If I was watching a movie and it began with an ear-splitting needle drop of Tyler Farr’s "Redneck Crazy" before an AI chatbot recited passages from Brisingr, it’s doubtful anything in the subsequent film could save the feature from being dubbed a disaster. Even if every inch of the ensuing runtime was on par with Drive My Car, Central Station, or RRR, nothing could make me forget that awful opening. Sometimes, an entities beginning is so dismal it capsizes everything it touches.
I had a similar experience last night walking with two of my friends to a lesbian bar for a New Year’s Eve celebration. As we strolled down the sidewalk, giggling and trading inside jokes, a car zoomed by us. Even while traveling at great speeds, the denizens of this act took the time to roll down the windows and yell at me, “show us your titties!”
Fucking men. And in the "gayborhood" of Dallas nonetheless. What an uncomfy moment that was an ominous harbinger of the night to come.
Roughly an hour-ish later, my two friends have entered the dance floor. My throat's a little parched, so I head over to this tinier side bar in the establishment to get a drink of water (I don't drink alcohol). Once I'm standing in line, I excitedly see that the bartender has put on Southland Tales on the bar's TV. Perfect New Year's Eve movie, yay for someone else enjoying that movie's madness. As I'm taking in the very overstimulating sights and sounds of this lesbian bar 20 minutes past midnight on New Year's Day, a woman begins talking to me.
This lady, let's call her Bayonne, was wearing a T-shirt, long jeans, and blonde hair. Classic masc lesbian attire. She leans into my ear and starts asking me basic questions about my name, how my night's going, and complimenting a slight shimmy I was doing moments earlier. Then, she drops a bombshell inquiry: "so what are you interested in, Lisa?" I told her I was a lesbian, which I don't think she quite heard over the music. I leaned in to her ear and repeated it again. It was immediately my turn to be auditorily confused since Bayonne then asked me something that I only heard as a gurgle of vowels.
After asking her to repeat it, Bayonne then raised her voice and asked if I could expand on my sexuality preferences. I was a bit lost here. Didn't "lesbian" cover things? In a moment of trying to figure out how to communicate how I'm also interested in non-binary people while some 2005 rap hit was blaring in my ears, I remarked something about my "flexibility" with people. "Well, there are lots of women here that are flexible," Bayonne proclaimed before reaching out her hand to bid me a good night. I was previously getting flirty vibes from her, but I guess my comments hadn't been to her liking. Oh well.
A moment later, as I was still waiting to order my water, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Bayonne was now talking to a nearby straight couple. The dude in the relationship worked as "a contractor" and opined something about "not being ready" for some matter Bayonne brought up. After a brief pause, I couldn't help but notice that this dynamic had escalated drastically. Bayonne was now passionately making out with the guy's cisgender partner. My suspicions of Bayonne fishing for smooches and New Year's passions were confirmed. And in that moment, my heart shattered.
After seeing this kiss, my brain immediately thought, "that could have been you, Lisa, if you hadn't said something stupid." Then another terrifying thought crept into my mind...had my voice turned off Bayonne? Had she seen me in my red, flower-covered dress from afar, come up to flirt with me, and then realized I was trans as I began talking? Did she spend our whole conversation reeling from her "miscalculation" and hoping to bolt to the nearest cis-woman to kiss? Was I not enough to be seen as "attractive" or "properly woman" for smooching?
Now, to be clear, this is not me saying some toxic shit like "if you aren't attracted to me, you're transphobic," I swear to God. I've just had plenty of weird experiences in the dating/flirting world with women's weirdness towards my gender. There was that one woman on a dating app who declared, "you're kidding, right?" after I sent her a picture of what I looked like. Women asking me if I'm in "cosplay" when I'm dressed as myself. Don't forget about that lady who spent five minutes of our Denny's date elucidating to me how and why Dave Chappelle wasn't transphobic and was properly crusading against "men invading women's spaces."
I will never know if this whole Bayonne experience was an extension of this phenomenon. Most likely, she just didn't vibe with my energy and moved on to somebody else. Maybe she even has a fetish for "cucking" straight men and my single lesbian ass could never fulfill that. Still, it was a weird interaction that led me to feel dysphoric and romantically hopeless before 2026's first half-hour was through. I've never kissed anyone as a trans woman. Anytime these flirty endeavors go awry, my brain immediately catastrophizes and opts to think, "you just blew your one chance, nobody will want to be around you now."
I know that's not true. I know that's cruel and the kind of phrase I'd never say to another person...why should I say it to myself? When crushing disappointment and overstimulation combine, though, rationality goes out the window. I was soon sitting at this location's main bar, holding back tears, convinced this whole night was a bust. I felt like the lesbian bar fraud, a woman who was so alone in a sea of expansive friend groups, heterosexual couples, and lesbian expressing intimacy that was always out of my reach. Thank God for my two kind friends who provided me with much-needed comfort and perspective in this low moment.
