After decades of declines, lesbian bars are having a renaissance

By Alex Berg
Photography by Akilah Townsend and Danielle Amy for NBC News
Aug. 28, 2023

The first time Vicki Gibson stepped inside a lesbian bar, it was because she had nowhere else to go. 

Adopted by a family in Florida who had two grown sons, she said, she wasn't the “pretty little dress-up doll that my mom was looking for,” which led to conflict until her mother kicked her out. As a teen living on the streets in the mid-1970s, she said, she made her way to St. Pete Beach, just west of Tampa, where she found cover in a local lesbian bar, sitting at the end of the counter until closing time. 

“When you're alone at night, in the dark and you don't have a home, the bars become a safe place,” Gibson told NBC News in a recent interview.

Roughly four decades later, in the spring of 2022, Gibson opened The Lady’s Room in Largo, less than 15 miles north of St. Pete Beach and currently the only queer women’s bar in Florida. She said memories of past lesbian spaces motivate her in the face of anti-LGBTQ state legislation and financial hurdles.

“I like to refer to it like ‘Alice in Wonderland,’” Gibson, 59, said of being in those lesbian bars that have been long closed. “Everybody would work so hard all week long for the weekend and get all dressed up and go to the bar, and once you got there, it was like the real world didn't exist outside. You could be who you were.”

For the past three decades, lesbian bars in the United States have been on the decline from an estimated 200 at their peak in the ’80s. In 2020, NBC News reported that there were less than 20 lesbian bars remaining across the country, with fears that the number would drop further due to the Covid pandemic. 

Yet, a dozen new bars have opened since then, according to an NBC News review, signaling a measured revitalization. Along both coasts, across the Midwest and down to metropolises and enclaves in the South, new venues are countering the downtrend, not only introducing a bevy of craft cocktail recipes, but also an intentional framing of whom their businesses serve.

“When you're alone at night, in the dark and you don't have a home, the bars become a safe place."

VICKI GIBSON

The Lady’s Room finds itself in the company of this wave of new bars that self-identify explicitly as lesbian bars or describe themselves as inclusive LGBTQ spaces with queer women at the helm.

In parallel, longtime lesbian strongholds are experiencing their own renewal, evolving their messaging to be more inclusive to those across the queer spectrum, and emerging from the height of the pandemic having undergone renovations or with expansions underway.

Decades of ebbs and flows

In the mid-20th century, major U.S. cities typically had numerous lesbian bars, though many tended to be somewhat underground, according to Lillian Faderman, a scholar of LGBTQ history and author of “The Gay Revolution.”  From the ‘50s through the ‘80s, these sapphic spaces often had a short lifespan, but new venues quickly cropped up to take their place, she said. 

During this time period, many of the bars were white-owned and had a predominantly white clientele, with a few specifically geared toward communities of color. As a result of discrimination, queer women of color cultivated their own nightlife community by organizing house parties and other events outside of the bars, she said. 

Lesbian bars started to taper off in the ’70s as lesbian feminists found other places to organize, but they experienced a resurgence in the ‘80s with venues that ranged from working class to upscale, Faderman said. 

During the AIDS crisis, lesbians and other queer people utilized nightlife venues to organize and come together, according to Wanda Acosta, a former bar owner whose events are credited as the genesis of “lesbian chic.” In the ‘90s, lesbian bars again dwindled, which Faderman speculated was a result of the ability of LGBTQ people to participate in more activities outside of bars.

Given the gender pay gap in the U.S., women patrons of lesbian bars have historically had less income to spend at these businesses, according to Faderman. Gentrification and the rising cost of rent have also been a “huge reason” lesbian bars have closed their doors, said Krista Burton, author of “Moby Dyke: An Obsessive Quest to Track Down the Last Remaining Lesbian Bars in America.”

Brooke Webster blames these factors as the cause behind her decision to shutter her New York City lesbian bars Meow Mix and Cattyshack in the early 2000s. Meow Mix, which Webster opened in 1996 when she was just 24, attracted a cult following, even appearing in the 1997 film “Chasing Amy.” The business weathered then-Mayor Rudy Giuliani’s cabaret law, which Webster described as “a total menace,” but it shuttered in 2004 after a new landlord tried to quintuple the rent when the lease came up for renewal.

Digital platforms like online dating have increased in popularity and made it easier for LGBTQ people to meet without ever setting foot in a brick-and-mortar business. And so the need to go to a bar to find community is simply not as necessary, making it more difficult to sustain a patronage, Acosta explained.

