened.”
Admittedly, most of my weekends could be classified as “really serious” by that measure. But Katie, in pointing out her genuine fear for his safety, is pointing to something a little darker. In Mexico, Schwartz slurs reassurance over and over that he’s fine. Katie no longer even tries to make him a presentable companion, or bothers getting annoyed. “You didn’t know where you were,” she tells him. “That’s not fine.” And when you’re speaking to your 35-year-old husband, that’s absolutely correct.
*Schwartz, nodding thoughtfully*
Before I wrap this up, I do want to mention that I think Katie’s been an absolute angel this season. And if Schwartz is struggling with his drinking as much as it appears, I’m truly sorry for them both. Ever since Schwartz was weeping in the corner of Jeremy’s birthday party, I’ve had a nagging fear that seems to keep coming true every episode. Even though Schwartz seems at the point with his drinking where he can tell that it’s making him unhappy, and even actively tries to stop (like in Vegas), he doesn’t seem to be able to. I hope he’s faring better in his off-camera time, and I hope that Lisa maybe stations him somewhere other than the bar for his work at TomTom.
Images: Giphy (4)
Procrastination is my best talent and my middle name at this point. Laundry? Packing? Paying rent? You’ll probably find me attempting to go on a run if it means getting out of doing any of those. On a real note, there’s nothing I delay more than figuring out WTF my New Year’s Eve plans are every fucking year. It doesn’t help that living in New York City makes this a million times harder. Like, nothing stresses me more—other than trying to figure out the exact date we’ll get a confirmation on Kardashian-Jenner pregnancies. NYE is honestly the most overhyped, extra AF, ridiculously overpriced holiday ever. Nothing rarely goes according to plan, and tbh, I’m always too drunk to remember when midnight even happened, so why the hell would I pay a shit ton of money anyway? Unfortunately, NYE is in just a few weeks, which means you better get the ball rolling on your plans. Ball reference very much intended. From New Yorker to New Yorker, here are five not-so-expensive NYE plans you can make with your best girlfriends to ring in 2018.
1. New Year’s Eve: Y2K At House Of Yes
Grab your 90s neon windbreaker and your boombox (JK, you probably can’t bring a boombox in there) and head over to House of Yes for a night of nostalgia mixed with futuristic chaos. No matter the theme, House of Yes knows how to throw a fucking party, and this will be one NYE you’ll never forget. Come in your best future or throwback outfit, because otherwise you won’t be allowed in—which just adds to the fun if you ask me. It’s like Hallowen mixed with NYE. “Which Fresh Prince did I make out with?” you may ask yourself. “Was that guy the Tin Man, or a robot?” you’ll wonder the next morning as you wipe silver paint off your face. Expect out-of-this-world costumes, live aerial performances, and more. Tickets start at $30, so buy now before they’re all gone. House of Yes events consistently sell out, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.
2. New Year’s Eve at The Ditty
For those of you in Astoria who don’t feel like trekking it to Manhattan or going anywhere else because that’s just too much effort, one of the most popular bars is offering a three-hour open bar and, I quote, “big-ass champagne toast.” Tickets start at $75, where you can watch the countdown live on their TVs, drop it low, and eat tons of drunchies until it’s finally 12am. After midnight, the bar opens up to non-ticketholders for an “all night dance party” that supposedly goes until 8-fucking-am. WHO THE HELL IS STAYING OUT UNTIL 8am? I’m concerned.
3. Stage 48 NYC Times Square New Year’s Eve
Obviously, I was not going to include the Times Square ball drop on this savvy guide I’ve created, because I’m not a fucking martian. Anyone who lives in the vicinity of NYC knows to stay as far away as possible from that area or else get trampled, and don’t say we didn’t tell you so. If you’re still all about the craziness, you’ll def want to check out the epic celebration Stage 48 is bound to have in Hell’s Kitchen. The multi-floor club will provide five hours of open bar, four food stations, and hours of dancing on tables with your PICs. For tickets that start at $79, you’ll want to dress to impress, obvi.
4. Cielo New Year’s Eve 2018
Cielo is a banging nightclub known to host DJs we listen to on Spotify playlists, with some of the very best speakers in the city. So will you go deaf? Probably. But will you embarrassingly dance your ass off? Definitely. I say this as a fact, being that this is exactly what happened here on my birthday. This year’s NYE event will have a five hour open bar, champagne, and annoying party favors you’ll use when you’re drunk. General admission starts at $99, so obvs buy it ASAP before they sell out.
