Red Light, Real Life: Role Playing in Bangkok

Soi Cowboy is a street in Bangkok known for its “gogo bars”, a combination of strip club, bar, and brothel. Additionally, it’s famous for the trans-women who work there—known as “ladyboys”. I visited Soi Cowboy when I was 20 years old. I had never been to a strip club before, let alone a red-light district.

The red neon lights tinted the street and the faces along it pink. The bright storefront signs had happy-sounding names like “Oasis”, “Spice Girls”, and “Five Star Boy”.

Pop music clashed from every bar—too loud to dance to, too garbled to recognize. People screamed to talk.

The asphalt road teemed with gogo girls. They were young and no one looked over the age of twenty-five. They had almond eyes, lush and long straight black hair, and red-glossed lips.

They wore very little—small tops and small shorts clinging to exposed chests and slim waists. Black stilettos accentuated smooth legs.

They paraded near each gogo bar’s entrance. When I got too close, they grabbed my arm and whispered clumsy English in my ear.

“Hey young man, do you want good time?”

A sweet-scented perfume wafted into my nose. A hand gently glided down my forearm.

They were professionals, and they were fishing. Most men bit.

Male peddlers were on the hunt. Smelling of booze and tobacco, they would hound my friends and me.

“My friend, we have very good deals. Happy hour all night. Do you like girls? Boys? Both? Drugs? Cocaine? My friend, what do you want. I can help you.”

I chuckled to myself as we walked away. Everyone is a “friend” to a peddler.

I was glad I was not alone. Watching David play coy with the gogo girls made me laugh, and walking arm-in-arm with Janani made me feel safe—she was my protector.

However, no amount of protection could save me from the ladyboys. As we walked down the street, a fat one dressed in a fairy costume quickly approached me. With a wand in hand, he tapped my groin.

“Poof!” he shouted and giggled.

Seeing my shock and discomfort, he flapped away and disappeared (slowly). Maybe I’ve been under his spell ever since.

Unsurprisingly, Soi Cowboy’s clientele was predominately male, many of whom were twice or thrice my age. These graying men swarmed around the girls. I couldn’t refrain from judging them—what losers.

One man beside us must’ve been seventy, and the girl around his arms couldn’t have been older than twenty. I had to look away—how sickening.

But maybe I was being immature and self-righteous. After all, what gave me the right to be here and not them? Perhaps I was the one with issues.

I came into Soi Cowboy thinking red-light districts were dim, quiet, and secretive. I thought women would wear long silk dresses that draped to the floor. I thought it would be hypnotic, even cool.

But this place was a trashy arcade for adults. There was nothing to romanticize here. The lights were too bright, the sounds too loud, and the patrons too shameless. And like an arcade, Soi Cowboy was pay to play.

I was drunk, or maybe not drunk enough. I didn’t want to think about this anymore.

Luckily, David and Janani were in a happier and less ruminative mood. They wanted to check out the ladyboy bar that stood in front of us.

“For the experience!” they exclaimed as we entered.

Red leather booths lined the walls of the small crimson-tinted room. At the center, ladyboys danced on an elevated platform with mirror-polished poles.

We sat in the front and admired the best cosmetic surgery had to offer. Their breast implants were large, and their figures petite. Even at this distance, I had to admit—they looked shockingly feminine.

Naked transwomen twirled around me as I sipped my whiskey and coke. My friends were right. This was “an experience”.

After we had our fair share of the unconventional, we left and walked into a normal gogo bar. Inside, it was like an amphitheater, with multiple rows of incrementally elevated seats facing towards center stage. We sat near the back and ordered another round of drinks.

The gogo girls were wearing something strange on their bikini straps—numbered pins.

I turned to David and pointed to the woman on the far right. “Hey, why is she wearing that—number 42?”

“Oh, that’s like an ID. Do you see that person over there?” He pointed toward an older lady. “She’s like the manager here. People negotiate with her on how much.”

“Oh…I see.”

I took a long sip of my drink. The alcohol had settled in. Everything felt a bit softer, a bit slower.

David and Janani struck up a conversation, so I turned my attention to the dancers. I was getting bored until a new dancer caught my eye.

She was side-shuffling on stage, wearing high heels and a tight red satin dress. She was cute, with a soft, unassuming face. We made eye contact. I offered my best smile and waved her over.

She walked naturally, quite unlike the other girls who swung their hips with exaggerated sensuality. I moved a few seats away from my friends. When she sat down, her shoulder and thigh were almost touching mine. Her skin was smooth and fair.

I smiled and she did the same, revealing slightly crooked teeth. But behind our smiles, we were sizing each other up. I was wondering where this conversation would go. She was wondering what type of customer I would be.

