Getty Images; Alyssa Powell/BI
From Lane Denbro's vantage point in the open kitchen of the trendy restaurant where he worked, it was hard to tell which was causing the couple more pain: the spicy food… or the unfolding break-up.
"They were ordering all of the spicy dishes on the menu, and so I just remember thinking that it must add so much intensity to what is already an intense conversation about whether or not we're going to break up," Denbro tells me.
Denbro, then a line cook working the wok and the fry, saw the couple growing more frustrated with each other throughout their meal. By the time they left the table, Denbro says, they decided to call it quits.
The public, or quasi-public, break-up is its own storied genre. It's inspired some of the best scenes in great movies: The infamous "Legally Blonde" restaurant meltdown, or Mark Zuckerberg not realizing he's getting broken up with in "The Social Network" (Joe Cammarata, the co-owner of bar Tall Order, which took over the space in Somerville, MA, where that scene was filmed, says there's been at least one breakup in the bar since they opened in March). If you've decided it's time to part ways, a public end can sting; sobbing at a coffee shop or park isn't pleasant for anyone. Of course, ending things in public has its uses, especially if you're worried about a partner's reaction to pulling the plug.
If anything, public breakups might become more common. As homes get smaller, rents rise, and roommates abound (including ones you're related to: 18% of 25- to 34-year-olds live with their parents), you don't want to have to move out of a now-cursed space or have your parents asking what's wrong. I once heard that a New York edict is never to break up with someone at your apartment: Chances are it's small, and afterward every tiny crevice — or the dent in your cheap Ikea couch — will remind you of your ex.
"I think public breakups are as common as they've ever been, but they might've been amplified through social media, which creates the illusion that public breakups are a thing," Julie Nguyen, a certified dating coach at the Hily dating app, says. "In Gen Z, it can be uncomfortable to break up, and a public setting can often be used as a way to emotionally manage the intensity by not giving the person an opportunity to crash out."
For the bartenders, back-of-house workers, and servers helping people navigate their "it's not you, it's me" speeches, that's spawned its own mini break-up economy.
"If you're going through a breakup, make sure to tip well, because the service staff in the back of house, we're going to try to support you however we can," Denbro says.
The art of the public break-up
Getting into a relationship is an investment. Back in 2024, I calculated the cost of getting a successful relationship off the ground and found that singles had to pony up around $650 to move forward with their matches. Climbing out of a relationship is similarly costly — especially if you cohabitate. The cost of the singles tax — how much more solo renters pay annually to live alone compared to couples — is above $7,000. Even if you don't live with that formerly special someone, you are likely to incur some costs from a breakup, especially if you've been divvying up various costs. That begets another economic question: Who pays in a public break-up?
Emma, a bartender at Ethyl's — a New York City bar listed as one of the best spots in the city to break up — witnessed a couple come in on a packed Saturday night. The woman turned to her then-boyfriend and asked him why she had caught him kissing her male best friend. Then, she threw his phone to the ground. The now-ex-boyfriend quietly paid for their margaritas. Bela, another bartender at Ethyl's, says that one-half of a Gen X couple came in already drunk, and the couple split up on the spot over her drinking. When the inebriated member of the defunct twosome went to pay, her debit card declined. The now-ex-boyfriend there ended up paying and tipping well.
Gabrielle Macafee, a 30-year-old chef and writer, has witnessed the higher-end version of a public split. She was working at a small tasting menu restaurant in Brooklyn when a "morose" couple came in. As their conversation grew more emotional, the staff took notice. Halfway through the $130 tasting menu, the man stood up and left.
"My teammates and I were like, wait, how do we handle this? He's gone. You can only hold the food for so long," Macafee says. Eventually, the woman left behind said she'd just pay for both meals. "We offered to send her the rest, but obviously, she just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible."
There is also an art to choosing where to have the public breakup, if it must be done outside the comfort of your home. Macafee thinks somewhere that's a step above a dive bar in a neutral neighborhood — one that's mutually convenient, but not a place you frequent — is an ideal spot.
"I wouldn't recommend choosing a place that's in your neighborhood or a spot that you visit," Nguyen, the dating coach, says. "You don't want either of you to feel dread going back, or tie bad memories to a spot they love. A neutral, quiet outdoor setting is the best play."
While it's good advice, it can also make for breakup patterns. One Business Insider editor recalled getting dumped by three separate paramours at the same park in Chicago. There are also a few common signs that your bar or restaurant outing might not end with an intact relationship. Denbro, the former line cook, says that one tell-tale sign that things were not going well was when a couple kept changing their order, or when one half of the couple decided after the fact that they wanted something different. Duplicative orders — like each ordering their own appetizers and entrées at the family-style restaurant — were also a tip off.
