There once were no lesbian bars in Los Angeles. As a young dyke growing up in LA, it felt like there were no lesbians either. Today, there is one lesbian bar in Los Angeles. Dubbed “a wine bar for the sapphically inclined,” the Ruby Fruit is the lonesome establishment in my hometown made by and for lesbians. I was supposed to go on a first date at the Ruby Fruit last year, but it was either closed or too expensive or out of the way. Instead, my first time at LA’s only lesbian bar was over this past spring break. I went with my two best friends who were visiting me for the first time in Los Angeles. A large focal point of the trip was to take these two native New Yorkers to my favorite places in my hometown. We went to my favorite kitschy bars, my favorite local diners, my favorite vintage store, and then we went to the Ruby Fruit. And then we left the Ruby Fruit. Since I prefer dyke to sapphic, beer to wine, and kitsch to upscale, the Ruby Fruit was never going to be the lesbian bar for me.
Maybe our first mistake was going on a Saturday night. We were tired from a day of walking around and just wanted a nice, laid back experience. Instead, we entered a small bar packed like sardines with millennial lesbians. Forced to sit outside on a chilly evening with barely any bar space, my friends and I tried to make ourselves at home in what was basically a sectioned off area of the parking lot. At least there was a dog near us. Close by, we could hear a group of nicely dressed women and a very loud gay man talking about their upcoming Coachella plans. It became clear that we were not only the youngest queers at the bar, but the poorest too. Upon looking at the menu, my friends and I realized that we were about to spend more money on one glass of wine than we usually do for the Trader Joe’s boxed red wine that we swear by (which holds three bottles worth of drink!) As it turned out, with tip, I ended up spending more money than I make in two hours at my school job on my singular glass of rosé. If I’m looking at my glass (of rosé) half full, I guess I can be happy that there are lesbians in my hometown making enough money to comfortably spend $20 on a drink. Go us! But, if I’m being honest, the disparities I felt between my friends and the other patrons at the Ruby Fruit left me questioning my place in the Los Angeles lesbian community.
After drinking up my overpriced glass of rosé, I found myself having to pee. Wallowing through the overcrowded bar, I waded my way to the bathroom and waited in line. While waiting in line, staring at the wall of Post-it notes people left on the wall (ranging from exclamations of Free Palestine to advertisements for a sapphic nonbinary pickleball league), I saw patrons leave the bathroom with a little smirk on their faces. I didn’t know what these smiles were about until I entered the bathroom, which was blaring “Closer to Fine”. All of a sudden, I was safe on an Indigo Girls themed desert island, an ocean away from the overpriced sapphic millennial fever dream that is the Ruby Fruit. Surrounded by Indigo Girls memorabilia and a constant loop of Indigo Girls songs, I realized that I had finally found my place in the LA lesbian community; the bathroom. Where the cheap, trashy, and kitschy all come together, I realized that maybe the bathroom is where I belong as the Gen Z, dykey John Waters of the LA lesbian scene. And you know what? That’s closer to fine for me.
