A woman walks into a bar…

Ever heard the joke that starts “a woman walks into a bar…”? I didn’t think so. More often than not, a woman does not walk into a bar, by herself. With a partner, a colleague, a friend or a whole group of friends, yes. Just her, all alone, having a drink, by herself, no. And if she does, it’s not really considered funny, like the start of a good joke, but rather, it’s considered a bit sad, a bit odd, a bit desperate.

I hail from a long line of teetotallers with a few alcoholics thrown into the mix, to add motivation to the already highly motivated teetotallers, so my actual experience of walking into a bar, before leaving Sweden, was minimal. 

When I moved to London, at 19, I finally began to discover the pleasures of bars and soon I was venturing forth – together with friends, colleagues and so on and so forth – to experience these fascinating places of convivial boozing, up until then completely alien to me.

No sooner had I got used to London, than I decided to move to Mexico. Whatever rules I’d learnt about bar etiquette in London soon had to be scrapped in this new, more macho, world. In London I’d go to bars with female friends, or even by myself (although it has to be said the latter was extremely rare), in Mexico both were a no-no – you needed male company to enter bars. Admittedly this was in the early 1990s and Mexico has since changed, at least in the cities. At the time, however, doing certain things by yourself, as a woman, was most definitely frowned upon. Much as I learnt to love Mexico, that nation and me did not always get on. Instead of “adapting to my new adopted culture”, I became a bit of a rebel, I began to test the boundaries, sometimes out of sheer bloody-mindedness, sometimes out of necessity – I liked going out, but hadn’t made that many friends yet. Although I didn’t go as far as hanging out in the local cantina after work, I was certainly up for doing more “sedate things” by myself, things that you might not think twice about whether as a woman or a man, but that seemed a big deal to the local Mexicans. Lunch and dinner on my own were extended to include solitary walks and evenings at the cinema. I was starting to get the hang of this solitary malarkey and guess what? I loved it! I also began not giving a rat’s arse about whether me doing some of the things I enjoyed, all by my very ownsome, was seen as sad, silly, desperate, or downright weird and for that I am grateful to Mexico, which served as a great place to learn how to be comfortable by myself in the face of opposition. Mexico was, and to a great extent remains, a country built on communal and familial “togetherness” and the concept of “being alone” sometimes caused great confusion.

Friends: “So what are you doing this afternoon?”

Me: “Well, it’s been a while since I had some time to myself, so I thought I’d go for a nice long walk. You know, for some me-time and reflection.”

Friends: “Great, we’ll come with you!”

Needless to say, my friends and I had our differences…

Back in the UK, I have continued this “Mexican trend” of mine, to do the things I like by myself at times, perhaps particularly when they’re “supposed” to be done together. For the most part this works well – it’s far easier today to do things as a lone woman than when I first began, whether in Europe or in Latin America, where luckily by the time you reach the status of “señora”, rather than “señorita”, even if this is solely to do with age, not marital status, far fewer people will hit on you. Macho men across Latin America seem to prefer their women young and that, to me, is a blessing. Gone are the days when I carried a fake photo of my fake “husband” and wore a fake wedding ring, just to be able to travel in peace. These days I’m neither as polite, nor as patient, and also my Spanish is far better, so telling someone where to go really isn’t a problem. Despite it being easier and more acceptable for women to do things alone, there is a key domain that is supposedly open to all, where many women simply wouldn’t go on their own, and that is your average bar. I am kidding, right? Well, no. I don’t know how many conversations I’ve had with female friends over the years, where the subject of me going to a bar by myself has come up and the reaction has been “A bar? By yourself? Don’t you feel uncomfortable?”, or “Oh, I wouldn’t do that, I mean, of course with a friend yes, but just by myself, definitely not.” When I probe to find out why, the answers are usually variations on the same theme, namely being a woman alone in a bar is not “comfortable”. There is a fear of how you’d be viewed by others or a fear of inviting hassle, unwanted attention and comments. If you’re man and you just fancy a pint and having a read of your paper any day of the week, you can just nip to the nearest bar or pub, if you’re a woman, chances are you’d go to a café instead – that is far more socially acceptable.

So, a woman walks into a bar… Is it sad, funny, asking for trouble, desperate, odd? No, it is rare. And that, in this day and age, is sad.