At one breakup that Macafee witnessed, the duo had different wines, perhaps marking the end of the conviviality that would lead you to split a bottle with a lover. AB Soria, a general manager of a restaurant in Chicago who's worked in the industry since 1995, tells me that if you're planning on ending things, a seat at the bar is the way to go.
"If you're going to sit down at the table, I just feel like that's kind of cruel. Because then it's you're anticipating having a dinner and spending time there — and then to get broken up with, and then you're just stuck sitting there — is horrible," Soria says. "At the bar, at least, I feel like there's more of an ability for the bartender to see what's going on, and then also make sure that whoever's left at the bar is OK."
Timing is another complicating factor in the art of the public breakup. There's what's colloquially known as "breakup season," the time around the end of the year when folks take stock of what they want and don't want. That can align with what dating coach Amy Nobile Messing says is generally a pivotal time in a relationship: The three-month mark is decision time. If you participated in a late-summer, early-fall tryst, your time might be up come years' end. Messing says she's coached many people to break up in a coffee shop — she feels like there's less pressure there.
"Here's the thing — unless it's a total shock — usually it's not a shock, usually it's like, 'Things haven't been great. I really think we should talk and meet at our coffee shop'," Messing says. "There's already an energy of separation, and so it just lends itself to paying separately."
How to heal a broken heart (or wallet)
Ironically, some of the impetus for a public breakup might be financial.
Christine Hargrove, a clinical assistant professor at the University of Georgia and the assistant director of the university's Love and Money Center, says that daters are increasingly comingling their finances without a set structure in place — they may not have the formality of a shared bank account, but are informally splitting expenses like rent and food. That makes sense in our increasingly costly times. The downside, though, is that a breakup can feel even more heightened in those situations. Disentangling shared finances — even those informal ones — can feel like a threat, Hargrove says.
"People get really emotional when they feel financially threatened. Frankly, people can behave in unexpected ways when they're experiencing that level of threat," Hargrove says. That can lead to a public uncoupling, where folks hope to leverage social norms to head off more intense emotional reactions.
There is some good financial news: Messing says break-ups shouldn't be costly. If you have to take it outside, she advises against ordering food. But if you do crack open the menu, avoid anything fancy.
"You don't want to be eating a crab claw when you're breaking up. You don't want to have a mouthful of shrimp," Messing says. If you have to eat, maybe get a muffin or something you can nibble on — nothing too involved. Get a to-go cup, and try to keep the spending to around $5 to $10.
"I really think it should be minimal spending. I think it should be coffee. I think it should be maybe one drink," Messing says. "It should be commensurate with what's happening, and what's happening is the end of something."
That's a spot of good wallet news for those ending their relationships. And, emotionally, there is a light on the other side of the public break-up tunnel. Macafee, the chef and writer, loves to frequent her favorite neighborhood diner. Over the summer, she found herself there, getting broken up with.
"This little doowoop song comes on, and I've never heard it before, but it was like, 'Breaking up is hard to do.' It was just that line over and over and over again," she says. "And then I was trying not to laugh at the irony that that was playing in my little diner that I love so much as this woman is eviscerating my heart."
In the case of Macafee's breakup, the now-ex paid. Still, she was worried that her favorite spot would be tainted forever. It's a conundrum that every public dumper or dumpee has likely encountered, seeing their ghostly selves sitting in the windows of that random bar or restaurant. When I found out that the ice cream store I was once dumped at had closed, it felt bittersweet — a version of me that had once been there (and split the bill!) would no longer be able to haunt it. I wouldn't want to go through the breakup again, but it was nice to have a physical marker of a version of myself — heartbroken and lost — that I would hopefully never be again.
For her part, Macafee continued going to the diner, powering through the lingering sadness that would arise every time she came in to write or gab with a friend. Ironically, she went in the other day and heard that same break-up song again.
"After the breakup, I still went, but definitely, every time I would go, it'd give me this pang of sadness that, over time, just heals. Now I don't have that anymore," Macafee says. "As I'm dating somebody else now and I'm falling in love, now it's just this pillar that I'm kind of tethered to, and I can look at and recognize my own growth and my own love stories as they unfold and break down."
Juliana Kaplan is a senior reporter on the economy team, where she covers the labor force, kitchen table economics, and the people behind the numbers.
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