There were sprinkles of fun to be had in this night afterward. However, I kept feeling like a "fraud" throughout the evening. There were my inept experiences on the dance floor, where the entire crowd engaged in choreography that totally went over my head. I shuffled at the front of the dance floor, trying to follow the feet of strangers in a desperate attempt to join the crowd. Instead, I looked like Princess Giselle channeling Mr. Bean. Then there was the moment I talked to a couple, with one member of the duo mentioning how there were a lot of men in this lesbian bar. I reflexively went "yeah, gross!", which led half of this pair to go "oh, they're not that bad, cut them some slack."
Even in this interaction, I felt like a fraud. Was my extreme disdain for the men who so often made me feel small or scared another way I couldn't connect with other lesbians? This place was so crowded with partying souls that you often couldn't move your arms. Yet here was another moment where I felt like I was alone. It was like I was back in my bedroom at age 25, silently putting on women's clothes and hoping nobody else in the household walked in on me. Nobody to talk to. Nobody to relate to. On a different planet from the other souls in my vicinity.
Between this and my strip club odyssey back in September, I think my brain's coping mechanism for feeling socially isolated is to retreat inward. More specifically, my brain finds it a lot easier to tell myself "you're the problem, you're the intruder, you're the fake" than coping with the multitude of external problems surrounding me. Once again, me being overwhelmed in a noisy bar (and being surrounded by weird dudes) led to me perceiving myself as a "fraud" who didn't belong. The scarcity of other trans women in the vicinity didn't help fend off this perception.
My eyeballs couldn't immediately see a bevy of other trans souls to provide some camaraderie. Instead, my pupils just kept stumbling on cis-het dudes cradling women. They looked like guys who'll mansplain why Morgan Wallen ISN'T racist to you before trying to grope you in an elevator (so future GOP appointees to the Supreme Court). Those aren't exactly comforting figures for a distraught and dysphoric trans lesbian needing to remind herself she belonged here.
By 1:40, "the lesbian bar fraud" left this establishment with her two friends and headed home. Going outside and letting the 40-degree weather envelop my body really did wonders for my mental health. This lesbian bar was like its own pocket dimension while I was in there, or perhaps a black hole: a place where sunlight couldn't escape its gravitational pull. Staring up at the stars, I was reminded of how there was a wider world out there. A beautiful world full of greater possibilities beyond Bayonne and insurmountable, anxiety-inducing noise. Even so, I still cried recounting my Bayonne experience in the car ride home. My 2026 was not off to the best start, even with the reassurances of the night sky.
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One of my greatest problems is what I call my "blinders issue." When I get stressed, it's like I suddenly procure those blinders horses wear on the racetrack. In other words, I can only see the here-and-now, not yesterday, tomorrow, or the greater picture. Throughout this New Year's Eve lesbian bar experience, I was so overwhelmed with noise, dysphoria, and social anxiety that I could only obsess over the present. Yet I know, deep down, I'm not a fraud. I'm a valid woman. Not only that, but I'm blessed to be surrounded by people who remind me of that in beautiful ways big and small.
Two nights before this New Year's Eve event, I celebrated my 30th birthday with dear friends (only women, enby's, and other marginalized gender-identifying people!) with karaoke and the yummiest Mexican food imaginable. The nine people who showed up that fateful night were such kindhearted souls who complimented my looks, referred to me as "girlie," and gave me such thoughtful gifts (makeup, lipstick, hairbands, nail polish, etc.), perfect for accentuating my presentation of womanhood. One of my friends even took me into the ladies' room to help retie up the back of my dress. What a kind gesture!
Best of all, I didn't even have to think about my gender identity or if I was "woman enough" in these social confines. I just got to exist for a little over five hours, secure in being a lady, and basking in the vibrant personalities and joyful lives of the people I'm so grateful to call my friends. This was a night of immense gender euphoria, partially because I wasn't scrambling to reaffirm my gender to these wonderful souls. I'm so grateful for memories like those on countless levels, but especially after last night's lesbian bar debacle.
I guess there was no way that bartime outing could recover from getting harassed by those gross dudes. They truly were the real-life equivalent of a movie starting with "Redneck Crazy" and AI Brisingr recitations. But I survived. Writing all of this chaos down, my heart aches for the pain I went through. However, I'm also grateful for the kindness and identity-reaffirming elements of my life that ensure that New Year's Eve turmoil isn't the norm for my entire existence. That includes the empathetic ears and joy provided by my friends last night. They made an often unbearable night a lot more tolerable.
Well, welcome to 2026, I suppose. This "lesbian bar fraud" is really, really, really tired. Here's to hoping the New Year is full of more events like my unforgettable karaoke/Mexican food celebration...and less dysphoria and catastrophizing thoughts.
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| Me, my darling friends, and an iconic pink frog after karaoke fun |
