Don’t be ashamed of your cheap taste; cherish it

In my time at this university, I’ve found the college experience often presents a fascinating intersection of tastes. Some of us consider ourselves full-blown adults, while others lean more towards an “adult-lite” classification, resulting in a hilariously wide variety of hedonistic preferences.

I have one friend who would happily eat day-old Little Caesar’s pizza every day. I have another who speaks of charcuterie boards in hushed, reverent tones. Similarly, many of my friends are perfectly content slugging well vodka Sprites while they fight to the death for their personal space at Midtown. Others wouldn’t step foot on that God-forsaken strip of dilapidated college bars if I paid them, and the rest lay somewhere in between these two camps (including myself).

That’s the thing about preferences, it’s impossible for them to be right or wrong, simply based on the premise that they’re preferences. The New York Times published an opinion piece earlier this month titled “Ignore the Snobs, Drink the Cheap, Delicious Wine,” a wonderfully inconsequential analysis of the false assumption that cheap wine is fundamentally bad simply because it’s cheap.

Despite the increasing demand for so-called “natural wines” that are created with organic ingredients and minimal chemical intervention, Bosker points out that the winemaking process has always been a scientific one. The inevitable hesitation towards wine manufactured with chemical additives is often unwarranted, as these additives correct flaws and replicate the taste that consumers want, thereby democratizing the wine industry.

The piece made several interesting points about the shrinking gap in quality between commercial and high-end wine, but the conclusion that truly stuck with me pointed out that the classification of wine as good or bad is irrelevant to someone who truly enjoys it. To them, their enjoyment makes it good. As someone who has drank box wine straight out of the spigot, I really don’t feel qualified to make any profound conclusions about wine quality, but I do believe that this can be extrapolated and applied to the notion of taste in general.

Practically every time I find myself at any bar in Midtown, I’ll think about how objectively terrible it is. Since you’re reading this column, I’ll just assume you can come up with plenty of reasons on your own for why that is. Yet, after this thought crosses my mind, I quickly realize that it doesn’t matter since apparently some part of me gets enjoyment out of its sticky floors, cramped bars and stupidly cheap drinks.

I’m sure a large portion of this enjoyment stems from its fleeting nature, as I’m almost constantly aware that the college bar phase of my life will soon be over. I’ll have my whole life to drink quality drinks and pretend like I never stepped foot in Balls bar, so why rush the inevitable? However, that’s the paradox of senior year: we cherish our last moments as undergrads and the inherently ‘undergrad’ experiences that accompany them but simultaneously yearn for the next stage of our lives.

As graduation looms closer, I’ve started to make note of the advice I would give some of my younger friends (even though absolutely no one’s asked for it). One of the points I wrote down was to experience all that Gainesville has to offer in terms of nightlife, but never think you’re too good for Midtown. It’s as stereotypically collegiate as ramen, free T-shirts and twin XL sheets. One day you’ll think back on it at least somewhat fondly. Besides, no college kid is too good for $2 doubles.

Marisa Papenfuss is a UF English senior. Her column appears on Tuesdays.