Lezzon 7: Making a right tit of oneself
Way out west we’re somewhat limited in choice when it comes to gay venues. And even though Connies has flown the gay flag for years, it’s not really an option for a post work pilsner. So, up until the launch of the now defunct Honey Lounge, that pretty much left The Court Hotel as the sole sister establishment. But The Court prompts much debate in the ‘mo community, many loving its disco pop vibe and others perturbed that they’re unable to meet a potential partner given it tends to be full of heterosexuals. For me though, the issue isn’t so much who is allowed to fill up the R&B room as who isn’t.
I had a friend visiting Perth from Holland. We met up for a polite shandy at Clarences, which we followed up with a glass of red at Five Bar. Upon finishing our delightful Pinots my pal suggested we make our last stop ‘Perth’s only gay pub’. On the trot to The Court it dawned on me that I was wearing Havaianas and that it was unlikely I’d be granted entry. Alas, I soldiered on.
I can’t say I was surprised when The Court’s security guard turned me away but I persisted with the usual complaints. This is Perth. It’s 40 degrees. It’s a Wednesday night. My dress is Helmut Lang. As is usually the case when one tries to reason (read: argue) with a bouncer, my protests went unheard. Defeated, my friend and I began the trot to Ezra Pound for a final beer.
Nothing says diversity like plonking the State Theatre right next to a bunch of sex shops. Such is the appeal of Northbridge. This unique sense of urban planning gave me an idea. Given safety clearly usurped style when it came to The Court’s dress code, I decided to purchase some black patent hooker heels from one of the conveniently located adult stores and try my luck with door staff a second time.
As I went to pay for my strappy stilettos the assistant informed me I needed to cough up $200. Having the last laugh was funny, but it wasn’t $200 worth of funny. Begrudgingly, I accepted defeat. That is, until my friend pointed to the corner of the store, to a pair of plastic-wrapped tit slippers that were certainly not thongs. What they were was $18.69. I paid the assistant, popped on the slippers and left.
By the time I shuffled back The Court had developed quite a queue; however, I was determined to see how they’d justify turning me away given their penchant for pyjama parties. When I got to the front of the line I was denied access once more. I couldn’t understand why. I wasn’t wearing thongs and not only was I supporting The Court Hotel I was also supporting the owners’ other business interest. And if that wasn’t enough, I was a real, live potential partner for the oodles of lesbians inside and well-versed in pop music to boot.
When I woke up the next morning with a cracking hangover I realised the bouncer had made the right call. Even though there was no mention of tit slippers in the dress policy at The Court’s entrance, it’s pretty safe to say that boob-inspired slippers are not the best look. Imagine if they’d allowed it? I mean, next thing, people would be wearing their Ugg Boots to the local supermarket and making a right tit of themselves.*
*Please note that I am a big advocate of all track attire and think grey marle an appropriate option for any occasion, formal or otherwise. Needless to say I can regularly be found trotting Beaufort Street in my trusty black Uggs.
