Henrietta Hudson
Henrietta Hudson is the longest-running Lesbian bar in the United States, but it doesn’t feel like it. The space recently rebranded during the pandemic, the website brags that it’s going through a “massive reinvention…a cross between a living room and a petite cafe dressed in rich mid-century modern color palettes, featuring comfy chairs, plush ottomans, work nooks, and a dining area.”
I do appreciate a good pun.
Tonight is queeraoke, and I get there a few minutes before people begin to show up in earnest. The crowd is thin so far, and a DJ is blasting top 40 beats from 15 years ago, starting with Soulja Boy’s “Crank That.”
Bud Lights are a whopping $9, which feels steep even for the West Village. Earlier, I had a Bud at a queer bar in Bushwick for $4. I go ahead and try a Dyke Beer for $12, a local Lesbian saison that’s been cropping up across the city.
The bathroom is the first thing that feels markedly different from the other two bars in the city, gone are the graffitied walls plastered with Lesbian history. This bathroom has pristine white walls and crisp blue tiles, reminiscent of third-wave coffee shops.
The crowd matches the polished aesthetic, wearing blazers and hair clips and sensible leather flats. This bar is noticeably updated, with personal Toast readers and an ID scanner at the door. Both Ginger’s and Cubbyhole are strictly cash only. The crowd is once again majority white.
The curtains match the art which matches the walls, all the same yellow and blue midcentury patterns. The website states that “we're 30 now, so we think it's time to dress it up a bit.”
This bar does feel dressed up, like it’s performing the queers of Manhattan. For being the longest-running lesbian bar, “literally built by lesbians with donated boom boxes and labor and materials,” I don’t see any evidence of age or grit or even much personality. Hen’s may have been built by Dykes, but it has certainly met a contractor or two since.
This place feels sterile to me, like I’m out of place in my flannel and Dyke t-shirt. Most of the patrons wear linen and gold jewelry, or high-quality leather and platform crepe shoes that definitely ring in over $200. Rich Dyke from Cubbyhole said Hen’s was her normal go-to, and I can see why. Dykes with corporate jobs meet here after work to feel a little dangerous; the cocktail menu is reminiscent of a college bar featuring bottled sour mix and bottom-shelf tequila.
The bar fills up quickly around 9, but apparently getting people to sign up for karaoke, ahem, queeraoke, is proving to be a challenge. A well-dressed regular in a leather vest implores people to sign up, including me. When I sing, I sound like a tone-deaf cat, so I politely shake my head from across the bar.
Henrietta’s bartender of the night is young and sweet looking in full-length overalls and a striped shirt, who checks their phone in between beer pours. The cocktail menu leaves something to be desired, and drinks are served in coupes that only fit 2 or 3 oz.
The first song of the night is “Hit Me Baby One More Time,” sung by a Bri with a surprisingly good Britney impression. Other hits of the night include the above leather and silk scarf clad Dyke singing a tipsy birthday rendition of “Rock and Roll All Nite,” “Breakaway” by Kelly Clarkson, three different Fleetwood Mac songs, and Gabriela and Troy’s duet from High School Musical. I am wishing someone would pick something slightly more upbeat, give me some Disney or Queen goddammit. Have these people never been to karaoke when the whole bar is screaming “Bohemian Rhapsody?”
For some reason, Hen’s is reminding me distinctly of West Hollywood. It feels like a place for baby gays who are just figuring themselves out and want to be in a space that feels safe and accepting but aren’t yet ready to fully jump into the deep end. Come here to try queerness on for size, to figure out the aesthetic of queer before you commit fully. Henrietta’s embraces the concept of queer respectability.
Ginger’s is a friendly neighborhood bar, Cubbyhole was crowded and made for mingling and laughing loudly, Hen’s feels like they are trying to appeal to the widest demographic possible. The grit and grime are gone, replaced by overpriced beer and Target-style decor.
I step outside to see what the outdoor patio space is like and get some fresh air. New York is littered with these outdoor structures now, a COVID invention that will likely stick around. The curtains match the decor inside, and I watch the bouncer deliver a pizza to the bartender, not for sharing with the crowd this time.
I stopped by Stonewall the other day, just to pay my respects as I was passing through. I was surprised by the sterilization of that bar too, even from the outside it felt like looking at a movie set. I didn’t go inside, a ticketed event for something called “Glamazon” was happening that night, but it felt similar to Hen’s. A name that has stretched back into queer history for so long, the only way to stay afloat is to capitalize on that recognition. When you can list 10 different t-shirt designs online, you’ve become something different than when you started.
How do we protect the legacy and name of Stonewall and other queer institutions, when so many of our monuments have been destroyed or forgotten? These places used to provide refuge when simply existing as queer was deeply unsafe, to both the bars and the patrons. How do we pay homage to a sacred space, while recognizing that we live in a capitalist society and rent is expensive? I have more questions than answers.
I keep thinking about that video of Sylvia Rivera at Black Pride in Ft Greene Park in 2001. Interviewed by Kristianna (Kristi) Tho’mas, she states, “this movement has become so capitalist... this is no longer my pride, I gave them their pride but they have not given me mine.”
The fact that I can even have this conversation about the evolution of queer institutions is a privilege, and I recognize that we all must do what we need to survive in this ever-changing world. But I can’t help but wonder whether we are simply assimilating into the mainstream and creating a palatable queer experience, as opposed to honoring our pasts by bringing them into the present.
Stevie Nicks Impressions: 3
Manhattan, New York, New York
