Ironically, maybe, the former town of Bankersmith Texas is now named for a sexy two-piece swimsuit which was originally named for the Bikini Atoll at the dawn of the nuclear age. Probably no other towns in Texas named (indirectly) for historically significant military test sites.
I’m the dad of a daughter. I’m the husband of a woman intolerant of ridiculous sexism. I consider myself a kind and fair-hearted fella who would not treat people in a manner he would not want himself (or his daughter, or his wife) treated.
So that’s my slant. I am not a journalist. I do not have to be balanced.
I think the entire category of so-called (and, yes, cleverly called) “breastaurants” is essentially an exploitation scheme being dolled up as a harmless, cutesy, playful li’l ol’ patch o’ naughty-but-niceness. It’s capitalism mixed with sexism, one of the worst combinations of -isms that civilized people have to pretend is okay.
It’s just a strip club with mediocre chicken fingers, people, its strippers converted to servers in a perpetually pre-full-reveal, first-few-notes-of-Pour-Some-Sugar-On-Me state. It’s Bada without the Bing.
We should not pretend otherwise.
So I’m rolling my eyes at the news that the town of Bankersmith, Texas, has been bought and renamed Bikinis, by (as Eater puts it) “Texas breastaurateur Doug Guller—who owns 14 locations of Bikinis Sports Bar & Grill.”
A stunt. A naughty stunt. Oh, you naughty, naughty, stunted fella.
Look, I was a callow youth once. I hung with the boys. I know there’s a lot of successful movies that are basically the breastaurant aesthetic married to half-a-plot and some major comic marquee actors.
But these are real people we’re ogling at, people who for whatever life-reason have elected to rank it’s-a-living over their basic dignity. You know there are plenty of smart, funny women who feel like the money they’ll make reducing themselves to a body with no need for a soul is worth the tradeoff. But that doesn’t make the exchange any more dignified, just less tragic.
….so (sigh) if you’re going to have your bachelor party at Bikinis and I’m obliged to show up unless I want to raise a fuss, well, then… I guess I’ll have the buffalo wings and a Budweiser in a bottle and I’ll sit here drumming my fingers along to “You Shook Me All Night Long” until Melanie or Jen or whoever our server is brings us the bill, trying not to look lascivious or meet her eyes.
I hope you’re having fun, Mr. Humbert.
