A review of Hooters on John Street


I’ve always been mystified by the concept of this restaurant. Is it flat-out kitsch or an earnest attempt to add a smidge of sex appeal to an otherwise underwhelming casual-dining restaurant? Is this some Protestant alternative to a peeler bar or is this just a soft-softcore non-strip-club with a better spread and free refills on pop?

Now, tackling the above points is beyond the scope of this essay (the key line in about every paper I wrote in university) but I’ll try anyway. It seems to me that Hooters exists in a completely different plane of existence. Let’s call it “1983.” The PE uniforms that the servers wear here consist of a tight white tank top and highwaisted shorts. On weekends they go “formal” and dress in black. I’m sure with the appropriate eye makeup and Aquanet, this aesthetic melted the chinos off some Devo loving yuppie—thirty years ago. I can’t believe in all this time they have not updated their look.

Fine, you don’t need convincing to visit a place where ogling the wait-staff is de rigueur. Is the food any good? Kind of. The oft-touted wings are tasty, but greasy. I can’t properly recommend anything else on the menu.

For both wings and scantily clad femmes you can do better in Toronto (heck, just visit Jack’s up the street). But if you are hankering for a time-warp with wholly-disinterested girls, mediocre food and the aura of Reagan’s USA…. what’s wrong with you?

Obligatory Title Pun: Give a HOOT, don’t come here.
Menu Readability: Could a company have a worse logo? It’s not just Microsoft clip art, it’s actual clip art.
Need to mention: Devo is pretty dope actually. Oh, and the rooftop patio is too. I’ll give it an extra star for that.
What this place teaches me about myself: My feminist days are numbered if I keep showing up at this place.