On my last night in New York City I went out on the town with my dear friend and Beauty Shaman, James Pombo. We began at my place where he helped me accessorize and get into my new Catherine Malandrino summer silk jumpsuit. “You’re never alone in Malandrino”, with four snaps, four buttons, a zipper and a hook and eye all behind one’s back, it’s really best if you have a Beauty Shaman accompany you for the night. Our first stop was the welcoming Pastai on 9th ave and 21st street, a lovely Tuscan restaurant with a late night prosecco happy hour. One glass and then we’re off into the night.
We went downtown and said the magic words at the door of the Box, “We’re with Kareem and Darien”. We were let in past the crowd on the street and into the massive crowd inside. The magic words mark you as part of a group in which you must be either a beautiful woman or an outrageously fashionable man, your job is to give rich people the feeling that they are in on something cool. In exchange for this service the Box offers you free drinks and a seat for the neo-burlesque show. On this particular evening so many people had shown up to perform this service that all the free drinks were gone and all the couches full. Although we knew more drinks were coming, we decided to do the most luxurious thing we could think of: leave.
And so began our walking tour of the libidinal landscape of gay bars in the East Village. Our first stop was naturally the Cock, just a few blocks away on 2nd ave, a perfect place to take your new Malandrino. Luckily they have a coat check there, as I was also wearing my new cream silk trench and James assured me that I did not want to sit on or touch anything while we were there. He ordered us some drinks and I was sure they wouldn’t have prosecco so I asked for whiskey with lemon and ice, “Do they have lemon at the Cock”, he asked me? Whiskey neat then, please. There was plenty of room in the Cock, the space felt warm and welcoming, the music was dark disco and deep house. As we drank from our plastic cups, as a man in a jockstrap and sneakers did the most casual of dances on the bar. So casual was his dance that I wondered, was he perhaps not allowed on the floor until later and was just killing time up there? The casual nature of the room included the presence of two completely naked men, I’d guess they were Radical Faeries in their mid forties. James didn’t even notice them until I pointed them out. Just standing around, having a drink and gabbing. It seemed like this place with its spraypainted walls, red lights, throbbing music, scantily clad and naked men could really get wild. On this particular evening though, casual was the vibe and I was the only woman present. “It seems that all the kids are in Brooklyn now”, he said. The Cock is suffering from gentrification just like everybody else. They’ve added wifi to their happy hour offerings to boost attendance, now you can check your email, have a drink and cruise in the afternoon.
The Cock is undoubtedly a very special place in the hearts and loins of many, but the quietness of this night didn’t do it justice. So off we marched to the Eastern Bloc on E 6th st. between A and B. The two bars share many aesthetic similarities, strong red and black designs and lighting, similar throbbing music, but the eastern Bloc had a lot more light in it that night, and a lot more drag queens. Queens will light up any room and these queens were pros, Elder Queens- my favorite. Queens in their fifties or sixties who have been wearing sequins since before you were born and who look like they were born to wear that wig and those eyelashes. Queens dancing on boxes and shouting, “Get it girl!” while you dance on a box in your new Malandrino. Queens who sit elegantly at the end of the bar all night next to their water station where they accept compliments. Oh yes there was a lot more life in the Eastern Bloc, but certainly still plenty of room. It was a quiet night there too, plenty of room to see everyone, to dance freely and they did offer us free drinks, which was nice. Luxury is what I kept coming back to as I sat safely in my Malandrino at the Eastern Bloc.
The luxury of space and freedom of expression. In the Box the luxury is getting in without the paying the price. You are there to see and be seen, the pressure is palpable and the image is libidinal, though there is not much freedom. The financial hierarchy is in your face. At the Cock and Eastern Bloc you are free to be anonymous, you are free to be naked. You are welcomed as you are, and invited to raise the energy of the spectacle to whatever you want. I hope these pockets survive as the rising financial waters threaten all that is truly libidinal in the East Village.
By Greta Jane Pedersen