Just as each bar in West Hollywood has its own little personality, so do other bars around the city. The gay bars in Silverlake are like the older, dirtier, and usually smellier brothers of the bars in West Hollywood. It’s an entirely different crowd, visually—but, as I’ve come to discover, it can be just as pretentious and clique-like as their hairless and overly tanned counterparts.
I got an oddly large number of requests for a Silverlake Bar Review, and so, here it is.
Before I talk about the bars specifically, let’s just speak on the men of Silverlake for a hot minute, shall we? Firstly, let’s make no mistake here, they are every bit as gay as the boys to the west. They try to act all butch and macho, but they’ve just replaced a V-neck American Apparel Stripped T-shirt with a leather vest, a fedora with a page boy cap, and expensive jewelry with handkerchiefs in their back pocket. These generally (and yes, I am speaking in general, there are exceptions everywhere) are the “leather” guys, or the “alternative” guys—guys who never felt accepted in West Hollywood, or the main stream gay scene, so they created their own little niche, where they could feel welcome.
The problem, however, is that they are just as exclusive as their slender brothers in Boys Town. If you don’t look a certain way, or act a certain way, or weigh enough, you’ll get the cold shoulder. In my experience, most times I go to the Silverlake bars, people give me looks of disdain, as if to say “you don’t belong here, go away you little twink.” I find it unsettling that a group of outcasts can be so unwelcoming. If I wanted to feel like that, I’d go hang out at a straight bar and listen to frat boys call things gay (as in stupid). Or with my father.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the bars in Silverlake as much (or as little) as I do the bars in West Hollywood, but I find the hypocrisy a little ridiculous. I watched a documentary on LOGO about “butch” guys, such as you would find in Silverlake, and was insulted at how they thought they were somehow more of a man because of all their facial hair. Honey, just because you’re fat and hairy, doesn’t mean you’re more of a man than me—you still like it up the butt, and there’s nothing “masculine” about sucking a cock. Calm down.
Alright, enough gay bashing. Let’s talk booze.
I used to go to The Eagle all the time. I’d go with my boss a lot, because he liked to be around people like him (or as he calls them, Fatties), and I liked to be able to play pool and smoke at the same time. If you’re looking for a fetish bar, this is your place. There’s so much hardcore porn playing on the TV screens that even I blush on occasion. They have 2 pool tables, one inside that is kind of awkward to play on, and one on their “patio” (which isn’t a patio at all and I still can’t figure out why we can smoke in there, but I’m not about to complain) which is much more popular. They also have a pin ball machine and some arcade games—both of which make no sense, but hey, if you want to relive you’re incredibly awkward childhood, then by all means, insert your quarters there.
They’ve got a fantastic selection of beers, and when you order a Hefeweizen, it comes in a glass the size of a large black penis. It’s fantastic, one of those things and I’m down for the count (the beer, not the large black penis).
The bathroom is really fucking scary, I won’t step foot in there. Someone’s always getting blown, or getting their ass eaten, or pissing on someone. It’s weird, and not in the fun, “let’s get weird” kind of way. I use the ladies room, like a classy gentleman. Or a girl.
The bartenders are, in my humble opinion, gorgeous. Most of them seem really nice too, at least the ones who will give me the time of day, considering I don’t weigh 200lbs and I don’t have a big bushy beard, and I take a shower every day.
The best part of this bar, however, is the patrons. These people are fucked up! And I love it. One time I saw a guy dressed head to toe in latex, wearing a dog mask. I’ve seen people bound and gagged. There’s a guy named Principal Bob, who goes around the bar with his paddle, spanking people (I’m up to a level 7 with his plexiglas paddle—yea bitches, now what?). It’s like a fucking freak show in this place, and it’s hilarious. The best part is wandering around, looking at all these macho men with their leather outfits and disgusting cigars, knowing that they are all, most likely, big power bottoms. I got your game figured out, daddy.
Faultline has been called the Eagle, but with smiles. It’s basically the same thing as the Eagle, but the customers don’t take themselves nearly as seriously. That being said, this place is basically dying. I used to do fire shows for a night there called Blender—and that was pretty much the only time I ever saw the bar even remotely packed. It’s a great little venue, with an awesome outdoor area, but it’s usually really fucking boring. They have bathrooms everywhere, which I love, and the bartenders are incredibly friendly.
Last time I went to this bar, it was on a Wednesday, and apparently they turned Wednesdays at Faultline into Wednesdays at a sex club. They turned off all the lights and turned down the music, and everyone was having sex everywhere. I saw things that can’t be unseen, and I was touched in places that shouldn’t be touched in public—luckily, they have since stopped this nonsense, due to a raid by the FDA, or ABC, or MTV, or some other acronym.
The only exception to “Faultline is dying,” however, is Sunday. They have, quite possibly, the busiest Sunday Beer Bust/Happy Hour out of all the gay bars in Los Angeles. Apparently it’s amazing fun, with sexy shirtless guys getting all sorts of frisky, all over the place. I’ve never gone, because I’ve worked every Sunday for the last 3 years or so. But according to all the drunk whores that I talk to (or as I like to call them, “my friends”) it’s quite the place to be.
And then there is MJ’s. Now, I’m just going to go ahead and say it—I hate this place. I had a really bad experience here a few years back with the owner, and I never got over that. I’ve gone back since then, and it never seems to make sense. The drinks seem incredibly overpriced; the dancers look like they either belong in West Hollywood, or a rehab facility. Every time I try to pee in the stalls, there’s either a girl in there (what the hell are you doing here anyways?) or a bunch of guys doing coke. They have weird performances and weird nights, and I get what they are trying to do, but ultimately, it seems like they just keep failing. It’s like they are trying to fuse the Silverlake raunchy crowd with the West Hollywood coke whore crowd, and the two just don’t go well together. Two bottoms do not make a top.
The big night to go to is Tuesdays, they call it Rim Job. It used to be so busy that if you didn’t get there by 10pm, you might as well not bother trying to get in at all. But from what I hear, it’s calmed down a bit, so you might stand a chance of getting in. But overall, in my oh so humble opinion, it’s just not worth it to come here.
I’m also going to give honorable mention to Akbar. From what I can tell, they used to be a gay bar, but it’s not really gay anymore. Every time I go, I have trouble finding another homo, other than myself. It’s really just full of incredibly young and incredibly hip hipsters. I mean, some of these people must spend HOURS getting their outfits on. It’s really impressive to look at, but after 5 minutes, you kind of just feel like you’re at Urban Outfitters, and only you’re not allowed to touch anything.
Love it jesse great job
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