5. New Year’s Eve 2017 Meatpacking Party Pass
This is ~the~ official NYE party pass for club hopping in Meatpacking. There are three exclusive venues, which include The Chester, Common Ground, and The Lately, that offer five hour open bars, classy af prosecco, and top-notch live DJ performances of your favorite basic radio hits. Be sure to hop in each party for a variety of celebrations and of course, to sample the different tequila each place has to offer.
Listen up, people, because a dark force is about to descend upon New York City this weekend, and that force is Santacon. For those of you who don’t know what Santacon is, it’s an event that takes place once a year where people dress up like slutty elves and puke on the streets—all in the name of Christmas! Normally, I’m in full support of any and all events that encourage you to black out before noon and dress up in costume, but Santacon takes this shit to a whole new and terrifying level. How do I explain this in simple terms? It’s like when God decides to test humanity, and we fail so miserably that She thinks about smiting us all and starting anew. Kind of like that, ya know? And if you think I’m exaggerating about this abomination disguised as a bar crawl, then just you fucking wait, because I’m about to break it down stage by stage for you, sort of like how Dante was kind enough to indicate the different circles of Hell. You’re so welcome.
STAGE 1: HOPEFUL ENTHUSIASM
This is the first—and most important—stage of the event. You’ve prepped for this stage by only having one drink last night saving your strength. You feel good, your liver feels good like the one you started college with. You have the costume, your day drink of choice, and the Insta filters that best compliment your slutty photogenic side. Everything is as it should be. Now, do you feel that hope? That absolute optimism? Hold onto this. Cherish these memories for when you’re hysterically crying because the dude in the shirt that says, “You can slide down my chimney,” didn’t want to feel you up in the Uber at the end of the night.
STAGE 2: IMMEDIATE OUTFIT REGRET
This stage occurs about two minutes after walking into the pregame. The outfit you thought made you look like a reason your grandmother prays for you sexy but cute now looks like you cobbled together pieces of fabric from the garbage, especially when you stand next to that Instagram model in line for the cups. And, on second thought, you probs shouldn’t have left your coat at home just so everyone could see the festive bra you bought just for today. What does hypothermia look like again?
STAGE 3: FUCK, I’M NOT DRUNK ENOUGH FOR THIS SHIT
Oh, you want to bar hop now? Even though I just opened a tab and we waited 45 minutes to get into this shithole of an establishment in 35 degree weather? K. These are the thoughts that will run through your mind after you and your squad descend upon the first bar supporting this godforsaken event. It’s at this point that you’ll start to question why you’re like this. After walking into the bar, your immediate reaction will be to back away slowly from the crowd of Santas aggressively singing Mariah Carey Christmas tunes and guzzling Bud Light. You can’t tell if the guys here are hot or not and if the gut he’s sporting is part of his costume or if he just has a dad bod. The bar, you’ll soon realize, is like something out of The Hunger Games. There are people swarming the bar the same way the Careers swarmed the cornucopia for weapons. You realize if you don’t start pounding vodka sodas soon, you might be the first cannon fired have to soberly interact with the man leering at you behind his Santa beard. May the odds be ever in your favor.
STAGE 4: DUCK I’M NOT FRUNK ENOUGH FOR THIS SHIT
Look, I’m not gonna lie; your only shot at coming out of this thing alive with your sanity intact is to black out as fast as humanly possible. Once you’ve reached this stage in the day, you’ve achieved your goal of getting blackout. Suddenly, everything you hated about the bar—the Mariah Carey Christmas music, the Bud Light spillage, the fact that you’re out in public dressed like Santa’s little hoe hoe hoe—is completely forgotten. You’ve made out with at least three Santas now—or maybe they were the same Santa? Idk. Honestly, it’s too hard to tell. You’re acting like this bar is your own personal thot playground, and you’re loving life. It doesn’t even matter that you accidentally flashed a nipple too much holiday cheer because THIS IS SO MUCH FUCKING FUN!!!
STAGE 5: THE BEGINNINGS OF A BLADDER INFECTION
Ah, my favorite stage. The one where if you don’t pee soon, you might end up with a small bladder infection. That’s when you realize leaving the bar and running back to Brooklyn to use your own bathroom at home might be the faster option. The line for the bathroom is longer than the one you waited in to get into this literal trap house, and it’s filled with angry bitches in Target onesies timing peoples’ pees. You wait through, like, 10 seconds of this before the desperation kicks in. You’re at the point where you’d trade your first born child rose gold iPhone for a spot at the front of the line because you don’t even care anymore; you just have to pee so bad, SO WOULD YOU PLEASE HURRY THE FUCK UP, PEOPLE.
