The Dark Side of Oxford St.
April 12th 2006 03:53
We had high hopes for our second night clubbing on Oxford St. In order to stave off the inevitable exhaustion that comes with much walking and dancing in high-heeled shoes, we had as you know spent the afternoon in bed. It was our ambitious plan to arrive around midnight and party hard until at least 6 am- also neatly avoiding the issue of ‘how the hell do we get home?’.
Ah.. the best laid plans of mice and men..
We did have lots of fun getting dressed up. Taffy offered to do my make-up, and it is concluded that I do NOT look good in intense turquoise eye-shadow. You’ll be relieved to know that I fixed it with lots of gold shimmer. Actually I have to point out that one of the perks of girlfriend-having is the ridiculous amount of attention you suddenly feel justified in putting on your outfits. Because we’re the same size and both like the ‘girly’ look it seems important to neither clash nor match too exactly. Actually I did see four girls out together in little black dresses and identical silver heels. Just not good.
But since Taffy did cloth-of-gold vintage (that hemline was obscene) I got to be the dark shadow in black. And we set off much the same way as last time, bussing it to Town Hall and running the honking wolf-whistling gauntlet up to Oxford St where we once again were swallowed into what seemed like a little bright bubble of security from a jeering leering crowd.
Disaster struck however when we reached Arq, and were politely informed by the bouncers that as the clock had just ticked over from 12:00 to 12:01 they were bumping the cover charge from $10 up to $20 each. Now I respect the institution of the cover-charge, as much as I resent it. I understand the need to make a profit, and the idealism that it will keep bar prices low. I can even sort of understand raising the price midway through the night- after all nothing exciting happens too early, and the later it is the more intoxicated people are and the more they are willing to pay.
However… one lousy minute? A whole sixty seconds to rob me of a very large portion of what really should be spent on essential food-items? Five minutes and it would hurt but I would live with it, twenty minutes and I would rue but I would understand. The very singleness of that minute obliged us to revolt- besides, we weren’t carrying that much cash.
So we tottered down to Stonewall, possibly with the idea that time would heal all wounds, or at least that a drink would make it hurt less. But no, disaster struck yet again! This is why wardrobe selection is so critical.
Taffy, as I’ve mentioned, was wearing the sparkly gold dress. And sparkly gold dresses are a bit extreme when teamed with black pleather- well, you might pull it off, but it edges over into a fetish thing. So she had borrowed my favouritest pair of heels (they earned a brief mention in The Lesbian Look).
It wouldn’t have been an issue, except Stonewall has a ridiculous policy against open-toed or-heeled shoes. Why, I have never been able to fathom. During the day they are fine, but after 6 pm they become a sudden safety hazard? Now I’m not saying open-toes are particularly safe, especially in close quarters with bad dancers. However they are accepted everywhere else- so long as you’re a girl and look fairly pretty.
This, I suspect is the problem. Stonewall advertises itself as lesbian-friendly, however the clientele it encourages is overwhelmingly male. And very few males will go out clubbing wearing open-toed shoes. Thongs aside, there just aren’t that many open-toed mens shoes on the market. (For the few exceptions click here .)
Girls, on the other hand, like strappy shoes. Most feminine evening shoes will allow a peep at the toes, or scandalously reveal the rear of a heel. Therefore the bouncers at Stonewall turn away most of the girls who queue at the door. And tonight that meant us. Well- Taffy, but just because I refuse to be parted from my knee-high boots does not mean I was willing to go in and leave her.
Anyway, we were at that point very grumpy and rather tired, and trailed dejectedly down Oxford St with the vague intention of checking out Rogues. But Gloria Jeans waylaid us with soothing liquid caffeine-enriched refreshment, and two Coco Loco’s later we felt sick, gave up on our wild night out and went home.
Lame? Yes, possibly. A tragic waste of an evening? – also yes. But we departed sadder and wiser women.
Really, the perfect night out is much like the perfect sex. Both usually need some trial and error and a little practice. So we now all know:
* Get your hand stamped at Arq before midnight. (Even if the dancefloor is deserted that early.)
* Don’t wear open-toed shoes at Stonewall.
* And buses are evil- never trust timetables…
Mysteriously enough, after some cold and sleepy waiting we caught the bus that was supposed to go through Castlereagh St. from George St. See, not a waste if you learn from it.
And I’m now convinced of Stonewall’s anti-lesbian agenda. Fewer girls, more room for the guys. Or can we conclude that clubs are just evil?
Ah.. the best laid plans of mice and men..
We did have lots of fun getting dressed up. Taffy offered to do my make-up, and it is concluded that I do NOT look good in intense turquoise eye-shadow. You’ll be relieved to know that I fixed it with lots of gold shimmer. Actually I have to point out that one of the perks of girlfriend-having is the ridiculous amount of attention you suddenly feel justified in putting on your outfits. Because we’re the same size and both like the ‘girly’ look it seems important to neither clash nor match too exactly. Actually I did see four girls out together in little black dresses and identical silver heels. Just not good.
