Why I Don't Hangout in Gay Bars Anymore

And so, as we traipse down this metaphorical memory lane, picture me, your humble narrator, years ago, teetering on too-tall shoes, body awash in neon light, preparing to step into the pulsating heart of my city's gay bar scene. In this halcyon era of pre-Netflix and pre-Tinder, these hubs were our temples, our sanctuaries, our confessionals. But let's be honest - they also doubled as a set from RuPaul's Drag Race, minus the unflattering lighting and the cuts to the confessionals.

For years, I flitted through these glitter-infused spaces like a moth, drawn to their camaraderie, their inclusivity, and of course, their sweet, sweet, drink specials. Oh, the glory days, when you could score a vodka tonic for the price of a Starbucks venti caramel macchiato. But then, like Leo's heartthrob status post-Titanic, things began to change.

Now, before you clutch your pearls and assume I've renounced my queer identity to live as a celibate monk, let me assure you - I'm as out and proud as the day Ellen DeGeneres took Oprah by the hand and strolled out of the closet on national television. My relationship with gay bars simply evolved. Kind of like the evolution of Miley Cyrus's career, from the wholesome days of Hannah Montana to the wild Bangerz era, and then to the soulful Malibu phase.

Firstly, let's address the neon elephant in the room - the social landscape has drastically changed. We live in the era of Grindr, Tinder, and other virtual meeting spots that don't require a deafening soundtrack or a judgy bouncer. These digital hangouts are like an all-you-can-eat buffet – a smorgasbord of potential connections, sans the need for sequined outfits or endurance-level bar-side banter.

Next, the echo of 'Born This Way' bouncing off bar walls has lost its charm. Don't get me wrong; Gaga will always be our High Priestess, but there's something to be said for sitting in a quiet cafe and engaging in conversations deeper than Madonna's discography or the latest shade thrown on RuPaul’s Drag Race. Sometimes, I just want to discuss the socio-political implications of Beyoncé's 'Lemonade,' you know?

Moreover, the cost of living is skyrocketing faster than Elton John's high notes. I mean, have you seen the price of an average cocktail at a gay bar these days? It's enough to make even the Wolf of Wall Street balk. Unless your surname is Bezos or Musk, it's hard to justify regular bar visits when half a month's rent equates to a couple of nights of boozy revelry.

And then, there's the noise. The constant, inescapable, mind-numbing noise. I once thought the bass throbbing in my ears was the soundtrack of my youth, a rhythm that mirrored my vibrant heart. But now? It's less 'Saturday Night Fever' and more 'Anxiety Attack on a Tuesday Morning'. Let's face it, trying to scream-chat over the latest Dua Lipa remix about socio-political issues or the latest existential crisis can get a bit tiresome.

I also began noticing a change in the atmosphere. Not to sound like a Debbie Downer, but the once welcoming spaces started feeling slightly alienating, as if one had to constantly keep up with the Joneses – or in this case, the Jonases. The pressure to look like a Hemsworth, dance like JT, and quip like Timothée Chalamet in "Call Me By Your Name" was turning the bar scene into an exhausting 'who's who' competition.

Then came the dawn of the Streaming Age. Netflix, Amazon Prime, Disney+ - the gang's all here. Who needs the tumultuous drama of the bar scene when you have "Pose" and "The Crown" at your fingertips? Binging "Queer Eye" with takeout Chinese became the new normal for many of us. I mean, have you tried discussing the cultural significance of "Schitt's Creek" in a bar? Believe me, it's not the ideal setting.

And let's not forget the wellness wave that's sweeping across our generation. Green smoothies, hot yoga, mental health awareness - we're on a collective journey to treat our bodies like the temples they are. As the pithy Instagram quote goes, "You are what you eat," and I'd like to think I'm more of an avocado toast than a tequila sunrise.

These factors have pushed me to look beyond the strobe-lit, sweat-scented confines of the gay bar scene. The lure of stimulating conversation, economical socializing, and a peaceful night's sleep far outweigh the allure of body glitter and vodka tonics.

That being said, I won't deny the critical role gay bars have played in shaping our community's history and providing a safe space for expression and connection. They're iconic, like Cher or the 'Love, Simon' soundtrack. They're as much a part of our heritage as the Stonewall Inn or the rainbow flag.

But just as our community's story is an evolving one, so is my personal narrative. So, here I am, sharing my journey, not from a noisy bar, but from the comfortable confines of my home. And as I sip my chamomile tea (far removed from the world of Jägerbombs), I find comfort in the idea that community, camaraderie, and connection can be found beyond the familiar hum of the gay bar.

In conclusion, my stepping away from gay bars isn't a goodbye, but rather a 'see you later.' It's an acknowledgement of the fact that I, like many others, am navigating a rapidly changing world - one that continues to expand the definition of what it means to be a part of the LGBTQ+ community. From the dance floor to digital platforms, from glitterballs to Netflix marathons, the ways in which we connect, communicate, and celebrate our identity are continually evolving. And I, for one, am excited to see where this journey takes us next.

After all, as a wise drag queen once said, "We're all born naked, and the rest is drag." So here's to the next stage of my journey, wherever and however it may be dressed up.