“Hey, my name is Jordan!”

“Hello, I’m S!”

We cordially shook hands. Her eyes were large, round, and dark. She had bangs, a haircut I always thought was hard to pull off. But she looked great.

“Which part of Thailand are you from?”

She told me a name I couldn’t pronounce. I pretended like I knew where that was. She spoke English well.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

“California. Los Angeles.”

“Wow, California!” She paused for a few seconds. “Can you buy me a drink?”

“Sure, what do you want?”

“Tequila!”

I nodded my approval, and she walked over to the bar to grab the order. In Soi Cowboy, gogo girls get commissions off drinks. When she came back, we clanked and cheered.

“How long have you been working here?” I asked.

“Seven months.”

“Do you like it?”

“Mm-hm. I like it. What do you do?”

“I am a student. I study at the University of Singapore right now.”

“Wow! You look so young.”

“How old do you think I am?”

“I don’t know. Twenty-two?”

“I’m twenty,” I said proudly.

She looked somewhat shocked by my age. Maybe I was too young to be here.

“When you were in school, what did you like studying?” I inquired.

“Law. I wanted to be a lawyer.”

We chatted about her interest in law and then my future aspirations. Looking back, I’m sure that was the last thing she wanted to hear about. However, she seemed genuinely interested in what I was saying. She seemed like a kind person.

Eventually, I asked about her family.

“Do you have any siblings? I have three brothers.”

“I have five siblings,” she smiled.

“Five—wow, that’s a lot! Do you send money back home to your family?” I nosily asked.

“Yes, at least twice a month.”

“Do other girls here have similar situations?”

“Yes, most of them.”

She pointed at the dancers on stage and stared blankly at them. It was a sad, solemn look. Was she thinking about herself or them? I couldn’t tell. There was an awkward silence.

“Can you buy me another drink? Tequila?” S politely asked me.

I didn’t want to drink anymore, but I now felt bad for her.

“Yeah…of course,” I said clumsily.

She kept talking, but I wasn’t listening. I was drunk enough to ask what I really wanted to know.

“How much do you get when someone pays to sleep with you?”

“Six-thousand baht ($194). The bar gets seven hundred ($23),” she said as a matter of fact.

“And how many men have you been with during your time here?”

“I can’t tell you! You are not my boyfriend! I would stop working here if I had a boyfriend.”

She didn’t take offense—just laughed and grinned. I pried deeper.

“Would you date someone like me?”

“Yeah, but no. Would you take me to California? Get me a visa?”

“If I did, would you leave with me?”

“Yes.”

“You would leave Thailand behind, even your family?”

“Yes, I would go,” she said firmly.

I was shocked by her swiftness. It felt like she’d been waiting for me to ask.

I felt ashamed, realizing that I was merely playing tourist, teasing a lifeline when I really had nothing to offer—not a hand, not a lot of money, not even that much fun.

I dropped my head and stared at the rim of my glass. I didn’t know how to respond.

Noticing my slump, she raised both hands and gently pinched my cheeks. It was a warm tug, like how a mother pulls at a baby’s cheeks.

I looked up and met her soft gaze.

“How many people have asked you questions like this before?”

“Just you.”

“In all seven months? I am the only person to ask?”

“Yes.”

More silence ensued and I was soon lost in thought, wondering what her life was like.

I could imagine her younger siblings looking up to her, their eyes sparkling when they opened the money she sent back home. But maybe her dad gambled all that money away. I could see her returning to her tiny apartment amid a rising sun. She would sigh heavily when she counted the money on her bed. Not enough.

S noticed that I was no longer in the mood to talk. She whispered in my ear.

“We either need to go to the private rooms upstairs, or I have to go.”

“You should go,” I said numbly.

She nodded courteously and took her leave. I checked my watch—an hour had passed. I went back to my friends and told them I was ready to leave.

As I approached the exit door, I looked back to see her one last time. I desperately wanted there to be a moment in which we shared eye contact and nodded in unison, acknowledging that, at least for an hour, we had a listener.

But those types of moments belong to cinema. S was already engaged in another conversation, leaning into an overweight and middle-aged Asian man.

She was back at work.

I wanted to hate him. But I knew I’d just played the same part.

The only difference between us? I would ask more questions.

Outside, I sat on the curb where Janani gave me a cigarette. It was two in the morning, the night still young for Soi Cowboy.

Even today, I wonder if S told me the truth. If physical seduction sells, then verbal consolation probably does too. But even if her story was fiction, then it was at least realistic fiction.

Should I take everything I heard with a grain of salt? Maybe.

But sometimes, I’d rather be a fool than a fact-checker.

Soi Cowboy made me feel dirty. It felt like I was role playing.

I don’t think S was.

(February 2020)