Becoming a Southwest Florida Housewife
I found the women’s social networking event online. “Girl’s Night Out Free Networking Social” the event title read. A public women’s social event in my city? I definitely hadn’t done that before. When searching the internet for new encounters to write about for my journalism class, a women’s networking event was one of the first (free) new-experiences I came upon.
“Hosted by Southwest Florida Housewives In The City.” Jeeze, what does that mean? Is this going to be some big meetup of older Naples housewives, gossiping about their husbands and sharing baking recipes? Even though that doesn’t sound terrible now that I’m thinking back on it, the thought of going to an event with a bunch of old ladies socializing sounded like a slightly horrifying way to spend my day off. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing negative towards older people. I work at a retirement community, so I would say I spend much more of my time talking with older men and women than most people my age. But the thought of voluntarily attending this social event where I would probably be the youngest attendee sounded almost painful.
I started to worry about little details. What time should I get there? What should I drink in front of the older ladies? Should I even drink? What will I wear? Casual? Business? Business causal? I continued reading the flyer to check out all the details. It said the theme was “caramel apples” and to “pull out your warm fall colors and get dressed up for a fun night out with your girlfriends.” What kind of theme is caramel apples? So, do I wear… red? I was slightly frustrated and intimidated by my choice for my assignment story, but I pushed forward.
The day of the event came, and I still had no idea what I was in for. All week I tried to picture what the social might be like but couldn’t. I guessed that was a good sign that I was picking something out of my territory. I consciously dressed myself for the event in an attempt to fit the theme but not look like a college student out for a drink. I chose a simple crème knit sweater and a muted red skirt and short black boots. I decided to cover my bare legs with darkly colored stalking, partly to seem more professional and partly because I thought it might be chilly by the time I left.
The social was at a local Naples bar called Whiskey Park. I’d never been to this bar this early, or any bar early for that matter. I was surprised by how many people were there so early, with the tiny parking lot nearly full for the night already. I found a spot on the far end of the lot around 5:45 and made my way to the door. As I approached, I saw a large canopy stationed on the front porch of the bar, done up with hanging lights. Underneath there was a plethora of aroma-centric items including candles, incents and sprays. I walked past the alluring tent and through the entrance where I was greeted by smiling woman holding a clipboard. She was probably in her early thirties, with dark brown hair and perfectly manicured nails. She wore an auburn colored sweater, light jeans and brown boots. She was more casual than I was expecting, and I began to understand the theme of “caramel apples” more or less meant to dress festive and fall-like. I felt my chosen attire matched that premise.
“Welcome! Here for the women’s event?” she asked me.
“Yes ma’am” I answered. I instantly regretted calling her ma’am.
“Perfect! If you could sign in at this table here that would be great. Have you ever been to an event with us before?”
To the left of me was a bright pink table with a “Welcome Girls Night Out” sign. I bent down to sign my name on the pink sign-in sheet. “No, I haven’t.”
“Well we do these meet-ups and networking events once a month around Southwest Florida. We aim to bring friendly, business-minded ladies together to have a place to socialize and to expose their businesses and network. This time we partnered with Alliance Financial Group to bring some great businesswomen out here. We have name tags on the table. Feel free to take a look around!” She handed me a card. It read ‘Mandy Carter, Regional Director’.
“Okay great. Thank you,” I filled out my neon pink name tag and stuck it to my sweater.
I walked past Ms. Carter and took in the room. The rustic setting of wooden walls and dimmed lighting seemed to match the intended theme for the event of a fall festive atmosphere. Most of the normal restaurant booths and tables were full of women and some with mix of men and women. The women’s business tables were scattered amongst the regularly placed high top tables and casual bar booths. There were definitely more women than men in the building, but you could tell some of the men were regulars that probably spent quite a few Thursday nights there. In their usual spot, barley disrupted by the tables and lights and women chatting around them.