But since Taffy did cloth-of-gold vintage (that hemline was obscene) I got to be the dark shadow in black. And we set off much the same way as last time, bussing it to Town Hall and running the honking wolf-whistling gauntlet up to Oxford St where we once again were swallowed into what seemed like a little bright bubble of security from a jeering leering crowd.
Disaster struck however when we reached Arq, and were politely informed by the bouncers that as the clock had just ticked over from 12:00 to 12:01 they were bumping the cover charge from $10 up to $20 each. Now I respect the institution of the cover-charge, as much as I resent it. I understand the need to make a profit, and the idealism that it will keep bar prices low. I can even sort of understand raising the price midway through the night- after all nothing exciting happens too early, and the later it is the more intoxicated people are and the more they are willing to pay.
However… one lousy minute? A whole sixty seconds to rob me of a very large portion of what really should be spent on essential food-items? Five minutes and it would hurt but I would live with it, twenty minutes and I would rue but I would understand. The very singleness of that minute obliged us to revolt- besides, we weren’t carrying that much cash.
So we tottered down to Stonewall, possibly with the idea that time would heal all wounds, or at least that a drink would make it hurt less. But no, disaster struck yet again! This is why wardrobe selection is so critical.
Taffy, as I’ve mentioned, was wearing the sparkly gold dress. And sparkly gold dresses are a bit extreme when teamed with black pleather- well, you might pull it off, but it edges over into a fetish thing. So she had borrowed my favouritest pair of heels (they earned a brief mention in The Lesbian Look).
It wouldn’t have been an issue, except Stonewall has a ridiculous policy against open-toed or-heeled shoes. Why, I have never been able to fathom. During the day they are fine, but after 6 pm they become a sudden safety hazard? Now I’m not saying open-toes are particularly safe, especially in close quarters with bad dancers. However they are accepted everywhere else- so long as you’re a girl and look fairly pretty.
This, I suspect is the problem. Stonewall advertises itself as lesbian-friendly, however the clientele it encourages is overwhelmingly male. And very few males will go out clubbing wearing open-toed shoes. Thongs aside, there just aren’t that many open-toed mens shoes on the market. (For the few exceptions click here .)
Girls, on the other hand, like strappy shoes. Most feminine evening shoes will allow a peep at the toes, or scandalously reveal the rear of a heel. Therefore the bouncers at Stonewall turn away most of the girls who queue at the door. And tonight that meant us. Well- Taffy, but just because I refuse to be parted from my knee-high boots does not mean I was willing to go in and leave her.
Anyway, we were at that point very grumpy and rather tired, and trailed dejectedly down Oxford St with the vague intention of checking out Rogues. But Gloria Jeans waylaid us with soothing liquid caffeine-enriched refreshment, and two Coco Loco’s later we felt sick, gave up on our wild night out and went home.
Lame? Yes, possibly. A tragic waste of an evening? – also yes. But we departed sadder and wiser women.
Really, the perfect night out is much like the perfect sex. Both usually need some trial and error and a little practice. So we now all know:
* Get your hand stamped at Arq before midnight. (Even if the dancefloor is deserted that early.)
* Don’t wear open-toed shoes at Stonewall.
* And buses are evil- never trust timetables…
Mysteriously enough, after some cold and sleepy waiting we caught the bus that was supposed to go through Castlereagh St. from George St. See, not a waste if you learn from it.
And I’m now convinced of Stonewall’s anti-lesbian agenda. Fewer girls, more room for the guys. Or can we conclude that clubs are just evil?
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Comment by Cibbuano
Hunt Famous
Orble Post of the Day
Fat Cult
Techbreak
Comment by Jimbo
Music Times
Comment by amy
I'd forgotten how good it was to know the songs you're dancing to, since I stopped listening to commercial radio... Singing along makes it a totally different experienced. You can do interpretive dancing!!!
So is everyone at Stonewall in sneakers or what?!
Comment by taffy von bosom
Comment by Lia
No Jimbo, it's not one big black hole! It is a bright and shiny hole.. there is a difference, really.
Thanks Amy, no I haven't been to Spectrum. I lived in Darlinghurst back when I was very underage, and though I feel most homey in the Cross, I was always scared off the clubs by the over-abundance of flashing xxx signs.
And yes, I totally cannot groove without singing along.. at least in my head. But interpretative dance? It's so much easier just to mime
And yes, Stonewall is guy-heavy and they wear guy-like shoes. Ooh, hey Taffy
Comment by AdamB
Adam
www.funfacts.com.au