The Wildrose

The first thing I do when I get to Wildrose is hug my old friend Janeè, who has just returned from two years in Paris. We chat and catch up over beers and a Seven and Seven, graciously bought for me by her new partner. I love telling people to "dealer’s choice" me when they offer to buy me a drink, it tells you so much about a person. What questions they ask you, what they choose, how they present it to you.

The bartender is a shaved-side, blue-haired Dyke with a loud laugh and an easy smile. The crowd is chill and relaxed, compared to the bustling streets and bars outside. The crowd is on the younger side and fairly diverse, though leaning white. A group of college-aged queers giggle over their phones and share nervous glances. 

Beetlejuice plays on the TV, and the space is decorated for Halloween, though the regular space already lends itself well to spooky season. The walls are dark red with black gothic molding, and the tables and chairs are painted in chipping black paint. There is the air of a casual dive, two regulars sit at the only two bar stools and take turns chatting with the bartender. There is a second room with a large mural of roses and space for dancing. 

There is a large framed original color Pride flag, donated by Gilbert Baker. The walls feature framed photos of Pride parades past and a portrait of Joan Jett guards the bathroom. A mirror behind the bar proclaims “we will not be erased” with a rainbow Black power fist. There is a women’s bathroom and a gender-neutral one, the first I’ve seen of that particular combination. 

Students are chatting over Salt & Straw with backpacks at their feet. A sad Dyke works on her computer, seemingly waiting for someone who never comes, based on the tears she dabs away with a bar napkin.

The crowd is young, queer, and stylish. Rainbow leggings, patterned sweaters, and earth tones dominate the space. People chat casually with their friends, but tonight this doesn’t seem to be the space for mingling. I spot someone else crying, telling the bartender their woes. 

This feels like the chill space of the queer neighborhood, another trend I’ve noticed with Lesbian bars. Lesbian bars are the equalizer, the space with plenty of chairs and a good beer list, for talking with your friends, not getting drunk with a hottie you met in the bathroom. 

A cute trans person comes over to talk with us and tells us they’re currently searching for a new place to live, seeking a space that is  queer and trans-friendly. They’ve been to some of the bars I have, and we talk about the project. I hate that we live in a world where we must search out potential homes based on how safely we can exist in them, but at least those spaces are growing every day. 

Wildrose is quiet, folks mostly keep to their own conversations and filter out as it gets later. This place feels comfortable, a space to be with your people. I spend a few hours chatting with my dear friend over beers and laughs, and it’s nice to catch up in a bar designed for such conversations. 

A few years ago, when the two of us were both newly out of long-term, monogamous straight relationships, we explored the queer scene of LA together, and discovered together that there were no Lesbian bars in Los Angeles. We had even talked semi-seriously about opening one together, and while they’re now doing their own thing, that conversation planted the seed that set this whole road trip, and by extension my life’s path, in motion. 

Crying People: 2

Flannels: 3

Seattle, WA

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