Becoming Invisible

A sixty-something gay man’s visit to Provincetown

Photo courtesy of David Dietz

I was at the Boatslip, an indoor/outdoor bar in Provincetown’s West End, feeling like I was in a time warp. I hadn’t been to a gay bar in years, had rarely stood in a crowd since Covid. But I was outside in the fresh air, and I wondered how I would feel in a group of mostly young-to-middle aged gay men, when I had crossed the Rubicon of 60.

Walking in, hearing the familiar beat of Madonna’s “Lucky Star,” took me back to the ’80s and early ’90s, when I was still going to gay bars, and still dancing. I’d always loved to dance, and wasn’t self-conscious doing so. But I’d never mastered the unspoken code, the hidden or not-so-hidden glances, the flirting and small talk that more confident men seem to channel naturally in gay bars.

I can literally count the times (on one hand!) when I met someone in a bar that turned into a date, that promised romantic possibilities. Usually, I’d go to those bars alone and turn into a wall ornament, watching other guys connect, chat and dance suggestively while I imagined myself in their shoes. Without the chutzpah to approach a hot man I didn’t know, I waited for one of them to come to me — which almost never happened.

Flash forward 25 years, and I was back in P’town for a writing workshop. Taking a workshop gave me another…