The 411 About Propaganda

It was a Friday night, and Jacob and I figured that we really needed to kick-up our heels, gay it up and paint the town pink.  The concierge at the W Hong Kong suggested a club called Propaganda.  Sounds like a good name for a gay club, right?  Well, that’s what I thought until we went looking for it.

We walked back and forth, up and down this crowded three block stretch of road that was absolutely bustling with people who at first glance appeared to be gay, but upon closer inspection were British (a common enough mistake).  Finally, I asked for directions and found-out the street we were looking for was more of an alley, and had been paved with jagged boulders in what I estimate to have been the turn of the last century.  After precariously “walking” down the hill (I was wearing a fabulous pair of pointy-toed Bottega Veneta ankle-boots, but as divine as they were on terra firma, they weren’t terrific for maneuvering down a steep incline of craggy rocks), Jacob yelled that he’d found it.  Sadly, what he’d “found” turned-out to be the garbage bin for the club.  BUT, on the other side and down a bit further, we found another alley that went under some scaffolding with a sign and an arrow.  We’d come that far, so we turned down the grimy alley, cockroaches crunching under my beautiful boots, and made our way to the club.

Jacob at Propaganda

Sleeping on the job – Ladies’ Room attendant at Propaganda

At last!  Propaganda!  There were two guys at the door who shook us down for roughly $30 each as a cover charge that included our first round of drinks (or in our case – two drinks for Jacob).  As soon as we walked in, we knew something was up.  Maybe we were early, Jacob speculated (always the optimist, that one).  We got to the bar, and as our eyes adjusted to the lighting, we noticed the other patrons at the bar were three young girls (early 20s give or take).  OMG!  Not only was this not a particularly happening venue, but it was absent the requested gays.  Not even a drag queen named Paddy Rice or Ming Vahze!  So, after Jacob finished his drinks, he looked at me and said “You really want to go, huh?” It was rhetorical, as I was already halfway out the door.

Now, I have done quite a bit of online research subsequent to that evening, and it seems like Propaganda was, at one time, all the haps.  Now, however, it’s  succumbed to being what my Dad would refer to as “yesterday’s newspaper.” Just to give you an idea of how NOT happening Propaganda was, when we passed the Ladies' Room on our way out, I noticed that the bathroom attendant had FALLEN ASLEEP on her stool, despite the throbbing music.  If a picture truly is worth a thousand words, this is all the propaganda you need about Propaganda!