It's Cool Because...

One of my neighborhood bars, Temperance Hall, has recently been sold to the owner of The Wonderland Ballroom, another neighborhood bar. This event has apparently caused quite a stir in the circles that care about such things, spawning a flurry of local blogging at Prince of Petworth, DCist, City Paper, The Washington Post, and probably every other drunk blogger in this city.

The number of people who've commented about this story on the various blogs is astonishing, considering that all the times I've been to Temperance Hall, there have rarely been more than a dozen people there. The prevailing opinion seems to be of concern or downright disgust - to the effect that Temperance Hall is cool, Wonderland is not, and the changing of the guard will certainly ruin it.

Now, most people would agree that Wonderland has been a great boon to the neighborhood. When they opened just over three years ago, they were a lone outpost on the corner of 11th and Kenyon in a neighborhood that was just starting to revitalize. Wonderland was an immediate neighborhood favorite - the quintessential hipster hangout, unknown, out of the way. It's a grungy but friendly place, with a funky relics adorning the walls from many other long-since-gone DC businesses, an extensive beer list, food that's good enough, and a jukebox. It's popularity grew pretty quickly, especially as Columbia Heights' transformation got into full swing in the last year or so. Weekend nights usually find Wonderland overflowing with all sorts of characters, ranging from tattooed regulars to pink-polo-shirt preppies who look like they made a wrong turn on their way to Georgetown, to old timers who've lived in Columbia Heights since before I was born. And there's certainly no shortage of bridge-and-tunnel folks either.

This seems to be the problem. I can guarantee that the majority of Wonderland's current detractors were either regular patrons two years ago, or they just didn't hear about it until it was already popular. So what's the problem? Wonderland hasn't really changed a lot since the day it opened its doors. Matt and Rose can still be found there sharing a drink and chatting up the bar on any given night. With the exception of Friday and Saturday late night, you can still pretty much find a seat at the bar any time. But the difference is it's not a secret any more.

Wonderland seems to have fallen victim (if you can call being wildly successful being a victim) of this baffling paradox in which once something becomes popular, it's no longer cool. In the eyes of the detractors, it's jumped the shark -- simply because everyone knows about it. It's not that you can't get a seat at the bar most of the time, or find a friendly conversation, or that they changed in any way whatsoever as a result of their success -- it's just that it's not a secret any more.

What exactly is the basis for this attitude? It's hardly an unfamiliar situation - the underground band finally hits it big, so you can't like them any more. If some fashion trend that you grabbed onto becomes popular, time to ditch it. Basically, if enough other people know about or are into something that you are into, then it's done.

I guess part of it is the idea of wanting to be different, wanting to be part of a private club. But the idea of changing your preference about something simply because other people like the same thing seems so shallow to me. So Wonderland isn't a secret any more-- with the exception of the crazy weekends, the experience is unchanged. Does your favorite band really start playing different tunes just because more people like them? (Well, we can discuss the "sell out" notion another time... but Wonderland certainly has not "sold out"). In this case I see nothing more than the shamefully insecure notion that it's no longer cool to enjoy Wonderland just because some people come there from Arlington on weekends.