Doc Marie’s is dark and moody, the second floor reminds me of the days of cigar smoking and three-martini lunches. Downstairs, the walls are tufted leather, rich green paint, and wood paneling. There is stained glass and red lampshades, reminding me of my grandpa’s house (or at least, the idea of my grandpa’s house). I feel like I’ve stepped back to the 70s, funky disco beats included. The downstairs feels like a cocktail cave; a basement bar of years gone by, with music playing quietly enough to clearly hear, but not so low that you feel awkward.

The bartenders have trendy Dyke haircuts and arms covered in tattoos, wearing high-waisted jeans and tank tops. One of the owners sits at the bar opposite me, and instructs the bartender on how to make my Negroni Sbagliato. Look, everyone suddenly had it on their menu, and the bartender in me had to give in to my Campari craving.

Newer Dyke bars are leaning towards the cocktail bar direction, Doc Marie’s joins Dorothy Downstairs, and Nobody’s Darling as the newest of the bunch, only opened this past July. The menu on the bar only lists a handful of specialty cocktails, but there is a full bar.

A cute queer exclaims about their recent top surgery to their friends, jumping in a circle of joy. “Look at me, I’m wearing a button-down!!” The bartender knows them and buys their drink in celebration.

Friends run into one another, meeting in twos and threes before joining other tables. There are lots of large groups, and I hear the strains of “Happy Birthday” from the dark corners. So far, the crowd is exclusively white. The demographic skews a little on the older side, 30s and 40s drinking beers and holding their partners by the waist.

Everyone here seems to be a Dyke, dressed in the epitome of Dyke fashion. Flannels and femmes, beefcakes and beanies. Portland is the land of queer hipsters, before it was cool to identify as such. There are chunky glasses, wallet chains, cut-off tees, and backwards caps everywhere I turn. The younger generation shows up in short skirts and platform boots. Everyone is hot - seriously, everyone.

For a Friday, it’s not busy, people seem to sit and chat with one another while sipping slowly, rarely getting up for refills. The three bartenders downstairs make easy conversation with regulars and banter back and forth.

There are leather booths along the walls, hidden spots in dark corners, perfect for sneaking kisses. Framed covers of Lesbian pulp novels decorate the walls, with such titles as “Satan was a Lesbian” and “I used to be a Tomboy, now I’m a full grown Lesbian.”

The space is huge, upstairs and downstairs. It feels like a good place to hole up for the night. I could easily see getting comfortable in a booth and hanging out for hours. The design of the space isn’t necessarily conducive to mingling, but there is plenty of room for large groups that overflow with laughter. This is a good spot for friends and dates, but I’m not sure I could see karaoke or drag shows here. The downstairs space is darker, and the crowd older, the booths are all filled with elder Dykes in deep conversation.

A bartender from upstairs asks, “can one of you watch the top bar?” and is met with “I’m a top!”

Outside there are picnic tables, a few groups come out to escape the noise. Ashtrays are plastic Tito’s cups with gravel inside. I catch a few glances my way and try to seem approachable, but I’ve noticed people rarely approach single folks, especially when they’re branching off from larger groups. What is it about two people that is less intimidating than one?

The upstairs bar is filled periodically, as folks filter downstairs or take drinks outside. The design of this space is beautiful, upstairs is more airy and light, with more stools and places for smaller groups. Upstairs is more modern, with light blue leather booths, exposed wood, and high ceilings. Silver images of naked women decorate the dark blue walls. The only rainbows I spot are the “open” sign and a macrame-style wall hanging.

There are two types of Dyke here - well dressed, but casual older dykes in nice jeans, and younger dykes in flamboyant patterns and textures, fishnets, and queer formal wear. Unsurprisingly, there are many pairs of Docs at Doc Marie’s.

The top bar is certainly the quieter space, the party is downstairs. As the night goes on, the crowd gets younger and more stylish. People seem to know each other and the bartenders, but Portland is a big enough and queer enough city that it’s not quite a neighborhood bar vibe.

A queer asks to sit with me, and we once again lament about the lack of Lesbian bars left. When they go to gay bars, as always, it’s mostly gay men. They tell me they’ve heard mixed reviews about this place, which lines up with the reaction I got on Lex when I posted that I was coming here. It’s their first time here, and they nervously sip on their Sbagliato.

