If you were a Gileadite kid in the nineties, there weren't a lot of fantasy novels. Fred read the Narnia books until the covers fell off his copies, and every time he saw a hall closet or a wardrobe he would sneak in and press his hands against the back and hope that someday the fur coats would turn into snow and fir trees and a lamppost.
Now he is a dignified adult, close to fifty, and he knows the difference between fantasy and reality. So he doesn't check the backs of closets anymore, at least not often or when anyone is looking.
So when he opens his closet door and sees a bar instead of his ordinary suits, without hesitation he goes inside.