Early & Alone #10: Bachelorette Party
It was raining and the neighborhood was unfamiliar, so I'd gotten lost on the way to the bar, getting on and off the highway in circles, getting more and more frustrated with every wrong turn. So I was in a bad mood by the time I walked into the piano bar and joined my friends at their table near the stage. But I don't think my bad mood was entirely to blame for the way the rest of the night remains framed in my brain.
When I arrived, a woman had just been called to the stage, where two pianos were sitting facing one another--the "dueling piano" concept at the heart of the bar. The woman was young, dressed in a short white dress and wearing a cheap bridal veil. One of my friends leaned over. "This is the third bachelorette since we got here. There are at least three more bachelorette parties here." I glanced around the bar and sure enough, women in gaudy sashes and veils peppered the tables--not a great sign for the night, since popular bachelorette destinations tend to not be exactly my scene.
The musicians on stage guided the woman to a colorful wheel on the side of the stage and had her spin it. It landed on a wedge with the words "Blow Job" written on it. The crowd cheered as the young woman cringed, unsure what to expect. The musicians asked for a male volunteer from the audience, at which point a man, significantly older than the bride-to-be, raised his hand and climbed up on stage, making a joke by pretending to unbutton his jeans as the audience whooped and gasped. (We'd later learn this man was there to celebrate his sixtieth birthday). What came next: man is brought to a chair, "blow job" shot is procured and placed between the man's knees, and the young bachelorette is told to get on her knees and take the shot using only her mouth. Mortified, the woman hesitates and keeps shaking her head. The audience can't quite make out what she's saying but one of the piano players teases her mercilessly, dismissing her protestations about her dress when everyone can see she just doesn't want to be forced to mock a sexual act with a stranger on a stage. But it's her bachelorette party and she came to have "fun," so she eventually gets on the dirty floor in her white dress, takes the shot, and gets off the stage as quickly as she possibly can. As she exits, the crowd cheers lustily in unison, "You bitch! You whore! You slut!"
When my friends had suggested getting together at a dueling piano bar, I'm not sure what I expected, but it wasn't this.
As the night stretches on, more bachelorettes are called to the stage, and granted, they are all more game than the first unfortunate victim. There is a woman named Lisa, a crowd favorite, who is older than the typical bachelorette, with glasses and a curly bob, but still clad in a white dress and veil. When she spins the wheel, she is instructed to give a male stranger from the audience (this one younger and more attractive than the previous volunteer) a lap dance, which she does with enthusiasm. The crowd eats it up, chanting "Go Lisa!" In a nod to "equality," the man is then told to reciprocate, which he does with aplomb. And again, as they leave the stage, they are saluted by what I have now gathered is the customary goodbye--"You bitch! You whore! You slut!" Even though every visitor to the stage, man or woman, leaves under the volley of these words, I can't bring myself to shout them along with the crowd. It feels wrong. I feel like I've missed something--is there a reason to yell this at everyone? Is there ever a reason to use these words?
At the end of the night, my friends and I agree that it was fun, something different to do. But I don't know that I would do it again, knowing what kind of show it is. Part of me feels like a humorless feminist for being uncomfortable at something meant to be light-hearted and entertaining, but I'm tired of pretending to laugh at the humiliation of women when what I really want to do is rage or cry. And sure, some men were also humiliated, and the musicians on stage were both men and women, lending a little bit more of an egalitarian spirit to the shame. But I'm still tired.
As I was recounting this story to a friend, it occurred to me, for really the first time, what a strange dichotomy bachelor and bachelorette parties present. For a long time, there were only bachelor parties, where men would get wasted and go to strip clubs in a celebratory last gasp of "freedom" before shacking up with the old "ball and chain." Somewhere along the line, women got to join in the fun, but for women, it is different. There are still ridiculous amounts of alcohol and sometimes even strippers, but there is an element of humiliation and pageantry to a bachelorette party that doesn't exist for the bachelor version.
Future brides are cloaked by their well-meaning friends in pink, sparkly sashes and veils, given checklists of tasks to complete (i.e. kiss a stranger and do a blow job shot), and made to drink from penis-shaped straws. Many bachelorette parties end up at places like the piano bar I was at or similar: drag shows, Dick's Last Resort, dance clubs. A new trend in bachelorette parties is pole-dance lessons, which...don't get me started about the connotations behind that one. The bachelor party, though, remains largely the same--anonymous groups of men out on the town, drinking good scotch and eating rare steaks and sometimes sticking sweaty bills into women's g-strings at strip clubs. No public humiliation, no vagina straws, no blinking rings or hats that say "Groom" in rhinestones. What's up with that?
Bachelor and bachelorette parties don't all fit these prototypes, of course. More and more, these kinds of parties have morphed from a night of debauchery to weekend trips away, with hiking and cabins for men and spas and rose for the ladies. But nearly every bachelorette party still includes a penis straw or pastry shaped like genitalia or sparkly sash somewhere in the mix, no matter the location. It's just what you do. I'm guilty myself, having helped plan more than a few bachelorette parties.
I'm not trying to be judgmental or a wet blanket. Many people genuinely enjoy these kinds of parties, heteronormative and stereotypical as they are. This is just something that's been on my mind lately, and I don't think there's anything wrong with questioning the way things have "always been done," or trying to think of things in a new light. I promise to still drink out of the penis straw and "whooo" with the best of them if you invite me to your bachelorette party--I just might be thinking deep thoughts while I do it.