On the wall, a lighted Michelob clock, the kind of artifact you find in a basement rec room, glows in grassy light, half of its innocent putting-green image replaced by a nude man in the midst of giddy priapic achievement. The bathroom doors are corrugated, like something from a junkyard, marked by signs that read: "One person at a time." Pacman/Galaga arcade game glows next to a Sopranos pinball machine that periodically announces "JIM" as its big winner. International Leather 1990, and Tom of Finland poses-everywhere Tom of Finland-pressed into the black walls so they look somehow melded there. The walls (also painted black) are decorated with Herb Ritts posters of muscle models, Mr. The ceiling is painted black, pockmarked by industrial staples still gripping gray fluff that once belonged to Halloween cobwebs. An old motorcycle hangs from chains over a red-felt pool table, a grimy baby doll strapped to its muffler. Known as the oldest levis-and-leather bar in the city, the " neighborhood friendly" Rawhide smells of beer and motor oil, or maybe it just seems to smell like beer and motor oil, because it should. A leather bar may or may not be the best example, but it is the type of neighborhood experience we want to be able to have, what Jane Jacobs called ‘the eyes on the streets’ all watching out for each other.”
And they knew every guy who walked into the Rawhide, and every guy that walked in the Rawhide knew them. And for many years there were Latino guys from the neighborhood who had a folding card table every Friday and Saturday night and played dominoes. “One of the things I loved about Chelsea is that on Eighth Avenue, there is the Rawhide bar-not a luxury product. Mayoral front-runner Christine Quinn just had this to say about the Rawhide to New York magazine in January:
The building that houses it on 8th and 21st in Chelsea was sold a couple of years ago and, according to our tipster with inside connections, the new landlord has jacked up the rent, nearly doubling it from $15,000 to $27,000 a month. Opened in 1979, the Rawhide is one of the last of a handful of old-school, unpretentious gay bars left in New York City.