STAGE 6: WHY AM I LIKE THIS
Honestly, it’s best not to question yourself. The fact that for the last six hours, you’ve been grinding on some dude, who could be dressed as Rudolph or could just be someone who favors the color brown, is neither here nor there. Don’t think about how you almost pissed your leggings TWICE or that you drunk texted your hookup to see if he wanted you to “guide his sleigh tonight.” Nah. Don’t do that to yourself. Not now and definitely not tomorrow when you sober up and realize you spent $40 on pizza last night… for just you. In fact, it’s probably best if you try to black out the entire incident at least until next year’s Santacon rolls around, and then you can find new and interesting ways to hate yourself.
Until next year, betches.
If you think you can maintain one kind of drunk all night, while still sipping on cranberry vodkas like your life depends on it, then you are delusional. I’m sorry, but it’s time to face facts. And while we all knew that girl who went from loving her life to making out with a toilet in a second, usually the decline has more stages—some better than others. If we could all stay within “The Everything Is Amazing Stage” of drunkenness, we’d all be besties with those betches who called us beautiful in bathrooms, but we can’t. Life doesn’t work that way. *wipes LC mascara tear dramatically* I know a girl who, unfortunately, couldn’t shake “The Sad Stage” on her fucking birthday. Boy, did that sober us up quick af. You gotta know when to hold ’em and when to fold ’em, and by fold ’em I mean take your drunk ass home. Thankfully, we made a video for you detailing your night out, so you don’t have to wonder why you ended up in an ex-frat boy’s apartment (The Slutty Stage), or why you feel dehydrated from crying (The Sad Stage), or why you lost your voice (The Loud AF Stage). Watch here for déjà vu:
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Your WCW is hungover every Sunday, reeks of too many vodka sodas, dreads the “Ride” of Shame in the morning but will still do it again next weekend. It’s me. I’m your WCW It doesn’t matter how many times I swear off binge drinking or how many times I’ve left a tab open with an amount that
brings shame upon my family equals my entire paycheck, I’m still going to find myself at a bar Saturday night a nd hate myself in the AM. Look, I know, you don’t have to drink to have fun, but – JK, that’s bullshit and you know it. As a woman in her early 20s, I’m still in my prime for making questionable choices and using my age and inexperience an excuse. So, if I can get past security with my too expensive (but, worth it) flask and get away with it, I’m probs gonna do it while I still can. This doesn’t exactly work with all venues, though. Sneaking in alcohol to beaches or festivals isn’t as easy and requires some low-key geniuses so, cue these inconspicuous flask inventions that are disguised as fashion accessories. This could either be really fucking great or, like, a complete shit show.
Primeware Rose Gold Insulated Drink Purse With Bladder Bag
I know, it had me at rose gold, too but, then it almost (keyword) lost me at bladder bag. Is this for when I get old and senile and forget to use the bathroom? I’ll have to remember that. For now, it’s our dream bag come true. It’s actually a pretty stylish millennial pink-ish bag with an insulated thermal and refillable disposable baggie. You can fill it with any liquid your little heart desires up to 3 liters. No one will ever suspect a damn thing. Boxed wine anyone? Anyone??
Smuggle Your Booze 6 Oz. Hairbrush Hidden Flask And Funnel
I can’t get over this. It’s exactly what you think it is: A brush that actually works as a hidden flask. It comes with a funnel and can hold up to 6 ounces, without any worry of leakage. Note: You won’t get away with using this in public because like, who the fuck drinks out of brush? Ya, grab your friend to “pee” if you need a refill.
Blush Charade 4 Oz. Bracelet Flask
Spot the flask!!! To the naked, naive eye, this is just a trendy bracelet. Or, just a cheesy attempt at bringing back the 80s. Either way, it works. It comes in a few different colors so choose the one that best suits your metal preference and indecisive outfit picking. These are literally the best gift ideas ever, since you wouldn’t get a bracelet flask without asking your friends first if it looks good on you, right? Right.
