Episode 4 features 20 something year-olds dressing up in onesies and going on a bar crawl.
Note from Mustafa: This episode is Rated J. J as in juvenile. The humor here may be too young for some of the new subscribers. Feel free to skip this episode and come back next week if this is not your cup of tea.
Onesie Night was a simple concept I came up with when I was walking around Bay 2 Breakers with a onesie on—it’d be a lot of fun to get a bunch of people dressed up in onesies and go on a bar crawl.
Here’s the logic behind how I got to my conclusion:
- Getting a group of people dressed up on theme and going out is a guaranteed fun time
- It’s hard to convince folks to dress up on theme, even in San Francisco which dresses up for partying more so than anywhere in the U.S. other than possibly New Orleans
- Onesies provide an easy way to dress up on theme
Sound logic to me.
I knew I needed a co-conspirator on this mission to help convince others to partake in Onesie Night. I approached my amigo Alex with the concept, and he was immediately on board.
Admittedly, it was tough to get people to dress up for the first onesie crawl. This was in 2014, well before party promoters were putting together ticketed onesie crawls (I’m not saying they got the idea from us, but …). Friends were intrigued, but had that fear of, "What if I show up in a onesie, and no one else is dressed up?" We ended up with as many people in costume as we did in street clothes that first night.
By the second Onesie Night, however, it was on. We were rolling 20 deep.
With each Onesie Night, Alex and I planned a bar crawl through a different neighborhood. For the fifth edition of Onesie Night, there was one neighborhood I had in mind that we had yet to venture into: the Castro.
One of my issues with San Francisco is while it’s known as a bastion of gay culture, if you’re a straight male, you likely don’t have any gay friends. Sure you may know a couple of gay dudes through work, or your girlfriend, but you’re not hanging out with them, and they’re not hanging out with you.
To that end, straight men never go out in the Castro, San Francisco’s storied gay district. It’s one of those weird SF quirks. Yeah, you may go through it on your way to the Mission, or maybe dip in real quick to Hot Cookie, but to go to a bar in the Castro? Stop it. That ain’t happening.
Hence, Onesie Night: Castro Edition.
After we held a pre-game at Alex’s apartment, we headed to Lookout, a bar I’ve been eyeing for years. Lookout is notable because of its large outdoor balcony overlooking Market Street, the main thoroughfare that runs through the middle of San Francisco. The balcony itself is very rare for an SF bar, and on top of that, anytime I’ve been by Lookout, there are always bros out there having a blast.
I’d enviously think, “I’m a bro. I enjoy a beverage on a balcony. Where’s my invite?”
We arrived at Lookout around 9:30 to a fairly sparse crowd. As I’m waiting to get my first drink, I noticed across Lookout’s long oval bar a cherubic face with a mop of blonde hair staring right at me. He was smiling, and it was a big wide grin.
This is normal—a bunch of people walking into a bar with onesies tends to have that effect on people, but this person, this person was different. I think I know him?
Where do I know him from though? I started to walk closer, as my brain rapidly scanned this man’s face searching for a match with his data file.
Oh lord, it’s Greg.
I met Greg my freshman year at U.C. Berkeley. Greg was convinced that I was both gay and trying to get with him. I had to tell him multiple times that his gaydar was slightly off, but he was resolute in his convictions. (This all started when I accepted an invite from him to see "An Inconvenient Truth." Who knew agreeing to watch Al Gore give a PowerPoint presentation was a sign of romantic interest? That's Berkeley for ya.)
Moving forward 10 years, imagine you’re Greg. You’re with your friend having a beer at one of the most well-known gay bars in the city.
In walks a bunch of people with onesies on. One of them has his onesie only buttoned up to his navel (onesies can get hot indoors). At the top of that body is a face you recognize … from Berkeley … Mustafa?
He must’ve been thinking, “I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT BEFORE HE WAS READY TO COME OUT!”
After I made my way over to Greg we said our basic pleasantries. I then did my best to explain to him what we were doing with Onesie Night.
He had what I’d call a knowing look. “Of course, you’re in a onesie, and of course, you’re at Lookout. Your secret is safe with me.” To be honest, given the circumstances, I couldn’t blame him.
Once I wrapped up my 10-year college reunion with Greg, I finally made my way out onto Lookout’s balcony. It was a bit underwhelming, to be honest. The vantage point for people watching was great, but the energy wasn’t there. We were too late for the day drinkers and too early for the night crowd.
When I made my way back indoors there was a performer in a thong who had gotten up on the stripper pole that I completely did not realize was there. It was going to be an interesting night at Lookout, but a bar crawl is only a crawl if it has multiple stops, and we had two more to make before the night was out.
