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GASS GASS is very much a late-night venue. You don’t really start your evening here, you end up here, usually after Silom has already worked you over a bit. Tucked into a more intimate space, above white rabbit bar, it feels immediately different from the larger, more chaotic clubs. Lower ceilings, tighter floor, bodies closer together. There’s a sense that the night has narrowed its focus. Less wandering, more intention. The crowd skews 20s to 30s, well put together, slightly sharper than average. Not necessarily the biggest bodies, but definitely curated, good hair, good outfits, people who’ve chosen where they are and why. There’s a quiet confidence to it. What sets GASS apart is the presence of specially invited go-go dancers. These aren’t freelancers circulating the room. They’re part of the venue’s identity, in the corners, in the light, part of the choreography of the space. You watch them, they perform, but there’s a clear line. It keeps the atmosphere focused, almost theatrical at moments, without tipping into anything transactional. Crowds are invited to participate and touch. Music leans deeper into late-night territory. Less pop, more rhythm. Something you feel in your chest rather than sing along to. The kind of sound that makes conversations shorter and eye contact longer. And that’s really the point of GASS. It’s not sprawling. It doesn’t try to be everything. It compresses the night into something more intense but still fun. You dance closer. You notice more. You stay longer than you planned.

Apparently, 555 is still open despite every garotos and staff at Lagoa said otherwise. Just saw their updated Instagram a couple of days ago.

Back from Songkran and, honestly, still slightly dazed. If you’ve done Bangkok before, you think you know what’s coming. You don’t. This year felt… bigger. Denser. As if the city inhaled and then forgot to exhale. Silom, in particular, tipped over into something close to myth. One day had to be shut down entirely because the crowds simply became unmanageable. Not “busy”, not “packed”, properly overrun. Water, bodies, music, whistles, foam, heat. It stopped being a street and became a current you were carried along in. And the boys. OMG. Silom was thick with gleaming circuit party types, bronzed, oiled, and very aware of it. The sort of crowd that makes you stand up a little straighter, or at least consider doing a push-up later. Everywhere you looked: mesh tops, tiny shorts, water guns held like accessories rather than weapons. It felt curated, but not artificial. More like everyone had quietly agreed to bring their best game. Queues into the mainstays were, predictably, biblical. DJ Station and GOD had lines snaking well into the street, damp, impatient, but oddly cheerful. No one really minded. That’s part of the ritual. You queue, you flirt, you get splashed by strangers, you make temporary alliances. By the time you get inside, you already feel like you’ve been out all night. What’s changed, and what surprised me, is how much the scene has expanded. There are new venues now, not covered by the trip reports on this forum. Here are a few: Cake (bear bar) CAKE is one of those places you don’t quite notice at first… and then suddenly realise you’ve spent half the night there. Positioned as a bear bar, it fills a gap Silom didn’t quite have before. Not in the old-school, slightly tired sense, but in a way that feels deliberately warmer, more social, and a bit less performative than the usual circuit-heavy scene outside. Inside, the set-up is fairly straightforward. Compact, a bit dark, music at a level where you can still talk without shouting. The lighting is forgiving in the best possible way. It invites you in rather than putting you on display. You order a drink, you linger, you end up talking to someone. The crowd is exactly what you’d hope for: Bears, cubs, and plenty of admirers A fair number of 30s and 40s guys who look like they’ve outgrown the need to impress. Some younger visitors drifting in, curious, often staying longer than they planned. A sprinkling of circuit boys who, after a few nights of posing, seem quietly relieved to relax a bit. There’s a noticeable shift in tone compared to the rest of Silom. Less peacocking. More eye contact. People actually introduce themselves. Conversations last longer than one drink. It feels… human. During Songkran, CAKE leaned into its identity rather than competing with the madness outside. The pool party on the 13th of April was, by all accounts, exactly what you’d imagine and then a bit better. Not polished, not overly curated. Just a proper gathering. Think bodies of all shapes in the water, laughter cutting through the music, beers in hand, someone dancing a bit too enthusiastically, someone else cheering them on. Less about spectacle, more about participation. You could feel the contrast with the main Silom strip. Outside: hyper-toned, high-gloss, slightly intimidating. Inside CAKE: softer edges, easier smiles, a bit of mischief, a bit of flirtation that doesn’t take itself too seriously. It’s also one of the few places where you see generations mixing without tension. A guy in his early 30s chatting comfortably with someone in his late 40s. No hierarchy. No obvious social sorting. Just people… being there. Boy Camp This one deserves a proper mention because it signals where Silom is heading, not where it’s been. Boy Camp sits right in the middle of the action on Soi 2, but it doesn’t feel like a legacy venue. It feels new. Slightly more curated. Slightly more aware of itself. And very much built for the current generation of Asian gay nightlife. Physically, it’s a multi-level party bar with a compact but high-energy layout. Think three floors stacked vertically, each getting progressively more intense as you go up. Downstairs is more social, transitional space. Middle level starts to pulse. Upstairs is where it tips into full party mode. Music leans heavily into K-pop, Asian pop, and circuit-adjacent beats, which gives it a distinct flavour compared to the more Western-heavy playlists at DJ Station. The crowd reflects that shift. You get a lot of: Younger Asian guys, particularly Thai, Korean, Taiwanese Well-groomed, fashion-aware, slightly softer aesthetic than the classic circuit muscle crowd Groups of friends rather than lone cruisers A noticeable social-media polish… but still playful, not overly cold There’s a kind of “idol energy” to the place. Not intimidating, but very visually tuned. People here know how they look under lighting. What’s interesting is that Boy Camp isn’t primarily about cruising or even heavy drinking. It’s about energy, movement, and group dynamics. People dance in clusters. They flirt in waves rather than one-on-one. There’s a sense of collective rhythm rather than individual hunting. Compared to older Silom venues: Less chaotic than GOD Less chaotic but more curated than DJ Station Less transactional than the go-go style places historically tied to the Patpong area During Songkran, it becomes something else entirely. The street spills into the venue and the venue spills back into the street. You get soaked boys coming in, drying off, then going straight back out again. Water guns abandoned at the entrance. Shirts half-buttoned or gone entirely. The lighting hits wet skin in a way that feels almost staged. And because the crowd skews slightly younger and more Asian, the aesthetic shifts from “circuit brute” to something more sleek, agile, almost choreographed. Less about size, more about lines. Less about dominance, more about presence. If DJ Station is the institution and GOD is the pressure cooker, then Boy Camp is the new language Silom is learning. And judging by the queues forming outside it this Songkran, it’s a language people are very keen to speak. By the end of it, Silom felt less like a party and more like an event that briefly took over the city, something between a festival and a fever dream. Would I do it again? Absolutely.

I believe you. In fact I would expect you to find him lovely and charming. That has never been Maurice’s or my point. It is not how he treats his peers, but those in vulnerable positions.   As regards to his blog there is a recurrent pseudo-anthropological tone in it. He likes presenting himself as the man who sees the system clearly and refuses euphemism. But that “clarity” often just means he speaks about vulnerable young men in the idiom of selection, yield, and market sorting. Add to this a fixation on small price differentials, and a dislike of whatever constrains his ability to select. 

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