Going to a Gay Bar with a Man Better Looking than Me

A tale of not existing at the top of the gay hierarchy as tall, good-looking, and White

Stock photo via Canva

I’ve always been naturally skinny. I only crossed 50 kilograms once in my life, and that was ten years ago.

It looked like a blessing when I was in my 20s because I had a place in the gay world’s taxonomy. But once I crossed 30, I didn’t fit in any stereotypical boxes that the gay community has created. Too old for a twink and too far from being a daddy.

I used to feel self-conscious about my skinny-ness. On dating apps, I knew people wouldn’t necessarily be attracted to me.

I still think that way sometimes, but it becomes less and less. Over the years, I’ve learned to accept the way I look, especially after being diagnosed with thyroid cancer, which put into perspective how I see my body. But it also doesn’t mean the insecurity vanishes without a trace.

So, when O, my favorite person, came to Bali last year and asked if we could check out the gay bar, my first reaction was … unsure. The gay bar was the place where I would be fully exposed. And going with O, who was clearly better looking than I, even as he was in his late 50s, brought out the uneasy feeling of not belonging.

A gay bar is an arena for judgment. And I didn’t want to be judged. That was where my insecurity anchored.

Initially, I Said No to His Request to Visit the Gay Bar

When he asked about the gay bar before coming to Bali, the first thing that came to mind was, “Oh no, the local guys would eat him alive.” Because of his good looks, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to see how other gay guys would lust over him. I was being insecure and a bit jealous of a scenario that hadn’t happened yet.

But then, I decided, “Ah, why not?” After all, he wouldn’t do something to disrespect me or make me feel left out.

We went there first on Sunday night, but we didn’t end up staying. He wanted out the moment we stepped in. In the shortest time we were there, I could see how men were staring at us as if we were new meat ready to be devoured.

That wasn’t the end.

We decided to make another visit on Friday night, before his flight on Saturday, when the place was livelier and jam-packed. Leading up to our visit, I became more interested in knowing how the night would unfold, rather than feeling the initial uneasiness. He was wearing a black t-shirt and navy jeans, and the simple outfit made him look more effortlessly irresistible.

We arrived slightly before 10 PM, yet the place was still picking up steam. He ordered a cocktail, while I had only Bintang Radler, as he had asked me to drive on the way back. I was never a drinker, anyway. As soon as the place filled up, I couldn’t help but notice who was giving us (specifically him) the look.

As we sat there and the drag queen show began — from belting Ariana Grande’s Break Free to making inappropriate movements to Celine Dion’s It’s All Coming Back to Me Now — he whispered to me about this one particular guy. The Indonesian guy was already there with his bule partner (the term we, Indonesians, use for white people), yet he couldn’t stop signaling to O that he was, somehow, interested.

The guy went back and forth to the restroom because, to do that, he had to pass where we sat. At one point, he even winked, which, sadly, I didn’t get to witness.

He added later on, there were other boys, and even girls, who were glancing our way. Everyone seemed to try to get his attention one way or another.

We didn’t get up to dance because the music wasn’t danceable, and it was deafening, even for a bar. As the hour inched closer to midnight, the bar turned into a suffocating place. He wanted a breather. At first, he asked if I was okay by myself, but then I decided it was maybe time to leave.

It wasn’t that I wasn’t okay being left alone, but deep down, maybe I was afraid of being judged. Or the lack of it. A small part of me wondered if anyone would look at me without him by my side.

Once we were out, I suggested checking out the next bar. He agreed. It was not as packed as the one we’d been to, but the place didn’t offer anything new. The same un-danceable music was playing too loudly. Since it was a Halloween weekend, some gays were dressing up. When we walked in, everyone — and I mean everyone — did what I suspected. I could feel their curious eyes on us. Well, again, maybe not me, but him.

He then said, maybe it was time to call it a night. We decided to go home, and I couldn’t wait to ask him about his thoughts on the experience.

Going In Knowing Everyone Would Want Him

Before we went, something had been nagging me. In my imagination, most people who would see us walking into the bar were probably forming a judgment. They would wonder how I could snag an Adonis like that.

I knew O would get all the attention he deserved. He was tall, with white hair (not quite a silver fox, since all his hair was white), and quite muscular. He was the definition of handsome in every language and culture. I was afraid there would be better-looking guys at the bar who would catch his attention, because on physical compatibility, we were mismatched.

My fear of being judged was justified. I was the one being observed and examined because I came with a man who was better looking than I was. He was spared from all the judgment because he was white and older. And for the Asian gay men — an open secret among Southeast Asian men — he represented a trophy to be won. I, on the other hand, was a local, looked younger than he was, and was probably seen as someone who was after his money.

But O did one thing that would stay with me for a long time.

At one point, while we were sitting at the bar, he held my hand, openly, and for everyone to see. For a few seconds, I was surprised because I had never thought he would do that. But I wouldn’t deny it made me feel safer and protected.

I didn’t know what went through his mind in that exact moment. It could’ve been just an act of kindness without any complicated feelings attached. It could’ve been something instinctive because he did that a lot whenever we were alone.

What I knew was that he cared for me deeply. We’d known each other for close to five years, and he had been there throughout the hardest period of my life. What he did in that gay bar showed me how deep our connection was beyond the physicality.

In a place where looks became the currency, he cared less about it because it was me.

O at the bar. This is the author’s personal photo modified using a filter in Canva.

What We Talked About Behind Closed Doors

After a quiet 10-minute drive home to our villa, I asked him, “So, what did you think?”

He said not much had changed since his younger days. Being the center of attention would boost his ego and solidify his place at the top of the gay hierarchy (read: as a tall and good-looking man). The thrill no longer had the same effect on him. The attention made him somewhat uncomfortable because he had gotten that all his life.

He mentioned the Indonesian guy who sat in front of us as a clear example. He wouldn’t be surprised if the younger guy with a much older bule felt trapped in the relationship. He had to compromise a part of himself to be with a man twice his age.

He also brought up the men at the bar, whether they were looking at him or not. Those who went in hoping to get laid but ended up leaving empty-handed. Those who believed he was out of their league so they had no courage to make eye contact. And those who wondered what it was like to be with a man like him.

Those were the men he encountered in his younger years. And nothing had changed.

If I were one of the strangers at the bar, I would have been the combination of all three. I would be the one stealing glances, knowing he was out of my league, and wonder, “How does it feel to have a good-looking partner like him?” and would end up going home alone.

But I wasn’t a stranger to him. I was the one he came home with.

Gay people often say that the gay bar is the only place where they can be unapologetically themselves and safe. For me, it’s the place where my insecurity shoots to the roof because of my fear of being judged for the way I look.

Instead of spending time with O at the place where everyone judges everyone by their looks, I’d rather sit on the bed with him without anyone else around. I’d rather absorb his full knowledge of human behavior and be able to touch him and kiss him, or simply watch YouTube videos about renovating a bathroom, rather than being in a place full of strangers who see me as inferior to him.

While my visit with O didn’t offer anything new — the same drag shows, the same crowd, and the same vibe — it became clear that it had never been my scene, and would never be.