Our next stop was Badlands, of which Alex nor I have any recollection of entering. After that, we went to Toad Hall, which was to be our third and last stop for the night.
If possible, we always liked to finish the crawl at a bar that had a dance floor. At the end of the night, with everyone liquored up, it was time to boogie. From the research Alex and I did online, Toad Hall was one of the better spots to go to for that in the Castro.
At the front door of Toad Hall, I had a bit of a back and forth with the bouncer. There was a cover charge, which I disagreed with. Inexplicably it cost $3 to enter Toad Hall. I insisted with the bouncer that I should either be able to get in for free or have to pay $5. He disagreed and I eventually paid $3.
Toad Hall was exactly what we were looking for. It was bumping that night. Packed house. Disco ball up top. The dance floor was going. I could use fewer Katy Perry songs, but hey, that's a small issue in the grand scheme of things.
Toad Hall also had an outdoor patio that was packed with all the dudes who were too cool to dance. I was glad to see that whether you’re straight or gay, shit is basically the same.
(Side Story: There was one noteworthy incident that happened on the patio. One of my roommates, Hannah, is always looking to help people out. She saw a couple who seemed a little lost and asked them if they needed help. They were tourists looking for cocaine, but unsure how to obtain it.
Hannah, who has done her fair share of blow, knows exactly the look of a person who is in that line of business. In a couple of minutes, she was able to pick out a seller and help the couple with their transaction. Onesie Night is for the people!)
Back inside, the dance floor was still rocking. The onesie crew carved out its own space and was getting after it.
I’m sweating up a storm, and my unicorn onesie is completely unbuttoned. Alex was doing his chicken wing dance, which is his telltale sign that he’s feeling the vibe.
At some point, another bar-goer slid on in and started dancing with the group of onesie goers I was dancing with. He was notably short, around 5’ or so.
He slowly inched his way towards me until he was within arm’s length. It was a little random that he picked me out of the bunch, but I figured if he wants to groove, we can groove for a song.
Towards the end of the song is where things started going south. The following events occurred over the span of 10 seconds, but in the state I was in, they felt like a solid minute.
Out of nowhere, he reached out towards me. He took hold of the top of my boxers and yanked them down a few inches. With my onesie fully unbuttoned, and his height, he had a clear path. (Plus, my reflexes and cognitive ability were moving way too slow to react.) I’m watching this go down, and then—wait is that my flaccid penis just in the open air?
I looked back at the prankster, and he was already making his exit. In just a couple of seconds, he had slipped into the crowd. I’m trying to track where this little devil ran off, but it’s of no use with how packed—wait a second. That tingling sensation is what my penis feels like when it is out in the open air.
I turned my gaze downward, and my penis is still out on the dance floor? OH SNAP! MY PENIS IS OUT ON THE DANCE FLOOR.
I pulled my boxers up hurriedly. I looked to the left and one of the other onesie goers is just aghast at the sequence that played out. I’m looking at her, but she’s still looking at where my penis was.
I felt mildly violated, and yet, it was Onessiiieeee Niiiggghhhhttt! Things tend to get weird.
I went over to Alex and was trying to make sense of it all. He was laughing in an uncontrollable drunk way. After a few minutes and another drink with him, I was back on the dance floor enjoying myself. I more or less forgot it happened.
Onesie Night usually ended in bed in the company of another, and this night was no different. I know it sounds ridiculous, but there’s something about coordinating a group of people in onesies that women find strangely attractive.
At a previous Onesie Night, a woman even went as far as to share with me that she specifically targeted me because I was leading the crew. I will say, it is nice to be the one on the receiving end of the outreach as opposed to doing the outreach and getting denied 96% of the time.
In the weeks that followed, I told the story of Onesie Night to others. A handful of women were horrified by what happened in regards to my penis being out on the dance floor. Not because my penis is so unsightly, but more so because they considered what happened to be a form of sexual assault.
Now six years later in 2022, yeah, I can certainly see their perspective. While I didn’t perceive it to be that way, I do want to mention it so this episode doesn’t come across as me encouraging y’all to whip out your friends’ penises when you’re on the dance floor to see where the night takes you.
That being said, if you’re inspired to do your own Onesie Night, go for it. Just make sure to drop into the Castro only after you’ve hit a few other neighborhoods first.
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On Episode 5 of "712 Hayes" ... meet the King of Hayes! One man held it down in our building for 22 years before a series of surprising events forced him to move out.
Have a friend who likes to wear a onesie to sleep? Can you forward this episode to them? Sharing is caring!
This is also a good time to announce that Alex and I are tentatively planning a Onesie Night for April.
This episode was edited by Matt Goodgal. Blame all grammatical errors on him.