Two years after the start of the global pandemic, we now find ourselves slowly re-establishing the community and socialization that we have lacked thus far, but in doing so, we find that some parts of the previous world did not make it through with us. Somewhere along the way, queer nightlife spaces have fallen to the wayside, pushed out of business from financial hardship or replaced with larger businesses. As of 2022, less than two dozen lesbian bars remain in the United States. This article examines the history of queer bars, considers the newer online spaces as potential replacements for this lack of physical space, and the hopeful rebirth of the queer bar.
The earliest known lesbian bars in the US date back to the 1930s following the repeal of Prohibition with New York’s Mona 440 Club and Chicago’s Roselle Inn. With the advent of legislation preventing people from “cross-dressing” and the necessitated secrecy of queer attraction for fear of violence, these nightlife spaces became a refuge for queer people. These spots even became places of activism, wherein people would recruit for movements and decompress after protests. While in some ways, these spaces served as a safe place to express one’s identity, they did not always function as such for different kinds of people. Katherine Ott from the Smithsonian noted historical biphobia, racism, and ableism within these bars saying, “The bars were never a perfect solution to all of the discrimination and hate. Inside the bars, or inside the groups of women who went to the bars, was all the shit that was happening outside.” In 2022, the hope is that those queer nightlife spaces that remain are inclusive to all people regardless of other identity factors.
Many believe that the rise of online community spaces and dating apps has decreased the need for queer nightlife spaces. In the digital age, people can “come out” and meet other queer people right on their phones on endless platforms like Instagram, Tinder, Twitter, and more, without needing to pay money, be 21+, or even leave the house. When queer people feel accepted for the rest of their lives, they may start to take queer-specific places for granted instead of fostering them and supporting them in their upkeep. In many ways, this change is convenient and inclusive to a wider audience, but these platforms are simply different from the physical, in-person connections and celebration one gets from queer nightlife. This transition exists separately from the complicated history of LGBTQ+ nightlife and the activism that was sparked within those spaces. In many ways, continuing to gather in those spaces pays respect to the legacy of queer history and those who came before.
Produced by Lea DeLaria, a documentary called “The Lesbian Bar Project” journeys across the country to the few remaining lesbian bars to tell their stories in hopes of garnering financial support to keep them running. At the same time, it details some of the darker pasts of the lesbian bar scene, including the ways in which it was, for many years, exclusive of women of color. Inclusivity is an issue in a few ways, notably with the historical race-based exclusion, but also in more recent years with trans and gender non-conforming people. With “gay” and “lesbian” bars, many queer people feel as though their identities are not welcome or not catered to in these establishments, even if they are intended to be safe spaces for all. With the development of new identity terms and the widespread use of the label “queer” in recent years, some places are opting to label themselves as “queer bars” or “queer spaces.”
Joining this group is the new establishment Crush Bar in Santa Barbara, CA. Formed in the last year of the pandemic, the place was designed to be a “safe space for queer and marginalized communities.” It wasn’t until after opening (upon noting that the entire staff was queer) that the space was declared an official “Queer Bar,” the only one in the city. For me, a queer resident, the existence of such a place alone makes me feel more welcomed in this city. Although small, the inclusion of a place that stands for my beliefs and supports my identity makes all the difference.
In recent years, there has been a call for alternative in-person gathering spaces for queer women-identifying and gender-diverse people that do not center around substance use. Queer people and specifically bisexual people have historically been at higher risk for substance abuse issues and alcoholism, causing many to turn to sobriety out of necessity. Substance abuse can be attributed to societal pressures, stigma stress, and unhealthy coping with mental health issues, all of which are more common for LGBTQ+ people to experience than their cisgender or heterosexual counterparts. Because of this trend, queer sober spaces like cafes and bookstores have arisen with the goal of creating safe gathering places for queer people free of substance use.
By Sydney Sullivan