Points Of Contention: Sixth Street
Things we can all agree on. Or not.
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Like all cities catering to the well-educated and conscientious, Austin brews self-entitlement the way Seattle brews lattes. While it’s all too easy to tout the city’s advantages—from a live-and-let-live philosophy that borders on hegemony to the vibrant music scene and so on—that civic pride can oh-so-easily slide into vanity. As such, Austinites can be brutal about slamming anything they see as threatening their cherished way of life. Here Decider examines some of the city’s most common Points Of Contention and debates whether they deserve their bad rap. First up: Sixth Street.
Point Of Contention: Sixth Street
Why you hate it: Sure, maybe you came excitedly bounding down to Sixth Street when you first visited Austin with your parents during that lame-o Pecan Street Festival a decade ago, and when you finally became an undergrad, you popped your bar-virgin cherry with a sour apple test tube shot at Cheers Shot Bar. But if the years hence have taught you anything, it’s that aside from a few music venues (The Parish, Emo’s) and a handful of bars with attitude (Casino El Camino, Jackalope), you’d have to be either a clueless tourist or a tasteless coed to be caught passed out in any of those interchangeable douche-pits on a Saturday night.
Why you’re right: Sixth Street reeks of vomit and bad intentions for a reason. By and large, the bars either cater to kids trying to get drunk as quickly as possible with promises of cheap liquor or sucker them into paying cover (so they can drink cheap liquor). They're then forced to obey a ridiculously strict dress code just so they can have their ears blasted by crappy dance music and pay $4 for a Lone Star. Even worse, it’s the default destination for all out-of-towners who, on a nightly basis, are tricked into believing they’re experiencing the “Live Music Capitol Of The World” by ponying up $10 to hear a classic-rock cover band play some Aerosmith.
Why you’re wrong: Austin is a college town, and instead of complaining about the fratty drunks filling Dizzy Rooster, maybe we should be thanking our lucky stars that West Campus is just home to restaurants, coffee shops, and overpriced vintage stores instead of clotted with more Cain & Abel’s wannabes. By keeping all those drunkies far away from the dorms (and one of the city's busiest thoroughfares), Sixth Street offers a valuable service. Furthermore, without Sixth Street, it’s not like these bar hounds would be home studying, exploring the fine arts, or solving the energy crisis. No, they’d be crowding you out at your favorite bar, clogging the jukebox with Ne-Yo and bothering your favorite bartender about their “birthday shots.” That, or they’d be driving to and from scattered “hotspots” like T.G.I. Friday’s, potentially turning Appletinis into a guardrail-collision-a-roonies. Better that they stay quarantined downtown, where cops and cabs are aplenty, along with similarly undiscriminating men and women more than willing to offer a place to “sleep it off.”
Verdict: Sure, Sixth Street can be a cesspool. But cesspools are valuable because they keep all the refuse in one place so it doesn’t taint everything else. Have a $1 well and lighten up.
