I Think I'm A Dive Bar Guy Now

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Growing up in South Florida, the club scene was in my DNA. I was sneaking into clubs at 15, dancing like I owned the fucking place, chasing chicks way out of my league, bass drops, and the promise of a wild night. Back then, clubs were the holy grail, packed dance floors, hot birds, and overpriced drinks I definitely wasn’t old enough to buy. The thought of going to a dive bar never even crossed my mind. I thought they were for washed-up locals and sad jukeboxes.

But then life changed.

At 23, I got hired by Barstool and moved to Chicago. A new city, a new job, and without realizing it a whole new outlook on how I wanted to spend my nights. Somewhere between my last bottle-service hangover and my first $3 High Life, I became a full-blown dive bar guy. Now I’m 25, and if you invite me to a club, the only way I’m going is if my boy is lobbing me an absolute dime piece. Give me a sticky bar top and a dartboard over bottle girls and velvet ropes any day.

Dive bars just hit different. There’s no pressure. No line out the door, no $20 cover to get into a room so loud you have to scream just to tell someone your name. At a dive, the music’s probably coming from a beat-up TouchTunes, and it’s perfect. You can actually have a conversation. You can show up in a hoodie and nobody cares. You can shoot pool with strangers, argue over the best cheap beer, and make a new best friend in the bathroom line. It’s real, it’s gritty, and it feels like home.

Chicago dive bars, especially, sealed the deal for me. They’re cozy in winter, wild in summer, and every one of them has some weird charm. Every dive bar in Chicago has their own magical power to bring a certain version out of someone. Personally, you get a different Smokes depending on which dive bar we go to. 

Clubs were cool when I had the stamina and the FOMO. But now? I want a bar where I can laugh with my friends, hear myself think, and still get a strong drink for under ten bucks. Dive bars are where the good stories happen, the kind you actually remember the next day.

So yeah, maybe I’m getting older. But if getting older means swapping VIP lists for barstools and bottle service for cheap whiskey, I’ll take it. See you at the corner dive. 

First round’s on me.