The diminishing number of lesbian bars through the ‘90s and early aughts has been documented in the media and on screen. During the pandemic, “The Lesbian Bar Project,” a fundraising campaign and documentary, profiled the remaining lesbian bars and nightlife spaces for queer women, raising more than $150,000 for these venues. Burton speculated that these headlines and projects have been galvanizing for the community.

“They kind of spurred people to action. My action was going to check out all the bars and see if I could figure out what was causing it,” she said of lesbian bar closures. “Other people's action has been, ‘You know, we've always talked about opening up a lesbian bar. Why don't we open one up?’”

A lesbian bar ‘metamorphosis’

Coming of age in Chicago in the late ‘90s, Angela Barnes remembers a time when queer women looking for nightlife had a list of different spaces to choose from. Then, she said, “you woke up one weekend and there was really no place to go that was sort of our own space.” 

During the pandemic, Barnes and Renauda Riddle, who met a decade ago at Chicago's LGBTQ center, started coming up with ideas for a joint project. After talking about creating a blog together, Riddle asked, "What about opening up a bar?"

In the spring of 2021, they opened Nobody’s Darling, named for Alice Walker’s “Be Nobody’s Darling,” one of Barnes’ favorite poems. As queer Black women, they said, the poem embodied the spirit of the space they sought to build. 

Barnes, an attorney, and Riddle, an auditor, said they wanted to build a business in which they would personally feel comfortable enjoying a cocktail. Though both identify as queer, in an effort to avoid labels that might feel exclusive, they define Nobody’s Darling as “a women-centered cocktail bar” where anyone who comes through the doors can feel safe and, as Riddle put it, “walk in as your whole self.”

The warm vibe and delicious drinks — many of them named after Black queer and trans icons — have impressed critics and patrons alike: Nobody’s Darling was named a finalist for a prestigious James Beard Award within its first year of opening, and the venue’s success has the duo close to completing an expansion of the space. 

“I will say something about our community: They turn anything into a dance floor. So we thought we needed a little more room to accommodate that,” Barnes said.

While Barnes describes the feeling of being at Nobody’s Darling as a “queer ‘Cheers,’” other new lesbian and queer-owned bars have taken their own approach to messaging. The Bush, which opened in the Brooklyn borough of New York City in April, is “a dyke bar for queers.” The Secret, which opened in Oklahoma City in April, is a "lesbian bar crafted for the LGBTQ+ community." The Ruby Fruit, which opened in Los Angeles in February, is “a strip mall restaurant and wine bar serving the sapphically inclined.”  Mother, which opened in San Francisco in February, is “a little women- and femme-centered queer bar.”

Another newcomer, Honey’s, opened six months ago in Los Angeles. Located within the East Hollywood venue Star Love, Honey’s has been branded as a “watering hole & queer bar” by co-founders Kate Greenberg, Charlotte Gordon and Mo Faulk, who all identify as queer. 

The three said they initially hoped to create a queer space that would supplement the predominantly gay male nightlife scene in West Hollywood. Gordon describes the current atmosphere as a “lesbian, queer and trans inclusive space” that serves as a “sexy queer speakeasy” where patrons can count on reliably good DJs and cocktails. 

“It feels like a really good space for anyone who's still in this period of self discovery, and if you already are there, just be comfortable and have a drink and kick back,” Gordon said. “It's really important for people's identities and also just having a good time and being in a space that celebrates queer joy and is built on queer joy itself.”

It’s not just new sapphic spaces that are embracing a more inclusive approach to their messaging. 

Lisa Cannistraci, who opened New York City lesbian bar Henrietta Hudson in 1991, when she was 28, said a conversation with a group of young queer people at an LGBTQ event in 2012 inspired her to re-examine her bar’s identity. When Cannistraci asked them if they’d ever go to Henrietta Hudson, they responded, “Oh, God, no. It’s so old,” she recalled.

A place that ‘feels like home’

In addition to a sense of longing to be with one’s community, another common thread found in lesbian — and lesbian-ish — bars of the past and present is creating a space that is a respite for patrons no matter what’s happening in the outside world.

It's part of the inspiration that drove wives Danielle Spring and Julie Toupin to open Femme Bar in Worcester, Massachusetts, in March. Billing itself as a “queer human space” that is a “business built by lesbians,” Spring said she and Toupin were inspired after a trip to the Cubbyhole, a longtime lesbian stronghold in New York City, that made them feel at “home.”

“For me, feeling like ‘home’ is just a space you're comfortable being yourself,” Spring told NBC News. 

