Women at gigs have responded to the "prettier" guitars I've had over the years with colorful flamed or quilted maple tops. They're usually regulars who've seen us a bunch. I get a lot of "you brought my favorite guitar!"
Conversely, years ago a woman of...a certain age...who appeared to have been a card-carrying member of the club we were playing (if you can picture the type) seemed to be having a great time dancing by herself. Between songs, I did a quick guitar switch. Put my LP down and grabbed my old 81 Dean ML. I'd long since retired the guitar because every time I brought it out, people automatically assumed it was Pantera time. Since I'm not a pimple on Dime's rear, no, it was never gonna' be Pantera time. FWIW, I bought the guitar new as a wee lad in 82 because Elliot Easton played one.
Anyway, this particular night I got a wild hair and brought it out. I don't know what got into this woman, but we started playing, she turned around, walked right up to me, pointed to the guitar and stood there for several minutes giving me the finger and shaking her head no. At the end of the song, she started yelling "Put that f-ing thing away!" at me. When I smiled at her and didn't, she started screaming "F YOU!" over and over at the top of her lungs as we started the next song. This was long before Dime's untimely death, so it wasn't that. She just hated the guitar. Of course, at that point I knew it was my civic duty to finish the night with it. She finally got tired of screaming and fell back to the occasional drunk dancing bird flip.