BeBar is not a WeBar....yet.

BeBar
1318 9th Street NW
(202) 232-7450


Electing to visit BeBar on a Thursday night for Hip Hop (most importantly $2 rail drinks and $2 Heinekens), my crew and I knew we’d be out of place. However, we didn’t know how out of place we would be.

Assuming BeBar was in the center of Chinatown we drove past the address twice before realizing BeBar was right where we were. Needless to say, it is not on the Chinatown “strip” so to speak. Keeping with the area’s tradition, the exterior of BeBar is unassuming at best. Walking into the door we were greeted by a friendly bouncer who masked his amusement that a bunch of white girls were rolling up to Hip Hop Night. Sweet.

No cover for girls, but the guys we came with were slapped with a $10 charge and frisked. Yes ladies and gentlemen, frisked. “Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.” Coat check at the front door is $3 and while we scoffed, it probably would’ve been helpful. A group had rented out the bar for a birthday party, complete with a Louis Vuitton cake and required white attire and so there was no spot to sit/throw a jacket down. Blackout Betty gripes, “People kept asking if we were with the party. It wasn’t an inviting atmosphere and I felt out of place.”

The crowd was polarized. Ghetto Fabulous and Gay Playboys were the two opposing groups and they did not mix. And then there was us. While they don’t explicitly state they are a “gay bar”, they are. Period.

The attire was skewed because of the white party. I mean it’s very rare to walk into a bar and have half the crowd sporting white tuxedos. The other half; the Gay Playboys were decked out in all the glitz and glamour of an Elton John concert. They certainly looked me up and down more than once and I kept thinking....”Is something wrong with my outfit?”



The bar was sleek, covered in stainless steel and tended by some certified hot bartenders. I was impressed with their clever shirts, white with huge black letters saying, “You came here for me.” Oh you saucy bartenders you. You are right. I came here for you, Mr. Knit Hat. Until I ordered a drink, you barely looked at me, shot down my small talk attempt and then, proceeded to bat eyelashes with the skinny male next to me. So that’s how you roll Mr. Knit Hat. Fair. Even though Mr. Knit Hat was not my soul mate he did his job. The drinks were strong and there were M&Ms on the bar. Very cool and definitely a little surprise. As I was getting eyeballed for my outfit I was helping myself to some chocolate to make myself feel better.

The one shining element of BeBar was certainly the decor. It was depressing that the crowd was so lackluster because the interior certainly wasn’t. It was chic, streamlined while still being eclectic. Bearskin rugs scattered the floor, alternating stools surrounded antique tables and modern lights hung from the ceiling. Walking further back, there is a mod dance floor with lime green lights. The music in BeBar was hip-hop but I definitely heard some Top 40 hits thrown in there. The vibe was pretty relaxed. A few people peppered the dance floor and I was tempted to join them. Awkwardly standing at the bar, holding my cranberry vodka and fluffy winter jacket was not exactly the way I wanted to spend my Thursday evening. Most of the patrons were mingling (within their own group), drinking and talking. We, however, didn’t stay long enough to make any friends. As Shak’n Not Stirr’d notes, “If you rented out this place for a party and had your crowd there, the decor and the cheap tricks would make BeBar the place to be.”

We walked away from BeBar with our stomachs full of $2 drinks, but I was still hungry for something. What COULD our Thursday night have been? If only...