It’s gone unsaid for too long. Too long have carrot cakes, wedge salads, and scones taken the brunt of the ridicule associated with un-manliness while mimosas have skated by unscathed. Simply put, mimosas are nothing more than breakfast juice combined with sweet, bubbly alcohol water in a flute that’s become a brunch tradition. Yeah, the writing’s on the wall here.
Much like the Menendez brothers, both parties are clearly at fault. Orange juice, or any tropical fruit drinks, in conjunction with any boozy delight screams “Caribbean vacation”, “mid-life crisis”, or both. Sweet and pungent, they overpower nearly any competing tastes, leaving the recipient to experience drunkenness without the character-affirming bitter bite that accompanies straight hard liquor or the timelessly malty taste of beer.
With French roots grounded in unfinished wars and unjustified arrogance, champagne only exacerbates the emasculation. It’s a fizzy, specialty grape drink—literally the complete opposite end of the spectrum from something manly, like whiskey, or something with street cred, like purple Shasta mixed with cough syrup.
Given, in celebrations, champagne by itself can be fine—it sprays everywhere and is the customary method of capping a sports championship, wedding reception, or simply making it through another year without dying. Still, when it’s paired with another sugary diabetes-inducer it seems a bit like putting whipped cream and chocolate syrup on hot cocoa: excessive and not at all manly.
Men don’t sweeten things that are already sweet. That’s a thing for children and fat women to do.
Now, potentially, you could find yourself at a restaurant, tailgate, or morning party where mimosas are the only alcoholic option. In these cases it’s fine to have one, say nothing, and make a mental note to never return to that locale. Any place worth returning to will have options. And, ideally, said options will involve Bloody Marys in all of their menstrual-ly evocative, oddly-Biblical breakfast drink glory.
Hopefully, we’ll someday be able to dub mimosas with a more-fitting, less-ambiguous name. There’s a whole generation of teenagers who just started drinking and who could potentially be tricked into developing a taste for these cowardly, un-manly morning mixtures. It’s an uphill battle, but, through nothing more than the power of public ridicule and a desire for morning beers or homeless-man morning gin, we can move to a future where mimosas are nothing but a fanciful elixir to be used in fighting off insulin overdoses.
Remember, general public, mimosas are never the masculine choice. They should only ever be ordered if you’re with a young child that you’re trying to wean into a lifetime of alcoholism. They’re certainly no whiskey. Whiskey, neat or rocks, is a manly choice at any hour—even if it results in a 9am vomit geyser erupting right out of your hot mouth and splattering all over the unsuspecting waitress’ hair.
Justin Gawel is an adult baby from Michigan whose articles appear on BroBible most Thursdays. Look for more of his writing, his BroBible.com archive, and his updates at www.justingawel.com or follow him @justingawel on Twitter.