You've noticed that cocktails are all the rage. Probably always been all the rage, except during the late 60s, when they were considered mommy drinks. My mommy.
I was one of those hippies who avoided liquor in favor of junky red wine, and didn't have my first martini until I was in my 30s.
At the time, there was a little "cool" revival. Sinatra. Dark bars. Attitude.
Oh, let me tell you about the attitude. Cranky and I went to a hipster waterfront restaurant and ordered martinis.
"Vodka martinis?" growled the bartender.
"No, a martini is made with gin unless I ask for something else," said Cranky, the cranky ex-bartender. "And we like a little vermouth."
Grrr! The bartender hated us now. He turned his back, did a little mixing, and served us the best martini I've ever had. By accident. He wanted to skunk us by following the old formula, which we would surely hate. He didn't understand the reasoning behind the old formula. (And he was flattered and embarrassed when we complimented, and tipped, him. Attitude collapse.)
Look, if you want a dry martini, fine. Leave out the vermouth altogether, if you like, but then you'll just be drinking chilled gin, straight. Gah. Gaseous. And, frankly, a one-booze drink isn't a cocktail.
I have a feeling a lot of the fine young cocktailians have never had a true, decent martini. All those silly tricks about whispering "vermouth" to the shaker, or dampening the glass with vermouth and pouring it off.
Try a real martini.