Why do I drink whisky? For one thing, it tastes good. Also, subverting gender norms is fun:
I grew up with two whisky-drinking parents, one of whom traveled a lot for work and took advantage of duty free liquor allowances when she did. Both of them like a good whisky, but the real spirits drinker in my family is my mother, a 5’2” (and shrinking) New York Jew who makes up in volume and opinions what she lacks in height. She has bangs and wears a lot of pearls. She’s no Don Draper, and she’s certainly no Ron Swanson. She’s not what comes to mind when you picture a drinker of scotch. But a drinker of scotch she is, and she taught me how to be one, too, starting soon after I hit the legal drinking age, which is 18 where I grew up. Those bottles of scotch she would tote back from the airport came in tin boxes, which we often repurposed as containers for my pencils, markers, and crayons. If this were a TV show, I’d be an alcoholic by now, and in flashbacks to my childhood, that particular morsel of information would be the prominently placed piece of visual foreshadowing that made my addiction inevitable. But I’m not an alcoholic, I’m just a young woman who had the world’s weirdest pencil cases growing up, and who really likes whisky (on the rocks, not neat, because unlike Chelsea Fagan, I am not cool as shit).
I drink it because I like the taste, obviously, though it was an acquired one, like beer and coffee. But I also love the feeling of subverting people’s expectations. I love the look of surprise on a man’s face when he discovers that I know and enjoy whisky. I like the “girly” drinks as well; the Chardonnay, the fruity cocktails, the blonde beers. I’m not interested in being one of the guys, or being a “cool girl” who disdains and eschews anything girly as a way to criticize other women. I like the drink, and I like what it represents. I like doing what young women aren’t “supposed” to do.
You can read the whole thing here.