A Hooters Girl’s Perspective: The Modern Day Courtesan

by Juliana Loh

“White shoes, white socks, orange shorts,
brown pouch, white top, hair, makeup, smile.”
- Hooters anthem


I’d like to dispel the myth that all Hooters girls are well endowed, brazen gold diggers who pander to the whims and fancies of lecherous men. I’ve been working part-time at Hooters for three years now, earning just enough to get through university and I've learned that the essential trait of being a Hooters girl is to have a personality.  It isn't easy dealing with difficult customers, whilst keeping up the ‘I look no less than a million dollars’ front.

In essence, I see us as modern day courtesans, we serve food, top up beer, shell crabs and prawns, play hula hoops to entertain (a skill nonetheless) and have the occasional witty banter or ditzy small talk to keep the customers happy. All good clean fun in a room full of leering eyes. I guess some of us do this for the attention, but, more often than not, it's for the money. For some, their motivation lies in the possibility of a green card that would take them out of this rut. Five years later, most of my ex-colleagues are happily married to American sailors with two or three beautiful mixed children in tow.   And a green card to flash for their eligibility to live in the “land of the free."

However, at the end of the day, reality catches up to the rest of us: there are study loans to pay, aged/sick parents to support, and babies to raise. It takes resilience to put up with chauvinistic men who don’t respect women.  It takes even more when they're accompanied with wives or girlfriends flashing us accusatory looks because of our potential to lead their men astray.

And yet, there are some women who dine while avoiding eye contact at all cost. They look miserable, playing with their utensils while their male partners enjoy participating in our limbo contests.

Sometimes I don’t think any other waitressing job could get as fun get as this, but when I first started working here I cried every night.  There are plenty of nasty people who come in to mock us, put us down and treat us like meat on legs.

I endure blatant staring and endless, unsuccessful attempts at groping or the accidental arm that slithers from waist up during a picture taking session. Armed in my cleavage bearing tank top and orange hot pants often mistaken for knickers, there is little I can do apart from using this to my advantage and getting out of tight situations by being patronising, and never offensive.

While many women think it’s innapropriate or rude to be leered at, I still hold on to the cliché that if you have it, flaunt it. And we’re not committing any crime or selling ourselves short. We’re doing a job, like everyone else. All the time we patronise customers by saying things they like to hear, because it doesn’t cost us anything to make a dining customer feel good about himself.

Some girls call it working smart.

Hanging up my pride before I begin each shift, I am capable of dealing with all sorts of unruly characters who demand you talk dirty or even feed them.  I don't pander to their requests.  I decline politely and jokingly.  And earn a big tip.

As for dealing with overly crass customers, I have a learned a few swift and steady kung fu moves to avoid the advancing breats-groping arm or that bottom-spanking hand. Once, a British dine in customer slapped my ass while I was clearing the table. I turned around and sternly told him that it was entirely inappropriate. But before the situation got confrontational, I jokingly added "And that cost you 50 dollars."  He gave me a 100.

During the World Cup, I had to endure lecherous gazes of Japanese men who incessantly bugged me about my cup size, cupping their own chest to further physically manifest their filthy thoughts, saying something like "Harrow miss, sexy sexy, moll bel prese. Harrow harrow, what cup, big cup?  World Cup?”

From shelling prawns or crabs at the table, and constantly topping up beer, our job is to sell ourselves and, of course, sell the restaurant.

We are aware than most men come in to the restaurant for a good time, to celebrate a birthday or have a tame bachelor’s party. Others come in with a hope of finding themselves a girlfriend.  Or mistress.  Or just a tit grope. Granted it’s up to every girl’s discretion on how to handle such situations, but we’re often misunderstood. We’re more than a walking piece of meat.  Hooters is a restaurant, not a butcher's shop. If anything, we’re walking pieces of meat with personalities and individual traits, regardless of bra size.

All of us girls have fun at our job, either deliberately playing up stereotypes or blatantly going against them, but never compromising good service.

Working at Hooters has taught me how to stand up for myself, even if it's a place where girls have to play hula-hoops and wait on men in orange hot pants and cleavage-flaunting tank tops. I don’t think anyone should be apologetic or embarrassed about what they do for a living. There is more than one way to deal with men who put you down and psychologically abuse you. It’s about being yourself and finding solutions without compromising your beliefs And it's fun. Some people talk about taking down The Man from "the inside." Maybe I can even call working at Hooters subversive feminism.

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