The booths surrounded the centralized bar in the middle of the room, which made getting a drink nearly impossible without stepping right by one of the tables. I felt myself unwind a little as I became aquatinted with what this social event was. It was not a circle of older middle-aged housewives getting together to complain about their husbands and swap recipes. Instead, an actual gathering of business professionals from all walks of life aimed at socializing and networking regional companies. Each table set with establishments run by local businesswomen in the area, here to showcase their trade and interact with the community.
I took a spot at the end of the bar and thought about my drink choice. I didn’t think my usual vodka sprite choice would look too professional around this group. Although the setting calmed my nerves a bit, I was still definitely the youngest woman at the event. I didn’t want to be looked at like the immature, broke college student drinking liquor and not fitting in. I picked up a happy hour menu and the four-dollar hour wine caught my eye immediately. “That’ll look sophisticated and still be cheap,” I thought to myself. I ordered a pinot grigio, then decided to check out the aurora tent outside.
Outside it was already almost entirely dark. The canopy was dimly lit with hung bulb lights and the smell of differing soapy scents filled the air. I walked up to the corner of the tent and started smelling the various candles. A short dark-haired woman was speaking to another lady on the far end of the tent but paused her conversation to greet me.
“Hello! Welcome,” she called over to me.
“Hi! Thank you,” I continued down the long rectangular tables, smelling each unique candle scent. Everything was noticeably handmade, each in an identical container with hand-written labels on the front. I glanced over at the pricing sign. It was twenty-seven dollars for an eight-ounce candle. I felt a little pessimistic mixed with a weird sense of guilt. I really wanted to support local companies and businesswomen, but I can’t afford a thirty-dollar candle. I began to realize I probably couldn’t afford any of the items or services that would be a part of this networking event.
I set the final candle down and walked back into the building, a bit more discouraged about continuing to explore and going to more booths. I didn’t want these women to feel as though they were wasting their time trying to sell to me. Still, I continued inside walking around the room. At first from a far to see what the event had to offer. I was surprised by the number of booths that were set up in this fairly small establishment. I stopped by a clothing company booth, where the owner told me she used to work in an office but has been sewing for most of her life. So, she decided to combine her experiences and created her unique custom clothing line out of Bonita, Springs.
I stopped briefly by a booth hidden in the corner of the bar, slightly hidden by some of the other bigger booths. Even so, once you spotted the wrack of custom lingerie hanging on the rack by the booth there was no mistaking what they sold. Both of the women running the Intimate Boutique booth were more than friendly, greeting me and offering to explain anything I might wonder about. They were both probably in their late thirty’s and were evident in their excitement for their business. I was slightly apprehensive vising the booth at first, unsure again if I would be judged for visiting the scandalous business at my young age. But I quickly forgot about that with the enthusiasm and genuineness from the ladies running the booth. Any new person that strolled by, they were happy to explain any of their products or talk about their many informative events coming up. Some of which included “Kegels, Yoga & You” and “Valentine’s Day the 50 Shades Way”.
I walked around the room a bit more and sipped my wine. The final booth I went by was a skin care booth that was attracting a fair amount of attention from their cookie platter. I too came close by the table in the hopes of a cookie. The woman working the table was also quite young looking, probably in her late twenties. “Jeanene” her identical bright pink nametag read. She greeted me happily and told me to ask if she had any questions. Then she begged me to take a cookie because she didn’t want to take them home, and I obliged. I remarked at how delicious the cookie was and she told me it was made from their almond protein powder. I continued looking at the skin care, out of interest but more out of courtesy, knowing I wouldn’t be able to afford the forty-dollar skin cream and moisturizers. Then I came upon some large, quality made makeup bags at the end of the table. I picked one up and examined the luxury looking material.
“Those are the last we have of those. I’m getting rid of them for five,” she told me.
Five dollars? For this giant, beautifully crafted makeup bag? I was astounded. And thrilled, finally, I could buy something here and support a local business.
“I’d love to get one please”
“Of course!” she wrapped up the makeup bag and put it in a bag for me. “Thanks for stopping by!”
I looked at my phone and saw it was already almost 8:00pm when the event was set to end. I finished my last micro-sip of wine and left the bar with my new makeup bag and lots of local businesses to check out.
