Diego O.
Google
Last Sunday, I paid twenty dollars just to walk into Eagle NYC. The doorman greeted me with unnecessary rudeness, dismissing me simply because I was clueless about the occasion, and looked a little distracted for that night’s theme. The doorman’s bad attitude set the tone before I even made it upstairs. On the second floor, the scene was a raw marketplace of flesh, shirtless men circling restlessly in search of sex. That’s nothing new at that venue, but I wasn't expecting a meat market on a Sunday night. I wanted to enjoy the evening calmly, maybe have a drink, have a conversation, but that wasn’t the rhythm the bar was offering. I could see myself going back for a social leather-themed event only. I have my own gear and I’m familiar with some faces. But beyond that, the dynamic of relentless pursuit isn’t for me. The night before, though, was a different story. My time at Ty’s was extraordinary. The atmosphere was social, the crowd was approachable, and I felt entirely at ease. Ty’s reminded me that a bar can still be about connection beyond sex. Given the rapid speed of gentrification in Chelsea, I give NYC Eagle five more years before it ceases operations. That’s why they are milking the cow as much as they can with the high charges.