[sic]

I went to a concert this weekend with my wife. We traipsed around Chicago, running the clock out until the show started—dinner, champagne, more champagne, then an Uber to the venue. I’m thankful we can go to shows again. Remember Covid?

Our Uber driver dropped us at Thalia Hall, a Romanesque expanse with arched vaults, soaring ceilings, and old-world grandeur that all draw your gaze toward the stage. I could see the plays, concerts, and speakers of the last century layered in that space. The craftsmanship and passion stand in stark contrast to today’s homogenized modernism. All those Modelos had me in my feels—then had me crossing my legs. Time to find a bathroom.

I step into the vestibule. There it is. But wait—there’s a man and a woman heading into the same restroom. Oh yeah, Chicago: gender-neutral bathrooms. I thought about looking for a men’s-only option, but my bladder had other plans.

I pushed the door open and was greeted by the familiar stench of concert-hall plumbing: piss and beer. This is no place for a lady. The powder room has been traded for an industrial wash closet. I half-expected a mud sink in the corner. Urinals stood behind saloon-style swinging doors for men and women with penises, while a row of stalls handled the rest. Normally, the thought of women washing their hands just a few feet away might have given me stage fright, but four tallboys stretching my bladder left no room for modesty.

Back through the swinging doors, I washed up at a communal trough sink. Efficient, sure, but disappointing—no counter space for women, or women with penises, to set their accoutrements for primping. Maybe that’s the tradeoff: the ideal of vanity for the ideal of living your truth.

Which circles me back to Covid. Is this the new normal? I hated masks and government overreach then, and I don’t want to be a hypocrite now by soapboxing this dead horse. But reciting the Pledge of Allegiance with my toddler last night made me think: “liberty and justice for all.” Liberty for some, sure—but for women and their delicate beauty, this feels like an injustice.

My solution? Three bathrooms: Men Only, Women Only, and The Personal Victory Room. Everybody wins.