Repeat after me: ‘I am a strong, independent [man/woman/neither/both/prefer not to say]’ That’s the impression you’ll give off as you casually, aloofly raise that forkful of penne to your gob (sorry! mouth) You’re confident, you’re self-assured plus a little mysterious as you watch the world rush by around you. Eating alone is a feast for the senses, not only can you savor the offering on your plate (and no sharing – yay!) you’re privy to conversations at neighbouring tables, you appreciate the warmth of the sun on your back because this time you get to sit in the window seat, you admire the beauty around you because for once you’re not staring at the mug of whichever hapless date is sitting opposite you.
You’re a thought provoker ‘who is she?’ ‘is he an artist? ‘are they alone?’ and who knows? (except you)
Recreating the image of the guy who sits by himself in Nighthawks is not a good look. If you don’t have a sketchbook perched next to your croque-monsieur* you can forget the delusion that you appear artsy and deep, we all know you’re a Billy no-mates who can’t be bothered to cook at home. I mean really? ‘A table for one please’?! Don’t you have any friends to eat out with once in a while? If the answer is no then eating alone clearly isn’t your biggest issue. Plus, what are you going to do when you wait for your meal? Talk to yourself? Or sit there staring at everyone else eat and ultimately freaking out/pissing off every other person at the restaurant. Go home, order a pizza and sob into that bottle of wine alone like the true friendless nonentity you are.
*If you do have a sketchbook perched next to your croque-monsieur please put it away, you won’t get away with that kind of pretension unless you look like Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic, in which case you wouldn’t be eating alone now would you?