They Travel in Packs
You will hear them before you see them. The shriek of coordinated excitement, the click of matching heels on cobblestone, the chant of a name — usually "Brittany" or "Jessica" or "Lauren" — rising above the ambient noise of the French Quarter like a car alarm set to the key of joy. The bachelorette party has arrived. They are wearing matching t-shirts. They are carrying inflatable accessories that would make your grandmother blush. And they are here to have the best night of their lives, whether the rest of the city likes it or not.
New Orleans has become the bachelorette party capital of America, and it happened the way everything happens in this city — gradually, then all at once. The combination of legal public drinking, a walkable entertainment district, excellent restaurants, and the general atmosphere of permissiveness makes it irresistible to groups of women in their late twenties looking to send off one of their own in style. Every weekend, waves of bachelorette parties descend upon the French Quarter and the Marigny like a glitter-covered invasion force.
The Uniform
The matching outfits are non-negotiable. Custom t-shirts with puns that were funnier on the group chat than they are in person. Sashes identifying the bride, the maid of honor, and various other members of the wedding industrial complex. Tiaras, veils, tutus, and the occasional feather boa that will shed its plumage across every bar, restaurant, and Uber in the metropolitan area. The aesthetic is somewhere between a birthday party for a six-year-old and a Vegas floor show, and it is executed with military precision.
There is always a itinerary. Brunch at a trendy spot in the Warehouse District. A cooking class or a swamp tour or a haunted history walk, depending on the bride's personality. Dinner at a restaurant that the maid of honor found on Instagram. And then Bourbon Street, which is the real destination, the reason New Orleans was chosen over Nashville or Savannah or Scottsdale. Bourbon Street, where the drinks are strong, the music is loud, and nobody judges you for wearing a veil that says things that cannot be printed here.
The Local Perspective
Locals have a complicated relationship with bachelorette parties. On one hand, they bring money. A lot of money. A group of eight women spending a long weekend in New Orleans will collectively drop thousands of dollars on hotels, food, drinks, tours, and the various emergency supplies (Advil, Pedialyte, replacement phone screens) that the weekend inevitably requires. The hospitality industry loves them.
On the other hand, trying to get a quiet drink at your neighborhood bar on a Saturday night when three separate bachelorette parties have colonized the space is an exercise in patience. The volume increases. The selfie frequency skyrockets. Someone will inevitably knock over your drink while attempting a group photo. And the song requests — oh, the song requests. If you have to hear that one song one more time because the bride-to-be says it is her anthem, you will move to the woods.
They Will Be Back
New Orleans could not stop the bachelorette parties even if it wanted to, and honestly, it does not want to. The city has always been a place where people come to celebrate, and a bachelorette party is just the latest version of a tradition that goes back centuries. People came here to let loose before it had a name. The bachelorette parties are loud, yes. They are sometimes obnoxious, absolutely. They occasionally treat the city like a theme park rather than a place where people live. But they are also having genuine fun, spending real money, and creating memories in a city that was built for exactly that purpose. Just maybe keep the matching t-shirt slogans to a PG-13 rating. There are children here.
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