Monday, January 15, 2007
Girl Bars
My first gay bar was in London, in the late 60s. You had to like do the little dance they made you do back then at the door, you had to "join" as if it were a private club. Which it was. Legally it made things easier. Thank God I walked in with another American girl from the youth hostal. A straight girl, but she was there in London studying at RADA. An actress, ergo, an adventuress. Gay bar? No problem for her, off we went.
It helps when you go there with someone. Otherwise I found hardly any of the women ever talked to me. This set me to wondering all sorts of strange ideas, ranging from my mouthwash isn't working tonight to maybe I am not defined enough, not butch or femme looking enough. But that has nothing to do with it. It's just the nature of the beast.
Of course I thought the problem was with me, until I started reading Camille Paglia, the social critic and literary maven. And self-identified lesbian. She writes about exactly the same thing - of walking into dyke bars and being pretty much ignored. Other than the one or two gay boys hanging around, because they WILL talk to you. What's that all about?
Camille was not a bad-looking woman, and neither am I. It's just women can be so...quaint with other women. Again, I am left marvelling that women meet up at all with each other. And again, I find myself saying, no wonder monogamy is such a crucial thing in lesbian life, because you realize how hard it is for ANYONE to hook up. When they do, they want it to be like Leavenworth. Lock and key and forever and ever till death do us part. Actual death or lesbian bed death. Whichever comes first one supposes.
On the other hand, I met one of my best female friends ever in a dyke bar in San Francisco around 1969. This was at Maud's, which was a classic hang-out for dykes. PBS even did a show on Maud's when it finally closed down. It was a fairly roomy place, with a nice pool table where I learned basically to play a mean game of pool. I did this when I discovered few women would talk to me.
The bars can differ depending whether they are in L.A. or San Francisco. I have only seen one in New York City, and that was mid afternoon on a Saturday, so probably not the best time to get a gander of what it's like. The bars in L.A. maybe have women who are a little more dressed, and they may be more into the beautiful look ticket. But not by much. The attitudes are still pretty clique-driven.
Boy bars were a lot more fun. I visited a few of those too with various friends over the years. The energy level seems higher, the dancing more animated. More people actually talk to you.
But try as I will, I can never remember picking anyone up in a bar. I met people there and we might meet later, but nothing ever panned out.
And that is probably why dyke bars can seem pretty forlorn places. I don't know if I would even want to walk into one, just to play pool. This past year I have met two women in bars. One was a fellow writer, the other was coming out of a long relationship. Neither one went anywhere.
The first bar was the Lexington in the Mission District of San Francisco, the only full-time dyke bar left in the city. The other was at Mecca, a more upscale dining place with an elegant circular bar.
Funny how the women don't seem any more secure from one place to the other. No wonder they make me so uncomfortable.
- - - - -
It helps when you go there with someone. Otherwise I found hardly any of the women ever talked to me. This set me to wondering all sorts of strange ideas, ranging from my mouthwash isn't working tonight to maybe I am not defined enough, not butch or femme looking enough. But that has nothing to do with it. It's just the nature of the beast.
Of course I thought the problem was with me, until I started reading Camille Paglia, the social critic and literary maven. And self-identified lesbian. She writes about exactly the same thing - of walking into dyke bars and being pretty much ignored. Other than the one or two gay boys hanging around, because they WILL talk to you. What's that all about?
Camille was not a bad-looking woman, and neither am I. It's just women can be so...quaint with other women. Again, I am left marvelling that women meet up at all with each other. And again, I find myself saying, no wonder monogamy is such a crucial thing in lesbian life, because you realize how hard it is for ANYONE to hook up. When they do, they want it to be like Leavenworth. Lock and key and forever and ever till death do us part. Actual death or lesbian bed death. Whichever comes first one supposes.
On the other hand, I met one of my best female friends ever in a dyke bar in San Francisco around 1969. This was at Maud's, which was a classic hang-out for dykes. PBS even did a show on Maud's when it finally closed down. It was a fairly roomy place, with a nice pool table where I learned basically to play a mean game of pool. I did this when I discovered few women would talk to me.
The bars can differ depending whether they are in L.A. or San Francisco. I have only seen one in New York City, and that was mid afternoon on a Saturday, so probably not the best time to get a gander of what it's like. The bars in L.A. maybe have women who are a little more dressed, and they may be more into the beautiful look ticket. But not by much. The attitudes are still pretty clique-driven.
Boy bars were a lot more fun. I visited a few of those too with various friends over the years. The energy level seems higher, the dancing more animated. More people actually talk to you.
But try as I will, I can never remember picking anyone up in a bar. I met people there and we might meet later, but nothing ever panned out.
And that is probably why dyke bars can seem pretty forlorn places. I don't know if I would even want to walk into one, just to play pool. This past year I have met two women in bars. One was a fellow writer, the other was coming out of a long relationship. Neither one went anywhere.
The first bar was the Lexington in the Mission District of San Francisco, the only full-time dyke bar left in the city. The other was at Mecca, a more upscale dining place with an elegant circular bar.
Funny how the women don't seem any more secure from one place to the other. No wonder they make me so uncomfortable.
- - - - -
