Why We’re Dining Solo And Loving It

Solo dining has always been close to my heart. It’s not the first time I’ve written about this bold, liberating ritual—and it won’t be the last.

There’s something exquisitely powerful about asking for a table for one. It’s not a gesture of loneliness or isolation and thankfully I’ve discovered that a growing number of midlife women are discovering is joy.

I recently read a piece in The New York Times that gave name and shape to something many of us are feeling: a growing embrace of solo dining. It made me smile to think how far we’ve come. Yet, women eating alone still challenge old narratives. It makes people uncomfortable—less so now, but the traces remain.

A man dining alone is assumed to be busy, important, perhaps mysterious. A woman dining alone? Pity her. Question her. Or worse, ignore her.

But when we sit tall, unbothered, enjoying our own company with confidence, we offer a different story. We show that solitude is not lack, but abundance. That self-sufficiency can be sensual. That freedom is not lonely, but luminous.

I remember the exact luminosity—how it caught my eye years ago in Rome. A woman, radiant in jeans and a T-shirt, sat alone near the Trevi Fountain, savoring oysters and prosecco. No phone. No book. Just herself. She was fully present, wrapped in ease, elegance, and unmistakable joy.

She didn’t shrink to fit into the world; the world expanded to meet her. She was the moment.

That woman changed me. She became the quiet muse behind CrunchyTales Magazine—a space for women like her who are reclaiming their time, their presence, and their voice.

Savoring Solitude: A New Era of Women Dining Alone

Dining solo is more than a meal. It’s an act of self-connection in a world that often expects women to vanish as they age.

There was a time when walking into a restaurant alone would have made women feel exposed. Not anymore. We can sit at the bar with a crisp glass of pink wine or settle into a corner booth with a good view of the world outside.

I usually read, people-watch, listen in on conversations (discreetly, of course). And most importantly, I reconnect with myself. Also, I believe there’s something intimate and luxurious about ordering exactly what you want without negotiation. Want three appetizers instead of an entrée? Done. Craving dessert first? Why not. The absence of compromise is liberating.

You eat for pleasure, not performance. You taste every bite. You remember what you like. So I encourage you: try it.

Start small, maybe a quiet lunch at a café or be bold and go for the dinner reservation. Wear lipstick if you want, dare to ask in the ambient hum of voices and clinking glasses. Let yourself be seen. Let yourself be.

Because the table for one? It’s not empty, it’s full of possibility and if you happen to see me at the next table, also solo and smiling, raise your glass. We’re not alone—we’re just finally, fully with ourselves.

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