By Leila Molitor

Here’s the thing about tequila people. They never ease into a night. They kick the door open already talking about “new chapter energy.” Red flag number one: nobody who’s actually calm announces it.

They order tequila neat or a straight shot. Lime is optional. Salt is for tourists. They breathe in like they’re about to do surgery. You think, maybe they’re mature now. Cute thought. Hold onto it. It won’t survive long.

Shot one hits. Their shoulders drop. They tell you they’re finally done with “toxic cycles.” They talk like someone who read exactly half a self-help book and fell asleep during the part about accountability.

Shot two and the truth leaks. They start making bold declarations: new job, new apartment, no more clowns, no more chaos. Meanwhile, their phone is already in their hand like a loaded weapon.

Shot three? That’s when the night becomes anthropology. Suddenly their dealer’s getting a “WYA.” A man they swore they’d never speak to again is now “maybe misunderstood.” And someone at the bar is getting life advice they never asked for but definitely cannot escape.

Shot four and they’re either dancing like Bad Bunny hired them, crying about their grandmother’s arroz con pollo recipe, or outside smoking with strangers planning a trip they’ll never take.

But say what you want: tequila people are loyal. Down for the stupid adventures. Down for the questionable choices. Down to defend you like a chihuahua with abandonment issues. They’re chaos, but they’re your chaos.

If one invites you out, stretch, hydrate, and charge your phone. Something will get spilled, someone will get blocked or unblocked, and you will not be home early. Or sober.

La Contenta – LES

Atla – NoHo

Casa Enrique – LIC

Claro – Williamsburg

Oxomoco – Greenpoint

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