The Lost Art of a Dive Bar

Instagram is flooded with Instagram-tailored cocktail bars, brunch restaurants, and catchy pop-up shops selling overpriced cocktails and novelty menu items. On TikTok, the old money aesthetic doesn’t seem to be losing any steam, with videos of girls teaching others how to find rich men by showing up at fancy bars in minimal-chic dresses and blowouts. While I am definitely a fan of the old-money aesthetic, both in part by my already business casual, trend-less wardrobe, vintage jewelry, and my desire to look like I have more than I do, much to my dismay, I weep for the world where all we have left are expensive martinis and donning flowy white dresses in the hopes that someone will pick up the tab, or feeling pressure to impress a new group of friends by going to the newest hotspot. I am begrudgingly on TikTok, and some of my feed reflects a desire for dying arts– flip phones, pen and paper, and DVD players– although I often feel cognitive dissonance between what I believe Gen Z wants, and what is being offered to us with easy access through the algorithms. 

We need more dive bars.

I just watched Darren Aronofsky’s new film, Caught Stealing, in the theatres over the weekend. The protagonist, played by Austin Butler, is an NYC bartender at a dive bar that looks to be years old with years-old grime and grub to match. There is a motley crew of vagabonds, drunks, and a few friendly faces. A beat-up pool table. The movie takes place in the 90s, where answering machines and payphones are relied upon for communications with members of the movie-mob, a lost time in today’s age of smartphones where people never leave voicemails anymore. I think we are craving real connection, and this movie is full of real friends and real enemies met in real places. Real phone calls with a voice on the other end. Real hustle as the protagonist struggles to make it in the big city. We don’t really get dirt under our nails anymore– choosing clean and easy side hustles we can do from our apartments. There is nothing wrong with that– and it is so often necessary in today’s job market and economic landscape. But there is something sexy about getting your hands dirty, as this movie demonstrates in its own fictional way. The craving for something gritty and simple– someplace you can wear ripped up jeans and a band tee– is real. This is the concept of a third place, outlined here in the beloved Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Third_place

In short, a third place in sociology is a place outside of work and home where one can relax in public. It could be a church, a library, cafe, bar, or even a park bench. “One of the criteria for the third place, according to Jeffres et al. (2009), is that it ‘offers stress relief from the everyday demands of both home and work. It provides the feeling of inclusiveness and belonging associated with participating in a group’s social activities, without the rigidity of policy or exclusiveness of club or organization membership’ “. These places, especially those that would be accessible to the majority of ordinary people, are in short supply. The price of coffee has gone up— one can pay nearly $7 for a latte. It is rare to find cocktails less than $15 in the city. Coworking spaces charge hefty fees to be a member, and it is easy to feel FOMO from these pricier places while overlooking the libraries and park benches. The dive bar? Well, that is a lost art. 

I am lucky enough to have a dive bar within walking distance of my apartment. People buy cheap beer and liquor with cash and listen to struggling musicians. There is a beat-up pool table and layers of stickers and sharpie on the walls, tables, and bartops. The cook will get into an altercation with you if you push him. The bartenders, while friendly, have seen some shit. There is an association of regulars as well as eclectic out-of-towners who stumble in. Although I have met people here, and dated people here, there isn’t a lot of flirting going around. It is a true third place. Simply for resting after a long day. The burgers and sliders are to die for, and life seems to slow down a little when you walk in the door. But these places are in short supply. I met an Irishman here that told me there isn’t anything quite like a dive bar in Ireland. Perhaps it is an American invention– I don’t know. But even here in the States, these small-town family-owned joints are endangered by chains and catchy clubs with loud EDM and specialty cocktails. There is a beauty in simplicity– a cold beer or a well vodka– but it is drowned out by the noise of whatever is going on across the street. While Adair’s Saloon is quite popular and sought-out, it is one of a few and I fear for the small businesses in my neighborhood endangered by road construction, crime rates, and the latest fads. So what do we do? What now?

Seek out the places that look a little dirty. Breathe easy in the simplicity of it all. Slow down. It is sometimes difficult to put down your phone and enjoy the jukebox and the vagabonds around you. We often don’t like the people who seem a little messy, who can’t afford the drinks at the fancy places. But aren’t we all a little messy? Haven’t we all been on the struggle bus from time to time? No one is too high and mighty for a dive bar, and rock music is a great equalizer. Tip your bartenders, tip your musicians, and keep these places alive. I guess there is nothing more to say than that– a plea from me to you.