In the spring of 2010 I submitted a personal essay to the online magazine Awl. The piece, titled “Negroni Season,” formed part of a tongue-in-cheek series called “The Worst Boyfriend in the World.” I adopted the byline Evelyn Everlady to keep the unnamed, notoriously private boyfriend from seeing it, and also because I suspected the tale would make me look less than flattering.
The narrative itself was anchored in 2005 when I was still under thirty but felt unusually adult. I shared a small New York City apartment with the boyfriend, hosted dinner parties, frequented farmers’ markets, visited families for holidays, and even bought a sturdy mid-century Danish dining-room table together. Those details—shared meals, Christmas trees, and a collective sense of responsibility—formed the backdrop against which the story unfolded.
From a forgotten cocktail to a cultural flashpoint
At the time, the eponymous Negroni was hardly on anyone’s radar. Society was still emerging from the cosmo-dominated era of “Sex and the City,” while the sugary appletini was on the rise. The Negroni a bitter cocktail invented by an Italian aristocrat in Florence in 1919 remained a niche after-hours choice. By the moment the essay went live, the drink had gained a modest foothold, but never the mainstream visibility it would soon enjoy.
Unexpectedly, the article struck a chord far beyond my personal grievance. Within a year of its being published dozens of strangers wrote in, sharing the same pattern of first-love disappointment. Their responses confirmed that the piece resonated not because of the cocktail itself, but because of the raw, almost universal pain of a relationship that felt both too young and too old.
When “Negroni Season” became a brand
What followed was a rapid, almost viral diffusion of the phrase “Negroni Season.” Bars across New York City began to brand menus, cocktail nights, and even merchandise with the tagline, despite no consensus on when the season officially began. Traditional old-fashioneds were nudged aside in favor of a plethora of negroni-inspired drinks, ranging from the whimsical Fruit Cake Negroni to the polarising Coconut Negroni. The market was suddenly saturated with iterations that stretched the definition of the original bitter mix.
One venue that embraced the trend thoughtfully is Dante in Greenwich Village. There, patrons can purchase a “Negroni Sessions” package containing four pre-batched variations of the classic. Among the offerings, the Sbagliato—an accidental creation from 1972 that translates to “bungled Negroni”—gained renewed attention after a viral Emma D’Arcy video in 2022. Other experimental spins include the “Autumn Negroni,” which adds Fernet-Branca and Cynar as well as versions built on bourbon, rum, or even mezcal. My own mother recently ordered a non-alcoholic “Phony Negroni” for lunch, underscoring how the phrase has seeped into everyday ordering language.
Personal aftermath and lingering regrets
The boyfriend from the original story is now married, and we exchange occasional birthday wishes and Instagram hearts. I, meanwhile, have settled with a tall, kind partner who steers me clear of anything that might trigger sadness. It has been 21 years since I last tasted a Negroni and I sometimes wonder whether I should have signed the essay with my real name or tried to monetize the “Negroni Season” brand. Yet, the passage of time has taught me that the cocktail itself will outlive the personal anguish that sparked its fame.