Boozin’ Gear Women’s Hidden Flask Infinity Scarf
With fall approaching fast and steady (slow the eff down, please), what better way to conceal your alcohol than in a scarf?! Also, why didn’t I come up with this sooner? LMK. The scarves come in different colors and patterns – so like, a real scarf that will fool your sweet nana – and can hold almost a whole can of beer. Which is honestly a lot if you think about it, especially if you plan on refilling it.
Is this real fucking life? You’re telling me a sports bra holding 25 ounces of liquid, aka enough alcohol to share with an entire party, exists? Just when I was giving up on 2017. The inflatable wine “rack” (LOL) has control valves for pouring and comes in sizes 34A-34D so you’ll def find a size comfortable for holding alcohol on your boobs. Going for a run or getting drunk in Central Park? We both know what the right answer is.
Treasure Gurus Lipstick Shaped Flask
Our fave beauty product also happens to be a flask. Bless. The lipstick flask holds up to 3 shots, so pretty much perfect if you’re pregaming on the low and/or on-the-go. It’s a tad larger than a normal lipstick (obvs) but, no one will be able to tell the difference if it’s casually thrown in your purse. Don’t share with your bitches and reapply *wink**wink* when you please.
Congratulations, Betches, you made it to Friday. Which means you’re, like, one passive-aggressive department email away from slipping something stronger than Baileys into your coffee. And, like, same. I’m also counting down the minutes until I can escape and find a happy hour with drink prices that won’t require me to trade my first born child in for a vodka soda. (Which I totally would do depending on how good that vodka soda was). But because we live in a sprawling metropolis filled with millennials assholes with Instagram accounts, happy hour always comes with a price and that price is douchebags.
Tbh I don’t hate douchebags as much as, say, an emotionally stable, functioning adult with eyes and a brain should. I guess there’s something endearing about the drunkest, loudest, preppiest asshole in the room who will probs spill beer on himself and/or insult no less than five people at the bar. Oh shit. Wait, maybe I’m the douchebag…? Nah, can’t be because I’m a fucking gem. But I can’t deny that I do love to party with the douchebags. That should be a True Life segment right there. But it’s because of my high tolerance for alcohol douchebaggery that I’m able to frequent the bars these creatures are constantly trolling in and write this article. I’m super giving like that. So here’s a list of the douchiest bars in Manhattan. You’re welcome.
1. Turtle Bay
Location: Midtown East
Type of Douchebag: The Business Bro Douchebag
Midtown East should come with some sort of warning label like “this area contains very expensive drinks and douchebags in a suit, continue at your own risk of being roofied.” (Side note: can we consult the mayor about this? I have some v important plans for the city, people.) The majority of dudes who hit up this bar work “in business” which I’m sure is the vague way of saying they have a business degree from some shitty school upstate (I assume). That’s titillating stuff right there. Turtle Bay is no different. They call it a “grill and lounge” which is really just code for getting fucked up and enduring probably married dudes hitting on you while simultaneously talking your ear off about how they used to “rule at beer pong.” And they say romance is dead.
2. Brother Jimmy’s
Location: Murray Hill
Type of Douchebag: The Hoboken Douchebag
I am sure other people besides Hoboken commuters hang out at this bar, but if there are, I haven’t met them. As far as I’m concerned this is just a landing spot for people who don’t actually live in the city to feel a little bit alive by getting fucked up off of blue swamp juice and waiting for their train to Jers. Because this place serves fishbowls so you know it’s a fucking shit show in there. This is also the type of establishment that Trump supporters frequent, or so I would imagine because I knew a girl who knew a guy who voted for Trump who loves this bar and so now it will forever be the bar for Trump supporters and Hoboken commuters. I’m sure there’s no connection. Godspeed to those who enter, though!
3. 13th Step
Location: East Village
Type of Douchebag: The Frat Star Douchebag
Let me just set the scene here, K? Picture the dankest, darkest basement of your favorite frat house in college. Now think about going there as an adult and having Natty Lite spilled on your the purse you just fucking bought. Charming. As for the douchebags that populate this
Satan’s den bar, I’ll just leave this here:
Jesus. So in case I wasn’t being clear enough, this is a bar where 90% of its customers are dudes in a frat/want to be in a frat/think they’re still in a frat even though they graduated three years ago and the other 10% are girls who say shit like “I get along better with guys.” Definitely hit up this bar if you just turned 21 and/or want to feel like you’re 21 again.
