Drew Gilbert

THE OLDER I GET, THE LESS I WANT TO BE IMPRESSIVE.

When I was young, I wanted to be famous.

Not kind.

Not wise.

Not peaceful.

Famous.

I remember telling my parents when I moved to New York that I was going to make it no matter what.

They told me I’d never do it.

And if I somehow did?

I’d regret it because I’d spend my life alone.

At the time I thought they were wrong.

Now I think they were only half wrong.

In 2001 I walked away from a good job managing a Bombay store on Long Island making about $65,000 a year.

I packed up my life and moved to New York City to chase a dream.

Like most people in their twenties, I thought I could have everything.

The dream.

The career.

The family.

The relationships.

The stability.

Turns out life doesn’t really work that way.

Every dream comes with a price tag.

For a DJ, that price is usually time.

Birthdays.

Holidays.

Weddings.

Weekends.

Relationships.

You spend years watching everyone else gather while you’re boarding another flight.

And if you’re lucky?

You get to live the life you dreamed about.

I’ve played around the world.

I’ve remixed artists I grew up listening to.

I’ve performed for crowds I never imagined I’d stand in front of.

I’ve seen countries I never would have visited if I’d stayed home.

I’ve met thousands of people.

Maybe I made it.

Maybe I didn’t.

I’ll let you decide.

What I know for sure is that I don’t regret seeing the world.

I don’t regret taking the chance.

But these days?

The things I want have changed.

I love nights at home with Pooh.

I love my routines.

I love the small handful of people in my life.

I love waking up in my own bed.

I love peace.

Don’t get me wrong.

I still love DJing.

I still love performing.

I’d love a few more good years behind the decks before I eventually hang up the headphones.

But somewhere along the way I stopped wanting to impress people.

And started wanting a life that feels good when nobody is watching.

Funny how long it can take to figure out the difference.

❤️

Drew Does Dallas

One Of The Most Important Friendships of My Life Started in a Bathhouse.

Let’s discuss bathhouses kiddos.

Every time I mention that I don’t go anymore, a few guys inevitably slide into my DMs to tell me I’ve become a prude.

Which honestly makes me laugh.

Because just because I’ve become selective doesn’t mean I’ve become boring.

It just means I stopped settling.

These days I’d rather have no connection than a mediocre one.

I’d rather go home alone than spend my time with someone I’m only halfway interested in.

That’s probably the biggest difference between 43-year-old Drew and 23-year-old Drew.

Because for most of my life?

I was wild.

For twenty years I traveled the world DJing.

I played afterhours.

Circuit parties.

Pool parties.

Pride festivals.

I was around all of it.

Then somewhere around 40 it was like a switch flipped.

My priorities changed.

My relationship with s*x changed.

My relationship with myself changed.

Which is funny because after spending years struggling with anorgasmia and finally making real progress, you’d think I’d be making up for lost time.

Instead I’ve become even more selective.

Because now that something feels valuable again, I don’t want to share it with just anybody.

But here’s the thing people get wrong.

Bathhouses were never really about s*x for me.

They were about possibility.

The chase.

The anticipation.

The mystery.

The feeling that literally anything could happen.

Most of the time I wasn’t even hooking up.

I was too shy.

Still am, honestly.

People see the DJ.

They see the guy on stage.

The guy who’s traveled the world.

What they don’t see is that I’ve always been painfully introverted.

So while everyone imagines me running around a bathhouse collecting phone numbers like Pokémon cards, the reality was usually me laying by the pool, hiding behind sunglasses, people watching.

Most of the time I was too afraid to approach anybody.

But I met some incredible people.

One of my best friends came from one of those places.

We hooked up once.

As he was leaving the room I looked at him and said:

“You’re gonna think I’m crazy, but I have a feeling we’re supposed to be best friends.”

He laughed.

Shrugged.

Left.

A few weeks later we bumped into each other.

Then again.

Then again.

Before long a friendship developed.

Years later he’s still one of my closest friends.

Life is weird like that.

I’ve always had moments like that.

People think I’m nuts when I talk about it.

But sometimes I see things before they happen.

Nothing dramatic.

Nothing movie-worthy.

Just little moments.

One day I was walking home from the train and suddenly pictured myself bumping into a couple, knocking coffee out of a guy’s hand, and then them asking me where the farmers market was.

Ten seconds later it happened exactly that way.

Another time I was grocery shopping with one of those awful carts that sounds like a dying lawnmower.

A woman gave me a look and I joked:

“Yeah, I know. But it’s not like a better cart is waiting at the end of the aisle.”

I turned the corner.

There was a better cart sitting there.

Stuff like that happens to me all the time.

Maybe it’s intuition.

Maybe it’s coincidence.

Maybe my brain is just weird.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

But back to bathhouses.

Whether people like them or not, they’re a massive part of gay history.

Long before Grindr.

Long before Scruff.

Long before Instagram.

Bathhouses were some of the only places where gay men could gather openly.

They weren’t just places for s*x.

They were community spaces.

Social spaces.

Places where people could be themselves without constantly looking over their shoulder.

In New York during the 1970s, the legendary Continental Baths became one of the most important gathering places in gay culture.

Before she became a superstar, Bette Midler performed there regularly while Barry Manilow played piano.

Think about that.

One of the biggest entertainers in the world got her start singing to gay men in a bathhouse.

Then AIDS arrived.

And everything changed.

Bathhouses became the center of one of the biggest and most painful debates in gay history.

Some closed.

Some adapted.

Some disappeared forever.

But whether you love them or hate them, you can’t tell the story of gay liberation without talking about them.

As for bathhouse etiquette?

Respect comes first.

Always.

No means no.

Silence means no.

Looking away means no.

Nobody owes you attention.

Nobody owes you conversation.

Nobody owes you s*x.

If somebody isn’t interested, leave them alone and keep moving.

And for the love of God, shower.

Finally, my favorite bathhouse memory.

Many years ago during Pride I paid off the front desk attendant at Club Dallas to let Domino’s deliver pizzas inside.

About thirty of us crammed into the mirror room and absolutely destroyed those pizzas.

Grown men climbing over each other for slices like civilization had collapsed.

For fifteen glorious minutes it looked less like a bathhouse and more like raccoons having a feeding frenzy behind a dumpster.

No s*x.

No drama.

Just laughter.

Honestly, that’s probably the part people outside our community never understood.

Sometimes the most meaningful thing about gay spaces wasn’t the s*x.

It was the friendships.

The freedom.

The feeling that for a few hours you could stop pretending to be somebody else.

And that’s a piece of gay history worth remembering.

❤️

Drew Does Dallas