An attempt at a slightly anthropological study of the gay bar scene in NY, part 2.

And by anthropological study, I mean I went out and had quite a few tasty cocktails, and decided to write about it.

Night 2.

I decided to learn from my mistakes from the previous evening and not venture out to a bar until a little later in the evening—which didn’t help me in the slightest.  In fact, by the time I made it back to my hotel, it was still only 1 am, and I was even more drunk than when I managed to stay out until 3 am.  But I digress.

My first night in New York, I checked out the West and East Villages.  This night, I decided to check out Chelsea, and see what the vibe was like.  Specifically, I wanted to see how the Eagle and Gym Bar compared to their counterparts in LA. 

Let me start with the Eagle.  The whole bear/leather/fetish movement was started as a way for people who felt or looked different to be accepted.  The outcasts, the overweight, the freaks created a sub-community that welcomed all who didn’t fit the “gay stereotype.”  They raised their inner freak flag proudly, so to speak. 

So, I found it incredibly disgusting that when I went to a place that was originally founded as a safe haven for those who felt like outcasts, I was treated like dirt.  Like I shouldn’t be allowed to step foot in their sacred temple of debauchery and raunch.  Because I’m not overweight, because I have a “cute” face, because I don’t smoke a cigar or have semen covering my face, I don’t belong.  The door guy couldn’t be bothered to get off his cell phone while he was checking my ID.  The first bartender (on floor 1) I went to acted like getting me a beer was, quite possibly, the most insulting thing I could have asked him.  And then, while I was still sitting at the bar (alone), he turned off all the lights—apparently that floor was now closed, and shame on me for not knowing.  As soon as I walked out onto the smoking patio (where they were apparently having a cigar party), I was greeted with silence and condescending smirks.  I managed to hold a conversation with one bartender on the 2^nd floor for a minute, but I really, REALLY had to work at it.

And for the record, I didn’t sashay in wearing a pink top hat.  I had leather boots, a leather jacket, and leather gloves on.  I wasn’t parading around, flaunting my apparently abhorrent life choices (safe sex, no drugs, showering) –I was just trying to fit in.

Shame on you Eagle.  For a community that was originally founded by outcasts and those that didn’t belong, you have certainly created a level of discrimination that rivals a straight man’s fear of homosexuality. 

From the Eagle, I walked over to Rawhide.  There I was much more welcomed, despite the fact that it’s a fairly similar clientele.  I met a delicious bear of a man, and he and his friend were incredibly welcoming.  He described himself as a “glamour bear,” which I thought was fantastic.  We chatted about all sorts of stuff, and made me feel like I was accepted in this silly place.  They also agreed that there is a distinct level of segregation within the gay community in New York.  Because all the bars are spread so far apart, there isn’t a real sense of community like there is in LA. While there is a tenuous thread of continuity throughout Manhattan, there isn’t a real sense of “gay culture” here.  There is, however, a distinct “I am a New Yorker” culture, whereas in LA, you don’t get the same level of pride for the city itself. 

They also mentioned that there isn’t nearly as much social responsibility on the east coast as there is on the west coast.  I am leaning towards agreeing with them.

Gym Bar was by far the most crowded (and spacious) place that I went to, with maybe 20 people in there at the time.  Which, I guess was good for a Tuesday.  Unfortunately, I was too drunk to stay long, and didn’t see anything worth staying for. 

I believe night 3 will be spent away from the bars; my liver is trying to keep me in check.  But you never know, I might tell it to shut the hell up and deal.