Viewport width =
August 16, 2015 | by  | in Fashion |
Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

How not to look like a first year

Bartending has ruined numerous things for me*, including but not limited to my social life, Tinder dates, the illusion that two-for-one cocktails will actually get you drunk, and everything I was wearing the time I spilt 135 mL of flaming Chartreuse down myself.

I am, however, enabled prime observational opportunity of the extremities of human behaviour, from the painfully sober side of the bar. I have been privy to the mating rituals of middle-aged couples grinding on each other against bar stools, have witnessed drunk first year girls solicit kebabs from complete strangers, and have deflected the slurred seductive attempts of every straight male to pass the threshold. Tip me and perhaps I’ll endure your mindless rambling for an extra 30 seconds, but no, sweetheart, despite your claim that you have lost your number, you cannot have mine. 

I have also adapted the acute ability to spot freshers from 800 metres away. My spidey senses begin to tingle ferociously when a pack of first years stumbles down Forrester’s Lane, preempting the cacophony of screeches and tequila shot requests destined to erupt upon their arrival. 

How to disguise the fact that you live in a hall:

  1. Don’t wear white sandals to town (or in any context whatsoever). For more advice see my previous column “White Sandal Girl”. 
  1. Avoid shrieking. Please, for the love of God, do not shriek. 
  1. If you own one of those atrocious fold-over skorts that looks like a fancy napkin, ritualistically burn it.
  1. Playsuits. Specifically those ghastly, shapeless ones with the scalloped shorts and stupid little pompoms. They are so incredibly frumpy and unflattering. On everyone. 
  1. T-shirt dresses. Honestly, ew. Love yourselves. 
  1. If you’re going to snog strangers, by all means go wild, but be sure to remove the tell-tale lipstick smudges from around your mouth (and nose). Not a gr8 look. (As someone who has had to taxi her flatmate from home to the bathroom of Edison’s with emergency makeup supplies to avoid this scenario, stay woke.)


*Disclaimer: I am however now immune to the eternal question “Is he hot or is it because he’s a bartender?” He is merely the supplier of alcohol. The allure is gone. (Unless aforementioned alcohol is free, in which case he is a fabulous human being and here is my number, looking forward to never returning your calls or to this bar.) 

Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

About the Author ()

Comments (3)

Trackback URL / Comments RSS Feed

  1. TBB says:

    How did this judgmental shit make it into the womens issue?

  2. Tay says:

    Really, really disappointed to see an article that is blatant slut-shaming and women-shaming ESPECIALLY in the ‘Women’s Issue’. As women, and as feminists we should be celebrating and accepting other women, particularly young women – not shaming them for their clothing or their actions. Shame on Salient for publishing this.

  3. Pixie says:

    How does the same person get away with this kind of crap two weeks in a row. Last week she’s trashing guys and now she’s trashing girls IN THE WOMENS ISSUE. Watch out other minorities your time is probably next week. Its fun to have an opinion but when you basically single out every other student at university maybe you should take a hard look at yourself and realise that you might be the problem. And shame on you salient for allowing utter rubbish to be published

Recent posts

  1. Laneway: Luck of the Draw
  2. Cuttin’ it with with Miss June
  3. SWAT
  4. Ravished by the Living Embodiment of All Our University Woes
  5. New Zealand’s First Rainbow Crossing is Here (and Queer)
  6. Chloe Has a Yarn About Mental Health
  7. “Stick with Vic” Makes “Insulting” and “Upsetting” Comments
  8. Presidential Address
  9. Final Review
  10. Tears Fall, and Sea Levels Rise

Editor's Pick

This Ain’t a Scene it’s a Goddamned Arm Wrestle

: Interior – Industrial Soviet Beerhall – Night It was late November and cold as hell when I stumbled into the Zhiguli Beer Hall. I was in Moscow, about to take the trans-Mongolian rail line to Beijing, and after finding someone in my hostel who could speak English, had decided