UrbanUpdate

Whenever you’re about to take another drink for “Dutch courage,” remember that the Netherlands is the Florida of Europe. The Netherlands are known for many things, namely tulips, baked goods that will fuck you up, and weird crime. I just Googled “Dutch man,” and the first result describes a Dutchman who was arrested while trying to carry the head of a mouflon, a large-horned sheep, through security in Spain. Dutch people are confident, ja, but also deranged. Let’s shoot for respectable Swiss courage. Three drinks courage.

When I first moved to New York, I drank a lot on dates. I was a nubile out on the town, and it just felt right. At the time, I thought of sobriety as a deal-breaker, and all my dates happened in bars. I had no idea where sober people might go for dates. The zoo? The office? Heavy machinery? Getting tipsy with someone signaled that he shared my interest in drinking to excess, which felt very important back then. Some of the boozy bonds I created blossomed into actual relationships where we remembered the names of each other’s siblings and stuff. Most blossomed into hangovers.

Now I’m a few years (and a couple really bad nights) older, and I have work tomorrow. There’s no reason why a date should carry either of us past three drinks. “But I’m a burly man and I have an infinite tolerance,” you may say. But I’m a small woman, and I’m very competitive, so I’m going to drink exactly as many drinks as you. After four cocktails, I may still look poised and attentive on the outside. But inside, all my faculties are working to hold in 1,000 elderflower farts from all the $14 cocktails I’ve had. (Also, surprise, you’re poor now: I’m not even going to feint at reaching for my wallet to cover my half of this disaster. I didn’t even bring my wallet.)

There are some obvious reasons not to get super drunk on a date. Consent is the big one: If you’re wondering whether someone is too drunk to be doing whatever you’re doing, stop doing it. But beyond a date actually endangering me, there’s nothing less attractive than a guy getting sloppy drunk (except being rude to the bartender—never be rude to the bartender). On the one hand, ordering more drinks is a sign that your date is going really well. When both parties opt into another round, you’re validating each other. Yes, my second drink says, I would like to spend the next 20-30 minutes with you. My third drink says that I want to spend even more time with you, possibly naked. My fourth drink says I’ve decided to get plowed on your dollar because I’m bored. So yeah, you’re buying yourself more time on your date by going for that fourth drink, but it’s not going to be quality time.

I’m aware of the emboldening powers of the hooch, but three drinks emboldened looks a lot different than four drinks emboldened. Three drinks in, you are sweet-but-sexy-goodbye-kiss brave—perhaps even Pivot brave. You’re appropriately aware of your worth. Four drinks in and you’re edging toward insufferable. You’re talking really loudly. You’re starting sentences with “between us,” even though you and I have no mutual acquaintances. Five drinks in, you’re saying, “Okay, you got me, I unironically watch pterodactyl porn” even though I did not “get you.” I didn’t bring up porn, and I actually haven’t spoken in 12 minutes. This date is bad.

"It's all downhill after three drinks."—Sartre, probably

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