By Kate Stockrahm
For the majority of my life, I was a night owl.
I loved the energy and fashion of groups promenading down city sidewalks, the music spilling out of dimly lit bars as patrons briefly opened a front door, the often too-loud conversations of couples and confidants who’d had a bit too much before sauntering home.
Perhaps this was because I worked in the hospitality industry through most of my twenties, and even on the bad nights, something about leaving work under starlight and street lamps to grab a last-call drink with my teammates felt romantic and special and full of possibility.
But now, I’m what many of my friends in that industry would call a “daywalker.”
Daywalker isn’t an insult, but it does have a tinge of othering to it. I can’t claim to know where exactly it originated, but I assume the term comes from the fictional world of vampires where it indicates that someone is not a vampire – that they can walk out into the sunlight.
In hospitality, daywalkers are the people who frequent the bar tops industry folks work behind. They have nine-to-fives, pay rent (or a mortgage) on time, and probably don’t work in a tip-based environment.
Far from disliking daywalkers, I loved them – they made sure us vampires who stirred Old Fashioneds and made jokes over mid-rare steaks for Table 22 had work from four-to-midnight and were also able to pay rent (mostly on time).
But if you ask me if I thought I’d ever be a daywalker: no, no I did not.
I was having so much fun building a career, meeting new and fascinating people every night, learning how to make classic cocktails, and memorizing service rules for fine dining restaurants. My colleagues were all my best friends, and we drank too much and laughed every day. Who wouldn’t want that?
Yet, here I am, a daywalker.
I would like to blame the pandemic for my movement out of the industry – and it’s true that it played a major role in many people finding other work – but it was not the reason for me.
A few months before COVID-19 hit, I had already given my notice. I’d taken an entrance exam, gotten into J-School, and was working part-time at a travel company until my pending move to New York. After eight or so years in the industry, I’d decided I wanted to attend the parties and weddings I was planning for others, not run them every evening or weekend. I had missed too many friends’ birthdays, a few holidays at home, and countless hours of sleep. The vibrancy and beauty of the night world could no longer keep me from the draw of daylight and its offer of a set schedule, a regular desk space, and (gasp!) healthcare benefits.
But to say I don’t miss the night would be a lie.
I still love the glamour of a floor-length gown and a rye-heavy cocktail at 1 a.m. or the fun of sharing your best story to a new group of strangers you met at that one dive.
So my ask to you, night owls and daywalkers alike, is that if you see me out at dusk and you’re heading to someplace fabulous, or loud, or dingy with a great bartender who knows your name – invite this daywalker to come with you. First round is on me.
This article also appears in East Village Magazine’s May 2025 issue.
