In other parts of the world, eating alone was especially frowned upon for women, who were thought to be “selling their services,” for the lack of a better term. As late as the 1960s, establishments banned those who didn’t come with a male companion—and even when these restrictions were lifted as they entered the workforce, men were often relentless, bothering them when they so obviously didn’t want to be disturbed.

Needless to say, there seems to be something so scandalous about someone—more so, a girl!—who is so sure about who she is that she would choose to keep herself company. This security I feel in my independence, this exercise in agency is one of the best benefits I get from dining by myself. I’m an only child, which somehow comes with the innate talent of knowing how to keep busy without relying on anyone’s availability or attention. Though I accept (and enjoy!) all offers to hang out with old friends and meet new people, I take pride in the fact that I will survive if plans are canceled at the last minute and can stomach being around no one else without feeling FOMO.