Gay Bars Aren't Disappearing; They're Changing

There was a moment reading Greggor Mattson’s book, Who Needs Gay Bars?, where I found myself becoming incredibly defensive. One of the 130 gay bar owners he interviewed is bemoaning how his customers are no longer content to hang with friends and converse over a few drinks. Gay bar patrons want entertainment, he says — drag shows, TV watch parties, activities. But that’s not what I want!, I thought. I want a relaxed night with friends, with good cocktails and the knowledge that my partner and I will feel accepted. I don’t need to be entertained, I mentally yelled at the bar owner.

These differences are sort of the point of Mattson’s book, a chronicle of gay bars in 39 states across the country and throughout American history. “There is no one answer to the question ‘Who needs gay bars?’ because there is no one ‘who,’ no one set of ‘needs,’ and no one kind of ‘gay bar,’” writes Mattson, a sociology professor at Oberlin. There are bars in big cities and in small towns. There are bars where bears go to cruise, where lesbians hang with local bikers, or where, at one establishment in the book, undocumented Latino men don’t have to show ID to dance. There are strip clubs and dive bars and cafes and cocktail bars serving both gay and straight people. Gay bars are not a monolith.

But the state of the gay bar has become a pressing concern. Mattson notes he was inspired to conduct his research after hearing more people in his community echo the question of the book’s title. For some members of the queer community, drinking and dancing and hooking up can be done just about anywhere, without fear of violence. Queerness no longer has to be the primary axis on which they choose their evening activities. But for others, the need for queer spaces remains paramount. The wave of Republican-led anti-trans and anti-drag legislation has threatened small business owners and community members. Mattson writes that 50 percent of the country’s gay bars closed between 2012 and 2021, and that the difficulties have not been evenly felt. Bars that cater to people of color, lesbian bars, and bars that center certain kinks are closing at a faster rate, he notes.

But even in light of all the threats, gay bars are figuring out how to fill holes in community needs, how to compete with apps and apathy, how to balance community traditions with more inclusive values. And what’s more, the “gay bar” as it exists in popular imagination — an exclusive space by and for either gay men or women — has never represented what gay bars actually are. “This book is not a eulogy,” Mattson writes. “Gay bars are not dying, they’re evolving.”

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