Sir, we’re gonna ask you to disembark. This flight is for grown-ass men, and your ticket indicates no, you’re not. Did you just ask us if a Paper Plane is a girl’s drink? Man, I hate long flights when a whiny baby is right next to me. And sir? In this metaphor, you’re the baby.
Google is three feet deep with the search results of men crouched over their phones at a bar with a beautiful cocktail frigidly misting before them, furiously figuring out (gasp) if a paper plane is a girl drink?
We here at Girl Drinks would like to disabuse you of your fears and concerns: Yes, a Paper Plane is a Girly drink. You are now a girl.
How does it feel? I mean, we know how it tastes. It’s delicious. With its bourbon and its Aperol and its lemon juice. It’s so elegant. So understated. So pretty. Just like you. Ah, and now the second sip confirms the truth. It’s time to change your pronouns.
And what if you are a girl now? Do you really feel all that different? Is it really so bad? I mean, does this drink make you look fat? Are these all stupid questions?
Yes, they fucking are. But you started it. Well, Sam Ross started it when he invented this drink in ’08. Even though a Paper Plane has that post-prohibition pearls and cigarette holder black-and-white movie swagger, it’s pomo as hell.
Too bad you’re not. You’re practically dragging a club around. Wearing a ragged weasel-skin loin cloth. You’ve reverted to the deep primitive version of MAN AT BAR ORDERING DRINK. (It’s number 4 in the classic evolutionary illustration, you know the one. It starts as a fish and ends up as a dude from Wisconsin). Because you’re afraid there’s something wrong with drinking a cocktail that is ‘girl.’ Which it isn’t. NONE OF THEM ARE.
Since you’re in mortal terror of not measuring up to the universal definition of MANLY, allow me to disabuse you further. A man, a real man, can sit in a sewing circle drinking a Blue Hawaiian garnished with a gummy bear and three umbrellas and a tampon listening to Brandy Carlisle and talking about his issues with his father with the rest of the girls and not bat a single goddam eyelash because a man, a real man, does whatever the fuck he wants and doesn’t give a portly rodent’s posterior about what anyone else thinks. He’ll drink a Paper Plane without questioning its gender. Because he knows such toxicity is poison to one’s progress toward self-actualization. And also, (please listen closely) drinks don’t have a gender!
Real men don’t google Is a Paper Plan a Girly Drink because they don’t care. They will graciously accept that drink from whoever has ordered it. Or they will happily order it after their bartender has suggested it. Or they will accept it from the lady, the man, or the non-binarian sitting next to them. Because a real man has enough class to be cool and only fear the things that matter. Like a drastic rise in the price of coffee. Or if the new NFL streaming service is going to suck. Or will the library ever find their copy of Karate is a Thing of the Spirit by Harry Crews.
Sure as fuck not if their Paper Plane is a girly drink. But you be you, little buttercup. Ask dumb questions. Stay celibate. Yay.
Is a Paper Plane a girly drink? No, it’s this
.75 ounces of Bourbon
.75 ounces of Aperol
.75 ounces of Aperol Nonino Quintessentia
.75 ounce of freshly squeezed lemon juice
Tiny little paper plane to garnish
Put it all in a shaker with ice. Shake the shit out of it. Strain that frigid mixture into a chilled coupe. Stick that little paper plane on the rim. Stare into the poor fucker’s eyes who ordered it fearing it was a girly drink, then grin and say, “You go, girl.”
