No one in New York has money. And if they do, they’re certainly not going to be caught out in public, least of all at a place that serves dollar oysters to attract in the petit bourgeois set. Alas, women of North Brooklyn have very little choice in the matter when they’re either 1) meeting a “man” from Tinder or 2) trying to parlay a one-night stand into a meaningful handful of dates that briefly delude her into thinking she’s not promiscuous.
In the feigned attempt to be romantic and come across as worldly/”not cheap,” many a “man” resorts to the dollar oyster happy hour so prevalent throughout Williamsburg. After all, what better way to trick a woman into believing she’s experiencing decadence, not to mention pump her full of aphrodisiacs to ensure that if she’s not drunk enough to fuck him this time around, at least she’ll be horny enough to. Then again, this might not be the case if she’s yakking over the toilette as a result of a bad batch and/or realizing that watching the “guy” eat an oyster is probably a preview of how he’ll eat her pussy.