Sip Happens - Episode 1

 “Yes, That Pint’s for Me: A Love Letter to Women Who Drink Like They Mean It”

There’s a moment — a sacred, stupid moment — that happens all too often when a woman boldly walks up to the bar, locks eyes with the bartender, and says those four shocking words:

“I’ll have a pint.”

Gasp.

Not a Prosecco. Not a vodka soda with a whisper of lime. Not a spritzer with a fancy straw. A pint. A full one. Of beer. Possibly even… craft beer. The kind with hops, backbone, and an ABV that whispers, “Text your ex, I dare you.”

For reasons no one can quite explain, this simple act often triggers confusion, raised eyebrows, and occasionally — horror of horrors — the bartender sliding the pint to her boyfriend instead. Classic. Apparently, women can carry babies, build empires, and survive the horrors of low-rise jeans, but drinking a pint? That’s the societal line?

Let’s unpack.

The Pint Prejudice

There’s this weird, lingering idea that pints are “man drinks.” Maybe it’s because of all those old ads where blokes in rugby shirts clink glasses over something brown and foamy. Meanwhile, women were in the corner sipping something pink with an umbrella in it and trying not to die of internalized misogyny.

But it’s 2025, and here’s the truth: pints don’t care about your gender. Pints don’t discriminate. Pints just want to be loved — preferably by someone with good taste and a healthy liver.

The Craft Beer Renaissance

We are in a golden age of beer, people. Craft beer isn’t just an IPA arms race anymore. It’s passionfruit sours, bourbon barrel-aged stouts, funky saisons, mango wheat beers, and stuff so experimental it legally counts as alchemy. And guess who’s brewing, selling, reviewing, and drinking the hell out of it? WOMEN.

Women are in the breweries. They’re designing the labels. They’re out here hosting beer podcasts, judging competitions, and creating flight boards that look more like tasting menus from Michelin-starred restaurants than something served at your cousin’s wedding.

So why shouldn’t a woman order a pint of a double dry-hopped mosaic IPA with notes of grapefruit and rebellion? Why shouldn't she confidently cradle a glass the size of her face and sip like a boss?

To the Girls Who Pint

This is a love letter to you — the women who slam a pint on the table with the elegance of a Renaissance queen and the thirst of a festival bro. You are the revolution. You are the reason a beertender somewhere is Googling “do girls like stouts?” in a quiet panic.

You normalize what should’ve never been weird in the first place.

Because drinking a pint doesn’t make you “one of the lads.” It just makes you a person who enjoys a damn good beer.

Final Cheers

So here’s to the girls who don’t sip — they gulp. The ones who appreciate a complex amber ale more than a lukewarm rosé. The ones who know their IBU from their ABV and don’t need anyone’s permission to drink it from a pint glass the size of a small goldfish tank.

Next time you’re at the bar and someone asks, “Is that pint for you?” — look them dead in the eye and say, “Damn right it is.”

Then order another.