Disclaimer: I am no more qualified to give advice than Doctor Phil is to give weight-loss tips, Kimora Lee is to doling out fashion direction, or anyone at Cosmo is to providing tips to pleasing a man. But they do it. Granted, they have lawyers and shit-piles of money. But I don't. So remember, that anything you read here might be horribly, horribly wrong. Or it may be horribly, horribly right.
My guess is as good as yours, just better.
Ask me: mo [at] manhattanoffender [dot] com
Dear Add Vice -
I'm in my mid-twenties, but have yet to go to a gay bar or club. They scare me; I always think everyone will laugh at me as soon as I come in. How does one go to a bar and not end up sitting in a corner?
Yours, etc.
Gay-zelle Scared Of The Other Animals At The Watering-hole
Please consider the picture on the right. What could be cuter? Granted one year further in their life cycles, the precious little gazelle would be pursued by the cheetah at incredibly high speeds up until the cheetah would eventually trip up the gazelle, bite its neck, and suffocate it.
That's probably not the most encouraging. Maybe my first experience in a gay bar would be useful. It was 1989 in Bloomington, Indiana. There was a double date happening. My friends Stephan (a boy) and Robyn (a girl) had been dating for a while. They thought Julie and I were a good match, so we all went out. Dancing was on the agenda, so we all went to Bullwinkle's which, in addition to having the best dance floor in town, was also the local gay bar. As the night continued it struck me how many people that I already knew were at the bar. Despite what I thought, I already knew lots of gays; I just didn't know they were gay. Later that night, I ended up spending the night in Julie's dorm room. On the floor. Because I was a gay too. Perhaps not the best example.
Maybe the second time will be more illustrative. Six years later, I was newly arrived in New York and, for the most part celibate. Knowing I was gay, but not out of the closet, one night I summoned up the courage (from a bottle of vodka) to just enter a gay bar and give it a chance. For whatever reason, the bar chosen was a sleazy cruise bar at the corner of St. Mark's and First Avenue (whose name escapes me, and has escaped me for a while resulting in me never writing about it for Past, Over). Disgusted with the crowd inside and the whole feel of the place, I bolted before even ordering my first drink. And while it sounds a bit down-heartening, it conveys an important message.
Gay bars suck. Pretty much all of them. Even on Fire Island this past weekend, I noted that the same song (something about "feeling the music" or some such) was played not twice, but four times in the same evening at the same bar. Every gay bar has some of the same characters (caricatures?) inside. Overly drunk older gays in dark corners. Screechy young queens splashing their overly sweetened, colorful drinks all over. Jaded gays with arched eyebrows passing non-silent judgment on all that enter despite their own flaws (like those eyebrows!) The music is typically the same high-hatted over-produced sugary dance pop. The decor ranges from the overly rainbowed in down-market bars to the generically minimal in the supposedly upscale venues.
With this in mind, it makes it easier to enter a gay bar. It is simply a place with no power where gays just happen to congregate. With the myth that the bar holds a significance dispelled, you're almost ready to enter.
Almost, because there is one other myth to dispel. Once you step into a gay bar, nothing about you will transform. If you are maybe a little closeted or fear discovery of your homorificness, none of that will change within the confines of a bar. Fearing disclosure can often be the underlying reason for keeping yourself from entering a gay bar. If that's an issue, consider that the odds are low for such an "ah-ha" moment. And if that doesn't quell your nerves, wear a baseball cap. It's the most magical disguise in the world. Just take it off once you're inside.
Finally, one little piece of strategy. Pick your venue and go there during a time when it is just semi-busy. Approach the bar and take a seat. And talk to the bartender. In fact, your first statement could be, "Promise you won't laugh, but I've never been to a gay bar before." The bartender will laugh, but, assuming he's like 89 per cent of bartenders out there, he'll also engage you in conversation. From there, if there is a rapport, you'll now have a friend at the bar. Sort of a home base to which you can run when the bar seems a bit overwhelming. With your "safe-place" established, you should be able to eventually meet others and overcome whatever was holding you back from entering in the first place.
With all of the above in mind, hopefully my little Gay-zelle will be able to race into a new part of his life and become not prey, but queen of the jungle.
