Every night is karaoke night at The Lipstick Lounge, and I’ve been waiting for 15 minutes to try and get a drink. The bar is packed, and staffed only by one very overworked bartender, serving a crowd of very thirsty queers.

The crowd is on the younger side, mostly in their 20s. The fashion is decidedly dykey. There is a mix of the expected flannels and trucker hats, as well as high heels and statement jewelry. The long-haired butch reigns supreme here. I shouldn’t be, but I’m surprised at the number of cowgirl hats and the general country aesthetic of the crowd. There is also a strong contingent of bleached blondes who look like they walked out of sorority rush week. Overall, the demographic is very white. As much as I strain, I don’t hear a single sweet southern drawl.

Weirdly, I’ve noticed more trucker hats in the south, compared to the popularity of snapbacks on the east coast, and dad caps in the Midwest. What’s that about? Why is there a geographical difference in hats?

The crowd is majority Dyke, but there’s a sizable crowd of gay men and straights, karaoke is really the great equalizer. The inside space is too small for the number of prospective singers, but the outdoor space is sizable and mercifully quiet.

Almost no one seems to be here alone, everyone is accompanied by their six closest Lesbian friends. Butches rest their hands casually on femme waists, and no one seems afraid of casual PDA. Friends are greeted gleefully, with screeches and big hugs.

Three different people light their cigarettes in quick succession, a patio fireworks show in miniature. The porch extends into the sidewalk, and I imagine summer nights out here are a haze of queer joy spilling into the streets.

As karaoke begins, I’m struck by the sheer talent of the singers. Great for them, but isn’t part of the fun of karaoke about being a little bad? I suppose in Music City, I shouldn’t be surprised. Last year, Lipstick Lounge won Best Karaoke in Nashville, and I can see why.

Apparently upstairs there is a cigar lounge called The Upper Lip, but it doesn’t appear to be open tonight. A shame, I would like to see what they consider a “fancy drink” as the door proclaims.

The karaoke stage is the clear focal point of the space; the small amount of seating is all facing the singers. Oil paintings of women decorate the walls, as well as a distinct lipstick motif. Each wall is painted rich jewel tones, and the space feels well loved, chipping Formica and paint several layers deep.

Next month, Lipstick Lounge will celebrate its twenty-year anniversary, and the celebration promises to be a smash. It’s very weird to me that twenty years ago only means 2002, and I think about all of the queer bars we have gained and lost over the decades.

Two partners dance together as they belt “Bad Romance.” A guy with frosted tips and the look of a Fall Out Boy reject gives the best “Toxic” Britney falsetto I’ve ever heard. The majority of singers sound like they should be auditioning for The Voice, or whatever is the current popular music competition show, not outperforming us plebes at karaoke.

Since I’m in the south, I decide to get whiskey, and as I wait once again to order, the bartender tells us, “I might die, I’m just letting you all know I might die tonight.” They lift their shirt to wipe their face, revealing a lacy bralette, a banana maraca tucked into their cleavage. They look as surprised as I feel.

Looking out at the mix of gender and sexuality, I realize that in a place like this, all genres of queer bar, Lesbian or no, become gathering spaces for everyone who feels like they might be safe here. Queer is queer, and we will find each other no matter what.

The constant karaoke doesn’t lend itself well to mingling outside your group, which is probably why so few people are here alone. This feels like a bar for friends more so than for lovers. Somehow, this is exactly what I expected a queer bar in the south to feel like.

Everyone here seems to know everyone else, in a place like this, all you have is your community. These same faces are here knight after night. You come here with your dyke crew to enjoy being queer together. Community is at the forefront.

Seriously though, how is every here such a good fucking singer?

Cowboy boots: 9