Gay Dating Doesn’t Have to Be Fucking Drinks
Look, we’ve all been there. Another gay date, another dimly lit bar, another overpriced drink in your hand while you pretend to care about what some guy’s Spotify Wrapped says about his trauma. You’ve done the dance—the eye contact, the compliments, the “Oh, you’re into that too?”—only to walk out an hour later feeling like you just auditioned for a role you didn’t want in the first place.
Here’s the truth: most gay dates are lazy as fuck.
And it’s not your fault. We inherited a dating playbook built on straight norms and bar culture. Grindr replaced meet-cutes. Cocktails replaced conversation. And somewhere along the way, we forgot we were allowed to want more than just a warm body and a cold drink.
But here’s the thing—when gay dates don’t revolve around drinking? That’s when shit starts getting interesting. That’s when sparks turn into stories. You start to actually see the person across from you—not just their pecs or their pronouns—but their weird sense of humor, their soft spots, the part of them that wants to be seen.
Maybe it’s wandering through a queer art show, both of you pretending to know what the fuck “post-industrial ecosexuality” means. Maybe it’s cooking a meal together, burning the rice, laughing your asses off, then eating it anyway. Maybe it’s biking through the city like you’re 14 again, no plan, no map, just wind and possibility.
And yeah, maybe it ends in a kiss. Or sex. Or maybe it ends in a hug, and a plan to do it again. The point is—it was real.
Because at the end of the day, dating—especially queer dating—shouldn’t be a performance. It should feel like life. Messy, loud, surprising, tender as hell. The good kind of chaos.
So fuck the formula. If drinks are your thing, cool. But if you’re tired of the script, rip it up. You’ve got a whole damn world to explore. Might as well do it with someone who sees you for all that you are.
The “Quiet, But Not Boring” Date
Start at some dusty-ass indie bookstore where the floor creaks and no one looks at you funny for being gay. Browse together. Talk shit about the self-help section. Pick a queer novel and pretend you're gonna read it. Then hit a paint-your-own-pottery spot. Make a mess. Fuck perfection. Finish it off with greasy noodles from a late-night spot with sticky tables and good stories.
Why it works: You’re creating something instead of trying to impress each other. It’s not about the mug. It’s about the moment.
The “Let’s Get Sweaty (In a Fun Way)” Date
Meet up with caffeine in hand. Rent bikes, no helmets because you like living dangerously. Ride through a part of town you’ve never bothered to explore. Talk shit about the condos. Stop for ice cream. Take dumb pictures. End up somewhere weird—like a cemetery or a pier. Sit down. Breathe. Let the silence do some of the work for you.
Why it works: You’re side by side, not face to face. It’s easier to be real when you’re moving.
The “We’re Horny, But Also Human” Date
Start with a drag show or something ridiculous. Order something messy. Let your hands do a little talking. After, hit up a sex shop—not to buy anything (unless you want to)—but to look. Ask the weird questions. Talk about kink. Or don't. Just be honest. Laugh. Touch. Then walk. Don’t force anything. If it ends in a kiss, great. If it ends in pizza, even better.
Why it works: You’re allowed to want sex and connection. They’re not fucking opposites.
The “Let’s Actually Talk” Date
Find a queer coffee shop, preferably one that plays sad girl music and has good plants. Sit somewhere uncomfortable on purpose. Ask better questions. Not “what do you do?” but “what’s the last thing that broke you open?” Go deep. Go slow. Hit a queer museum or gallery. Learn some history, some pain, some power. Sit somewhere quiet after. Say nothing for a while. That’s part of the date too.
Why it works: Vulnerability is sexy. Real talk is rare. And silences that don’t feel weird? That’s chemistry.
The “Loud, Messy, Beautifully Queer” Date
Dress up. Not for them—for you. Sequins, mesh, leather, nails. All of it. Go thrifting. Try on shit you’d never wear to work. March in Pride. Hit a queer flea market. Dance until your legs scream. Take blurry selfies. Kiss in public. Be loud. Be soft. Be proud. And eat something terrible on the curb at 2am.
Why it works: Because queerness isn’t subtle—and neither is joy.
Dates shouldn’t feel like interviews or job applications for someone else’s idea of love. They should feel like you lived something. Like you shared breath, sweat, laughter, silence, maybe even a little fear. If you walked away from a date and it meant something? That’s the whole fucking point.
So skip the drinks if they’re boring you. Find the weird, the warm, the wonderful shit. Make your own rules. Fall in love or don’t. Just give a damn.