4. Hair Of The Dog
Location: Lower East Side
Type of Douchebag: The Shit Show Douchebag
If Midtown East is where the full-blown douchebags reside, then LES is where the young-douches-in-training hang out. And Hair of the Dog is the mecca for sloppy assholes with a drinking problem. I equate this bar to the second ring of Hell, because unless you’re blackout this place is a cesspool. I have literally seen people dry humping on the floor. ON THE FLOOR. Another thing about HOTD is that time does not seem to pass here. It could be 2am or 2pm and there would still be a fuck-ton of people grinding to shitty rap music and vomiting in the bathroom sink. I say all of this like I don’t frequent this den of hedonism every other Saturday because it’s a fun fucking time and I totally do.
^^ Real footage of me watching some crazy shit go down at HOTD
5. Jake’s Dilemma
Location: Upper West Side
Type of Douchebag: The Douchebag Who Doesn’t Think He’s A Douchebag
This place is sort of secluded in the sense that it’s located in the Upper West Side and I only go there when I visit my lone friend who lives in
isolation UWS and she threatens to put me in her burn book if I don’t come out with her. The place itself reeks of moldy beer and people trying to reclaim their college days. But what makes this bar special is the type of douchebags who frequent it. Because it’s v far from civilization lower Manhattan, all the bros who hang out up there actually don’t consider themselves pieces of shit. You know the type I’m talking about. The kind who think they’re too mature for 13th Step and talk about this frequently as they drink Natty Lite and spill shit on the purse you just fucking bought. That’s what we’re dealing with here. I suggest only going to this bar if you can tolerate high levels of bullshit. Think Spencer Pratt trying to sell you on the healing powers of crystals bullshit.
6. The Frying Pan
Type of Douchebag: The Wannabe Yacht Owner Douchebag
I want to like The Frying Pan, I do. On paper it’s got everything: the ideal outdoor setting, the view of Jersey (?), and the potential for my photos to get a ton of Instagram likes. It’s a basic bitch’s boats and hoes dream. But I just cannot with the patrons there. The guys are decked out in clearance section J.Crew (ew) and I have seen multiple girls on multiple occasions wearing pearls. Unironically. And on too many separate occasions for it to be considered a coincidence. The vibe they’re trying very hard for is old Southern money—and as someone born and raised in the South let me just say, Steel Magnolias they are not. Go to this bar if you want to deal with bros from Jersey fronting like they’re Jay fucking Gatsby. But also, like, I’ll do anything for the Insta so you will def see me there come summer.
7. Brass Monkey
Type of Douche: The Rich AF Foreign Douchebag
Ah, the Meatpacking district. The place where I take the best Instagram pics at the price of having to socialize with douchebags wearing gold chains. It’s got a very European vibe to it in the sense that your wallet will 100% be stolen by the end of the night and you’ll def get hit on by a Saudi Arabian prince (or so he claims) who wants to buy you a drink for the evening. That being said, Brass Monkey is trendy AF with a bangin’ rooftop that will def be the background of your new profile picture. The only catch is the douchebags you’ll have to put up with throughout the night who feign a language barrier every time you say the words “GTFO of my face.” Think Jean-Ralphio but with less class and more money.
8. Houston Hall
Location: West Village
Type of Douchebag: The DTF Douchebag
I will always have a soft spot in my heart for Houston Hall. Located in the heart of the West Village, it’s douchey AF with a mix of fratty young professionals and NYU students with really good fakes. How do I know this? Because after consuming a few very hefty mugs of beer I may or may not have taken home a 19-year-old lacrosse player. Sadly, he had to return to school to finish his senior year otherwise I’m sure it would have turned into a
promising Snapchat relationship v epic love story. Which brings me to my other point, people at this bar are DTF for reals.
On the surface it doesn’t seem like that kind of place, considering it’s a giant beer hall that quietly plays Top 40 hits and its standard patronage is white dudes in khakis, but don’t let its outer appearance fool you. It could be the massive beers or the fact that you have to fight gladiator-style through a large crowd for said beers, but there’s a sense of camaraderie there that you won’t find in other
douchebag dens bars. It’s kind of like a middle school dance, except instead of awkwardly grinding to a Chris Brown song you’re awkwardly trying to eye fuck the hottie in Patagonia pullover while suggestively sipping a large amount of beer. And it works like an obvious ploy to get laid a charm. Seriously, though, every time I go there someone in my friend group lands themselves a fuckboy for the evening and that is a beautiful, beautiful thing.