I'm Not a Mixologist

Photo c/o IFC During bar shifts, one of the most frequent questions from customers is if I'm a mixologist or a bartender. I usually reply that I'm just a really nerdy bartender. Recently, people have accused me of selling myself short through my answer. The truth is that I just don't like the term "mixologist."

As defined by the Oxford English Dictionary, a mixologist is "a person who is skilled at mixing cocktails and other drinks." At its root, a mixologist is a craft bartender who's good at what they do. However, the definition is vague and fails to take into account the word's connotations.

The first problem with the term is that no standard is set. It's unclear which cocktails are required knowledge and what skills must be used in their creation. Since craft bartending is a vibrant and evolving field, this requirement is fluid. New cocktails are created daily, and the amount of knowledge available about product and classic recipes and cocktail history is constantly expanding.

My biggest problem with the term is with the word's connotations. A mixologist is someone who is interesting but largely unapproachable. Their quirky drinks or personal eccentricities can alienate parts of the population by making them feel out of place. In the Portlandia episode "Mixologist," bartender Andy Samberg makes a ridiculous and somewhat off-putting cocktail that makes his customers swoon. Three cheers for a ginger-based bourbon drink with rotten bananas, egg whites, egg yellows, lime zest and much more...

Though he's playing up the role, he's riffing on everything that can make craft cocktails intimidating. In a city like Birmingham where the cocktail scene is still growing and developing, it's easy to spook people who are new to the concept. That said, it's just as easy to make customers feel welcome and answer their questions about drinks and product. To do so, you just have to be a really nerdy bartender.

Do or do not. There is no try

Photo c/o Shutterstock. Since I graduated college, I have resisted defining myself by my job title. After being raised to be the author of my own story, the idea of describing my identity with others' words makes me feel like some manic pixie dream girl. Once I quit my day job to bartend and freelance, I have fewer reservations about shaping titles like these to fit my life.

Not using these titles became an excuse. Denying that I am a writer and a runner gives me the slack I need to put off blog posts and speed drills. Not admitting these parts of my identity gives me the room to fail without fear of consequence. If I'm not a writer, having a pitch ignored or rejected is just part of being an amateur freelancer. If I'm not a runner, spending the afternoon on my couch instead of the sidewalk isn't neglecting a training routine, it's personal care.

The truth is that I am both a writer and a runner. My spreadsheet of story ideas and markets won't pitch itself, and I'll never be able to run 3.11 miles if I don't lace up. Pretending that I have no responsibility to these titles won't cut it anymore. I simply can't ignore it anymore.

Tonight I work my first solo bartending shift at Octane. Though I haven't been too hesitant about calling myself a bartender, I qualify the title by adding "baby" or "in training." Truthfully, I will be learning new parts of the craft during every shift I work. If I keep using a qualified title now, I may never stop, further hindering my ability to hone my skills.

Needless to say, the denial and qualifications stop now. I am a writer, runner and bartender, and should direct my energy to develop these abilities instead of denying them. It's about damn time.

Today's title comes from Yoda's speech to Luke.