Saturday night, and I’m meant to be seeing John Howard play at the Tavistock Hotel. Instead I get carried away drinking with lesbian friends in Soho and have to miss his set. Kirsten, Louise, Luke and myself start off at The Star Bar on Great Chapel Street, a very nice little candlelit cocktail bar with lots of old-fashioned metal ad signs on wooden panelling. It’s advertised as ‘mixed’ but is more for couples – female couples.
We then remove to the Candy Bar, the best known lesbian bar in London, mainly to show me what it’s like these days. I was last there circa 1999, when Debbie Smith was DJ-ing a night in the basement. Since then the place has had a complete refit, with a little entry hall where there’s a door charge (£6), and a relaxed upstairs seating area. A vodka and tonic is £5.50. The cliche was once that lesbians have a lot less money than gay men, and I used to think that the Candy Bar was for this reason an unpretentious and reasonably priced place to drink with Sapphic chums. That cliche can’t apply here anymore; I suppose it’s a kind of equality. It’s now just expensive to drink in Soho full stop.
Other changes: there’s a lesbian pole dancer in the basement area, but we don’t see her because it would require joining a huge queue on the stairs which runs all the way up to the first floor.
I think this wouldn’t happen with men, of either persuasion. They might want to see someone taking off their clothes to music, but I think they’d draw the line at being seen queuing up for ages for the privilege, especially after having already gained admission to the building. If you disagree, Dear Reader, do write in.
DE: Why are you queuing up just to see a pole dancer?
Girl in queue: Because it’s a pole dancer!
The other main shift since my last visit is what currently passes for the Lesbian Look here. Most of the Candy Bar customers are young women in trainers, blue jeans, studded belts, black halter tops, and long Alanis Morrisette-ish tousled hair. The short-haired, check-shirted butch androgynous look is very much in the minority. These girls aren’t ‘lipstick lesbians’ either, or even tomboyish; more like any jean-wearing girls you get in a straight club. Except they’re snogging each other. Actually, you get a lot of THAT in straight clubs too. I know it’s something I’m ranting on about a lot lately, but I do think it’s different for girls.
Girls are “bi-curious” – the connotations are empowering.
Boys are never bi-curious or even bisexual. They’re “confused” – the connotations are emasculating. Only boys sue the newspapers when they’re called gay.
Still, prices aside, the Candy Bar is perfectly friendly and a nice place to go. But next time I really must revisit the boys’ side of the Soho gay scene. Once I’ve taken out a loan.
