I used to be obsessed with the Scissor Sisters – I openly admit that. I say “used to” because now I’m a third year English student, my vocabulary has improved enough to include the word “passionate” – I am now passionate about the Scissor Sisters. When I used to try and picture the “scuzzy, gay nightlife scene of New York,” that they came from, I could never really imagine it. New York City is this immense space out there across the seas and I’m just a boy from Manchester whose only experience of scuzzy was Canal Street – or the cruder variation of the name on a vandalised road sign.
But a time comes when everyone must receive enlightenment as to the beauty of said scuzzy gay scene – fake smoke, good priced drinks, drag queens and, of course, the slut-dropping twinks (for those of you who don’t know what that is, turn off your safe search and go to Google Images, providing you’re in a really busy lecture or Starbucks at rush hour).
I understand that to some of you the world I just described might be unattractive and unappealing. But I beseech you, from the very vestiges of my soul to try this on for size. Tuesday night, £0.99 Sambucca and Tequila shots. Thursday night, an array of shots costing the same. The main pull for Escape Bar, in Soho – opposite a sex shop and next to Madame Jojo’s (an awesome drag bar, watch this space for the review) – is that the drinks are so unbeatably cheap.
Another pull is that, more than anything, everyone in there is just there to have a good time. If you go to Heaven, all you see is that people are there to be noticed – any bar really has a few of these people, but the bigger gay bars in London have them in droves. They look around and they sneer and they laugh at other people who are wearing clothes that are maybe too tight or perhaps they’re dancing badly (I am proudly guilty of both of these things), and if you notice – it’s kind of a downer.
On a Tuesday or Thursday night in Escape, the nights are called Queerly Out, and the attention seekers seem to have stayed home that night. You get shots, and then you have a laugh dancing like an idiot. The only person likely to judge you is the bartender, who will pass comment if you’re on your fourth shot and it’s about as strong as a bottle of WKD. I am less proudly guilty of this – after four fruity concoctions I bit the bullet and went with something that burnt. The rest of the night is a blur, but I woke up with two numbers so something went right.
So the next time you have a Tuesday or Thursday evening free, know that there is a bar where the drinks are dirt cheap, there is a drag queen floating in, a smoke machine is billowing and, most of all, everyone is having a good time.
Entry: Free with a flier…then £4.
Drinks: You already know.
Yay or Nay: Try it once and you’ll be hooked.