With an interior that feels like a “classy dive bar” and a range of programming from a book club to drag brunches, Femme Bar gives its regulars a space where “they just are who they are,” Spring said. 

“I'm very lucky that I live in Massachusetts, so I'm watching them go after rights, and I'm really sad about it,” Spring said, referring to the wave of anti-LGBTQ state bills being proposed across the country. “But when we thought about the idea of Femme, it was always to create a space where we can be ourselves and be safe and be away from the rest of the hubbub that is the world.”

There have been almost 500 anti-LGBTQ bills introduced in state legislatures across the U.S. so far this year, an all-time record, with 78 of these bills becoming law, according to a tally by the American Civil Liberties Union. 

During time periods when political attacks on LGBTQ people increase, longtime bar owners and managers describe a sense of urgency around the need to gather in brick-and-mortar spaces. Christa Suppan, co-owner of The Lipstick Lounge, a lesbian-owned “bar for humans” that opened in Nashville, Tennessee, in 2002, said there was a change in mood from the Obama administration to when Donald Trump was elected. 

During the Obama years, there was a sense that people came into the bar just to “have a good time,” she said. Then, when Trump was in office, her patrons had a stronger sense of, “Yes, I need to be with my people," which has since re-emerged in the current political environment, she added.

“People go to bars for conversation, they go there to feel accepted, they spend their time with people with similar ideas and ideals,” Suppan said.

The Texas Legislature has introduced more anti-LGBTQ measures than any other state this year, 53, and has passed five of these proposals into law, according to the ACLU. Kathy Jack, general manager of Texas’ oldest lesbian bar, Sue Ellen’s in Dallas, which first opened its doors in 1989, said that when LGBTQ rights are walked back, her first response on behalf of the bar is, “What can we do?”

Similar to Suppan’s experience with the Lipstick Lounge, Jack has seen political organizing at the bar increase in times of crisis for the community, whether it was during the AIDS crisis when it first opened or hosting benefits more recently for groups like the Stonewall Democrats.

“You can't let your guard down. You just have to keep fighting,” Jack said. “And that's what we do — we get together and find ways to make things better in our community.”

In the wake of Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis signing the state’s so-called Don’t Say Gay law, Gibson has taken measures to beef up security at the Lady’s Room, including a metal-detecting wand at the entrance. She said transgender performers often ask for security to escort them to their cars at the end of the night, and drag artists have a newfound sense of fear.

“These are queens that have been performing since maybe the ‘80s, and now they're afraid to walk out of the bar in makeup,” Gibson said.

Despite the political and economic headwinds, Gibson has pledged not to “give up” on the Lady’s Room, even selling two properties, cashing in a retirement savings plan and starting an online fundraiser to keep afloat. 

Bars that have stayed open for two or more decades have also struggled to achieve financial stability through an evolving culture, natural disasters and the Covid pandemic. 

Suppan said the Lipstick Lounge has weathered a 2010 Tennessee floods, which wiped out the walk-in coolers and all the products stored at the bar, and a 2020 tornado, which lifted the roof off the venue and led her to take out a $150,000 disaster loan to survive. Still, she remains optimistic about the bar’s future, even taking out another loan to build an addition with a sports bar at the back of the existing venue.

The next generation

More queer women appear ready to put in the work and join the ranks of lesbian (or lesbian-ish) bar ownership to fulfill untapped needs in the LGBTQ nightlife space.

Austa Somvichian-Clausen, founder of New York-based grotto — “a sapphic cocktail bar concept for queer women, trans & nonbinary folks, welcome to all” — said she sought to create a space for those who have traditionally felt “left out of the typical gay bar scene.” 

Earlier this year, during grotto’s four-month residency at Ludlow House, a trendy venue in Manhattan’s Lower East Side neighborhood, she hosted four events a week geared toward a sapphic sensibility that featured sea themes and the comfort of a cave (or, aptly, a grotto). Now, as she hosts monthly events at Pebble Bar in midtown Manhattan, she’s exploring how she can turn her pop-up concept into a brick-and-mortar bar. 

Boston is expected to get its only lesbian-ish bar soon with Dani’s Queer Bar. Branded as a “space for sapphic, trans and nonbinary community members,” the forthcoming venue is already looking to hire staff, according to its Instagram page.

In Chicago, now that Nobody’s Darling has created “a formula that really works,” Riddle and Barnes are looking to open another venue in the city.

“And then, you know, the sky's the limit,” Riddle said.