Flatbush Farm

On a recent Saturday night, I did a little experiment: I broke the rules of youthful social engagement and went to a bar by myself. I sat in the dimly lit courtyard behind Union Pool in Williamsburg. I made myself available, quietly sipping a pint of Blue Moon.

By 11, small groups had perched themselves all around me on wooden benches chatting about their lives, jobs and families. A group of three pretty ladies gossiped vehemently about their film industry jobs. I sat nearby in my frilly dress eavesdropping. After an hour of enjoying the warm weather, and having not made any new acquaintances, I made my way to sit at the bar. Again, no luck. Rarely are Brooklyn's local watering holes a place to meet new people these days. The age-old complaint of post-college social isolation was now fresh in my mind.

While advising me about my love life, my mother always likes to tell stories about her youthful evenings spent at her local singles bar. The rules of engagement are much different now. It's been a long time since there were social mores about which gender approaches the other, pays for dates or makes the first move on a first date. A cursory glance at Craigslist's missed connections section proves that many 25- to 35-year-olds, especially recent transplants, don't necessarily have the stones to introduce themselves in person.  read more »