The End of Honky-Tonk Burlesque at the Riptide

The red glitter stripe across the homemade sign above the Riptide bar shimmers in blue light in the photograph on my cracked screen. I zoom in to accurately report on whether the mermaid hanging on the wall beside it has nipples or is, in fact, strapped into a seashell bra, when I notice something that makes me want to sing a sad country diddy. 

There, on the right-hand side in perfectly curlycue handwriting: “Established in San Francisco 2011.” All over again, my heart is broken. 

The Honky-Tonk Burlesque Show, billed as the Best Burlesque Show West of 46th Ave, will no longer grace the bar top at the Outer Sunset dive bar next to the beach. Over a decade of poking fun at tradition, out the window. This stinks.

I was first introduced to the show in the springtime several years ago. Among the tits and tassels I found joy in watching performances that made me feel everything from rage at the evils of mankind to joy at the plushy parts of my body society taught me to hate. Now, it is nearly autumn, and there won’t be a warm little heaven off Taraval where I can tuck in for a 6pm spectacle served with a strong G&T. Those limes have all been squeezed out, dears, and there’s nary a tonic to sooth the heartache I feel.

Much has been said about the changes on the west side of San Francisco. Some say it’s gentrifying, or diversifying, or whatever loaded word you want to use to describe an impossible-to-ignore change. And change, of course, isn’t always a bad thing. But this doesn’t count. This is, without a doubt, like Christmas morning being canceled.

In each carefully curated show I attended (and I aimed to go as regularly as clockwork), sASSy brought new faces and moves and numbers to the bartop. Once, a dancer kicked a hanging pendant lamp and glass glittered down as it rained on the splash zone. Another time, the ukuleles kept us singing while the toilet backed up and a patron helped clear it. Always, the little dive bar by the former Great Highway gave us a story to take from the sleepy little fogzone to the rest of the big brassy City by the Bay. 

Dear reader, The Ringmaster herself, producer and host sASSy Hotbuns, confirmed this week that our treasured show of sin and joy has simmered away. No more soft feathers floating down among the bartenders, no more garters or chemises tossed and flung on our faces. No Babraham Lincoln (@thegettysburgundress) or Shiza Minnelli (@therealshizaminnelli) or Lady Satan (@lady_satan_artist) to delight us. And worst of all, no sASSy (@sassy_hotbuns) to introduce us to these delights. 

Within minutes of seeing sASSy’s announcement I share the news of the staffing changes that have led to Honky Tonk’s demise with my friends. Some of the Riptide regulars, like Juan, already know. “Yea it sucks,” he says. “In [this change] they lost all the magic sASSy brought.” 

sASSy will truck on. She bartends and produces at other venues, and you can follow her online to see where her magic returns. But this is the end, the sudden and brutal death thrust, of a beloved Westside ritual. 

Long live Honky-Tonk Burlesque. Long live the Avenues. Long live sASSy’s magic.