Blush & Blu
Tonight, I’m going out to Blush & Blu with my coworker Elizabeth, who just so happens to live in Denver and was kind enough to let me crash on her couch. We’re greeted at the door by the owner Jody and when she checks my ID, she tells me she is also from Vermont. Elizabeth and I tell her about the distillery where we work and gush about Vermont. She asks if there are any more gay bars in Vermont, and I tell her no, just Fox Market and the not-gay gay bar Babes. We lament about the lack of gay spaces, and I tell her that I’m actually planning on one day opening a queer bar in Vermont. She immediately asks to connect with me online, and we talk shop and potential locations.
She asks if we’ve been here before, and gives us a brief guide to the space, pointing out the game room and a downstairs speakeasy and tarot lounge that’s only open on weekends. She tells us about upcoming events, and there seems to be something happening just about every night. She also tells us that there is currently a memorial happening in the main space for a beloved community member.
The bartenders are long-haired with flannels tied around their waists, and look so similar I genuinely wonder if they’re sisters. The door person who takes over for Jody after grabbing food wears a loose vest, button-up, and tie. Many of the cocktails on the large menu are tongue-in-cheek Lesbian jokes: the Ruby Rose, Let The Shane Shine, Lipstick Lesbian.
Elizabeth and I grab now customary Miller Lite’s and head upstairs, where four very snazzy and very cute queers are playing pool. They are gleeful in sparkles and heels and cheer loudly whenever they land a ball. Everyone upstairs is young, wearing androgynous queer formal wear- sparkly blazers with no shirt, mesh tops, thigh-high red boots.
“I think being bad at pool in public is one of my favorite things.” The sparkly queers are even worse at pool than I am, an impressive feat considering I can count the number of games I’ve won in my life on one hand.
There is clearly a community here, laughter floats up from downstairs and there is a sense of belonging among the bottles. People are unapologetically themselves.
At 8:15 the music gets turned up, blasting Taylor Swift and TikTok-popular queer jams, and I make my way downstairs to Betty, the gayest song in the Swift cannon. The bathrooms are radically inclusive, as in there is no door to the two-stall room.
One of the sparkly queers offers us four extra quarters as they leave, another gesture of community forward thinking. Elizabeth narrowly beats me (yes, narrowly, I put up a very good fight.)
And she said she was bad at pool.
The bar is currently populated entirely by Dykes, all a range of ages and expressions, mostly in their 20s and 30s and mostly white. Now that the memorial service has cleared, jeans, boots, and sweaters are the fashion of choice. There are a number of snappy jackets, leather, and sweaters more for fashion than for warmth.
Like Alibis, Blush & Blu is already decked out for Halloween, spiderwebs and caution tape cover every surface. The bar top is definitely the most popular place to sit and chat, every stool filled, even though there is an abundance of empty tables. On a busier night, this would be an easy space to mingle your way through, seating set up to encourage movement and conversation. Local queer art hangs on the walls, including some of Jody’s. Underneath the Halloween decorations, the place is modern but understated, with wood paneling and black paint.
Everyone at the bar chats easily with one another, joining in conversation with whomever they are near. There is a clear diversity across the gender spectrum and an easy neighborly warmth that permeates the space. A few groups cluster around tables, but for the most part, it seems people came by themselves or with a partner.
The music is loud enough to dance to, but not so loud you can’t converse with your table mate. Everyone around me is smiling and fully present within themselves. There is no particular kind of Dyke here, punk queers with blue hair and hoodies laugh with a femme in an off-the-shoulder cream sweater and curly updo. Fishnets, jeans, and leggings all walk around the space, no one looking out of place or uncomfortable.
I don’t know how to explain it, but this is exactly what I expected a Colorado Dyke bar to feel like. There is an ease and familiarity present in every person at the bar that says “we are here and we are one.”
Blazers: 4
Body Chains: 3
Denver, CO
