By T Von D.
Lesbian dating is like playing chicken, at least for me.
Both parties have to run at each other, and it’s less about who flinches last and more about smashing into each other; it takes two-sided proactiveness.
The pandemic did a number on everyone’s social scene and social abilities. I emerged from my apartment after literal years with the realization that the foundations of my queer scene had been weakened, and I had to throw myself out there if I wanted to be the best lesbian I could be. I had to look around and ask, “Where are the lesbians hanging out in San Francisco?”
I felt I’d aged out of Jolene’s, that El Rio was best for summer parties, and that any weekly events I knew at Castro bars from the before-times were all gone. U-Hauling — which for us is the phenomenon of instantaneous coupling — makes a lot of sense when you consider how fleeting the opportunities for lesbian dating are.
But there is light on the horizon for queer people everywhere, and it comes in the form of a funny little app called Lex. It’s on Lex that I found my first post-pandemic date and entered a new realm of homo-social interactions.
“If it’s queer, it’s here.” It’s the tagline for the newest local conversation app. When I try to describe this app to people, I say, “it’s like Yik Yak!” and then they say, “What’s Yik Yak?” and then my opinion of them changes.
Lex is an indie app — queer owned and operated — that circulates posts made by users in a certain radius for the purpose of building queer community. Profiles can be as anonymous as you like. You can create a chat room or use one of your six monthly posts to fish for direct conversation.
Like a virtual community cork board in a cafe, text posts are the only thing you will see besides individual profile pictures. The only outside connectivity is the option to link your Instagram. In comparison to other apps Lex is very limited in what it can do but within the perimeter of these limitations the user base is beginning to thrive.
No longer are we limited to listing our attributes and carefully crafting dating profiles, on Lex you must let your freak flag fly. Local lesbians in your area are cracking jokes, advertising obscure events, and being horny on main. Are you T4T? Dyke4Dyke? Very femme, very butch, are you into leather; do you like hiking? You can say so on Lex. How refreshing it is to be unfiltered and uncensored, and how much easier that makes finding queer connections.
Dating apps try their best to facilitate conversation, but the public platform of Lex allows you to circle each other like sharks; the more posts you make, the more likely you are to be a real person, after all.
I have been on Lex for about two years now, using it mainly for entertainment, and the semi-anonymity had given me the confidence to ask another Lex cutie out. The pool is filled not with strangers online, but with queer people in my community who I could get to know through the random posts we all make. My date and I actually engaged in very little conversation before we decided to meet up for drinks and what better place to have a nearly blind internet sourced date than the Mission’s newest lesbian bar, Mother.
So I braved the chilly winter, bundled in a borrowed wool coat and teetering on heeled boots I rarely wear, I put my best femme foot forward and stepped into Mother. The glory of a room full of queer women! Instantly I could tell the vibe was different from other queer women’s spaces I’d been to in the city, more relaxed, more mature, open and friendly. I headed to the back, scoped out the place.
Mother has a cozy and dark atmosphere, and on this night it was only a little crowded. After a couple minutes I found them, my date, a vision in stripes and curly hair piled on their head. First dates are often awkward, but I refused to let that be the case. I had already exposed what a weirdo I was on the app after all. We got our drinks and settled in at an intimate table for two.
What can I say about what happened — It was an extremely lovely date and neither of us got murdered! Which really is the best case scenario for random online meet-ups.
Everything else was pretty normal: we talked, we got to know each other. I’ll note though that in the environment of Mother, we were blessedly undisturbed. Yes, even in gay bars sometimes you can’t get away from a man you don’t know casually touching you. We all coexist under the LGBTQ umbrella and within each other’s spaces, and I’ve personally always felt welcomed in the gay men’s scene, but stepping into a queer women’s space just sets a whole different vibe.
After a standard session of drinks and chatting, we exited the club for a brisk walk through the Mission at night. We texted after that night but a second date never materialized. I still have fond memories of that night, and I’m glad Lex brought us together. I’m still posting a lot. My heart is still out there, and I have hope for what’s next.
T Von D. is a local museum worker and lesbian.
