Pugs and Martinis

Here are today’s Wonderful Words:

A martini is a conspiratorial drink—a glass made for aesthetics rather than ergonomics, like a wheezing pug.

The New York Happy Meal, E. Alex Jung

Background

This gem of a sentence came from a piece in New York Magazine. The writer was in search of a new spot for martinis and french fries—what he called the New York Happy Meal.

What makes it wonderful?

When I first moved to New York City at the ripe old age of 21, my friend took me to a two-for-one happy hour at his favorite martini bar. Fresh from the frat parties of college, in my mind a martini seemed sophisticated—something a socialite or a spy might sip.

You won't be surprised to hear that I don’t remember much from that afternoon, but one memory remains in my mind. Sitting on the chic white stools at this midtown martini bar, I awaited my drink with anticipation. And when it arrived, I lifted it gingerly, like a young man unsure how to hold a baby. The glass felt foreign in my hand. Top heavy. Tipsy. Tilting back and forth as the liquid swirled in circles. It lacked the balance of the Keystone cans from college. Aesthetics over ergonomics, without a doubt.

Nine years later, I was visiting a friend in North Carolina. He was dog sitting for someone with unusual taste in canines. This strange looking house guest was some type of pug. It reminded me of Stitch from the Disney movie.

My experience with dogs was with the bigger breeds. The companions that join you for hikes or runs. The kind that love leaping into a lake after a tennis ball. The ones who ride in truck beds, ears flapping in the breeze.

So when I saw this little alien, wheezing and whimpering when he had to climb the stairs to the porch, the memory molded into my mind. Zero ergonomics. People buy pugs not to herd sheep, provide protection, or pull sleds. They buy them because they think the dog is cute. They buy them for aesthetics.

Those two stories are what made this writing wonderful. The author connected two experiences I had—nine years and six hundred miles apart—to draw me into his story.

Lifting that first martini glass was a memorable experience, so was my encounter with a pug. I never would’ve connected the two in my mind, but when the author did it for me, the pair made perfect sense.

Aesthetics over ergonomics. Form over function.

The martini glass wasn’t an impractical vessel. That’s a bore. It was endearing in appearance and lacking in practicality—just like a wheezing pug. That’s a reader’s delight.

Let's get technical

The author explained the exact experience we’ve all had with a martini glass. But he didn’t describe the glass. He compared it to a dog.

A dog whose appearance adversely affects his effectiveness, much like the long stemmed, high center of gravity glasses from which we sip our spirits.

He used an analogy—a comparison to make a point. And in so doing, we understand how martini glasses may be both pleasing to the eye and cumbersome in the hand.

I would never think to compare a glass to a dog. But that’s what makes this comparison so sweet. Two familiar but disparate experiences, combining to illustrate a point. Next time you’re writing a description, reach back into your brain for some common experiences. Then connect them creatively to delight your reader.

Happy writing,

Joe

P.S. Looking for more analogies? Try this one from Ted Lasso.