Something has happened. Something magical.
My gaydar has gotten good. Like, really good. I swear I spot cute little lesbians everywhere. But there’s been a wrench thrown in my beautiful mind machine. Let me explain:
I went out with my beautiful pansexual lovebug, let’s call her Urlacher, a couple of Sundays ago. I was having a very rough day and she sensed this because she called and I said “h…h…hello?” and she was like “WHAT’S WRONG I’M COMING OVER JUST SIT TIGHT” and was there in like, seven minutes flat (ladies and gentlemen, that is a friend.) So Urlacher asked me where my special place was (not that kind, sickos), like the place I could go to when I needed the ultimate in comfort food. I chose the best vegetarian place I knew of that was bar-esque – City, o’ City in the beautiful heart of my lovely Denver. We walked in and let me start by saying I was a straight. Up. Hot. Mess. I was wearing an AmeriCorps hoodie (whoops, drinkin’ in the A!) and had been crying all day. Puffy face, red eyes, constant wrist-to-nose-snot rub, the works. Urlacher looked gorgeous, as always (find me a true pansexual who isn’t beautiful at all times, really – gotta look sexually ambiguous and lovely so everyone wants ya!). We walked in and sat down and looked around and at the same time looked at each other, wide-eyed.
Short ones, tall ones, skinny ones, curvy ones, femmes, butches, a lesbian of every type for every lady!
On a Sunday night. At like 7:30 pm.
Awesome, yet bizarre.
Mostly not awesome for the girl who looked like she stuck her finger in a socket after running in the rain, but for Urlacher, this was excellent. These lesbians were all over! Some were on dates, some were with friends, some were sitting at the bar alone looking to make some friends (ehhh?) and it was grand. We were shocked – nobody told us of the secret Sunday lesbian hangout! Then it hit me. Some of these so-called lesbians were in crewneck sweatshirts. Some were in neon 90’s windbreakers. Some had just the weirdest hair. And then I had to ask…are they all lesbians? Or are they just a hippity hipster?
A constant battle that all us lesbians/queers/pans/in-betweeners have, especially in Denver methinks, is when we have to stop and say “Hey, is she a lesbian, or a hipster? Shooooooooot.” I have shocked myself constantly when I get the answer I’m not expecting. Sometimes it is way shocking.
When I was “modeling” at a certain all-natural pizza joint, I mostly spent time at the front of house with a cute lesbian and lovely gay manager staring out the gigantic window ogling passerby. I shit you not – I would say “super adorbs lesbians going into Restaurant-Next-Door-That’s-Way-Higher-In-Calories-Covered-In-Butter!” and they would look at me with this stupid face. Then (and I have to say it happened more than once, and definitely more than twice) they’d be like “A, that’s a straight couple.” And I would do a weird double-take and realize HOLY CANOLI, THEY’RE RIGHT, THAT DUDE LOOKS LIKE A HIPSTER LESBIAN.
That’s an extreme. But really, on that Sunday night, Urlacher and I spent a good amount of time commenting on A: why did nobody tell us that this was where the lesbians hung out? B: are they in fact lesbians? C: they should really call each other before all coming out in the same Ray-Bans, tight flannel, colored jeans and Nike Dunks.
But back to the gaydar part – hipsters are the one thing that makes my gaydar go completely haywire. Can y’all agree? That room was like putting a compass in a room full of magnets. Things got intense.
Do you ever wonder? It can’t just be me. When you’re at your favorite vegan restaurant, you can get confused. Hipsters love organic/vegan/local fare…but so do the lezzies. Any form of an acoustic concert? Ironically hanging out in the mall? Dancing at a traditionally non-gay bar? These places are where this formation of lesbians and hipsters unite! It leads me to believe they essentially live the same lifestyle…except some have different downstairs expectations.
I guess I’m lucky I’m in a relationship, because it seems that I have no idea how to navigate the waters. Mainly it’s odd because I have, on more than one occasion, thought a lesbian was a hipster when they were in fact a man. That’s quite a 180 times two. Maybe it’s just a Denver thing, or maybe this happens everywhere. I can only hope that other people have less trouble with their honed-in gaydars than I do when it comes to this conundrum. Best of luck navigating the waters, my sweet angels.