I chat with one of the owners, Olga.  “It’s amazing, and wilder than my wildest dreams. The Lesbian bar gods smiled on us.”

Olga and her brother opened this space together, neither of them had any experience in the industry beforehand, and Olga says it’s still hard to believe that they’re the ones who did it.

She started dreaming up this place during a “pandemic breakdown” when she started thinking about what really matters in life. She worked on Doc Marie’s step-by-step, a process involving “lots of Googling, fucking up, and trying again.” People told her she had no idea how to open a bar, and she agreed with them. She insists “You can be new at something, and that’s okay.”

Olga likes to listen to the stories people tell at the bar, a living record of a history that has mostly been lost or forgotten. She loves to watch people in their 60s talk to people in their 20s, and is proud to have a space that fosters those connections.

Her highest high? “Every day. We’re still experiencing all of our firsts.” She tells me a special story of the biographer of the eponymous Dr. Marie Equi coming in for a drink.

And the lowest low? “There was a huge dramatic fallout on opening day. We had a huge turnout and a lot of attention.” Both positive and negative attention came from opening day. There was “a rift from within,” which Olga says she now knows isn’t surprising. She sees a trend of tearing things down from within; she cynically remarks, “Why don’t we just take it away from ourselves before someone else does?”

“One of the hugest differences of 2022 is social media. People don’t need to be there to have opinions. In the real world, people love the space. We focus on that, and don’t give energy to the stuff outside.”

We talk about scarcity mindset and the idea that any given space needs to be everything to everyone. “I have conversations with people [about opening Doc Marie’s] and they always say I beat them to it. I say that there should be 15 Lesbian bars in Portland alone!”

When you Google Doc Marie’s, all of the articles are about the controversy surrounding this place. After a massively successful opening day in July, the bar closed the next day, due to two managers quitting and an anonymous worker’s collective forming to address their concerns. Please read the above article for information from an actual journalist, again, I am just a Dyke with a blog.

It’s a complicated legacy that has very quickly sprung up around Doc Marie’s. There are so few of these bars left and so few resources on how to create a safe space within an industry known for being abusive and exhausting. It’s easy to point fingers when one of twenty-four bars isn’t up to snuff. I don’t live in Portland, I am not tuned into the queer scene here, and I don’t know how Doc Marie’s has addressed the concerns of its former employees internally, and what they’ve done to change.

How do we discuss these topics with nuance? How do we weigh the positives and the negatives? When I posted on Lex that I was coming here tonight, four different people reached out to either actively discourage me from coming, or let me know that I’d be getting angry messages for coming here. One message was even from a former employee. I was told stories of wrongful termination without pay, racists being coddled by ownership, health code violations, and overall a history of treating workers poorly.

Olga didn’t address these accusations specifically, which match up with reports from articles published earlier in the summer. I haven’t seen anything that directly addresses these wrongs or takes accountability for past behavior. Comments are turned off on Doc Marie’s Instagram page.

I can hear shouts and yells of glee from the birthday party downstairs, they’ve been having a good time all night. The upstairs space clears out slowly, mostly migrating downstairs or outside. I step outside to think for a while, and it’s hopping. Flirting couples and laughing friends sit on the table tops and share cigarettes and sips of beer.

One of the bartenders catches my eye before I head back inside. “You’ve been here awhile, I want to pick your brain.” I had planned on heading out soon, but I can’t turn down an invitation from a hot dyke.

The bar is mostly empty by 11, this is more of a pregame spot than a party, which makes sense for the size and layout of the space. Downstairs the bartender asks about my trip, and tells me San Francisco will be “slutty.” They chat with everyone, asking folks if they’re having a good time, and hand out water. It’s nice to see a bartender who enjoys the talking-to-people part of the job, effortlessly maintaining three conversations at once. When they ask the remaining bar patrons if anyone is going home for the holidays, we all say a resounding “no.”

The bartender asks what I’m doing tomorrow, and looks genuinely disappointed when I tell them I’m leaving. Cursed by my tight schedule once again. They ask if I’m okay when I tell them I’ve been at a new bar every night, and I genuinely don’t know. I’m so tired at this point that I barely remember where I was yesterday, or where I’m going tomorrow. Who knew going to 24 bars in 30 days would take it out of you?

Rainbow t-shirts: 6

Flannels: 10

Chunky glasses: 9

Portland, OR