From Florida to Alaska, America’s LGBTQ Bars Feel Like Home to Many

“The first time I went to MSR was when I was first coming out publicly as gay, I was in my early 20s. I walked in there and I thought, ‘Oh my god, this is girl heaven!’ It was really refreshing back then, and there were some people that were amazing drag performers and circus performers that would perform there. I met someone there that was like a partner to me for 7 years. I’m 40 now, so we’re talking about a 20 year span of going to this club. I think that it says a lot of a city, and it says a lot of the owners, to actually sustain a lesbian bar in a city. It’s so hard for any sort of lesbian bar to exist in the first place. Cheers to the owners of MSR for keepin’ after it for this long.” – Davey Swinton, above

“I’m not ashamed of who I am. I’m comfortable with myself and if someone isn’t comfortable with me that’s their problem.” – James Mashburn, above

“All gay bars have that sense of safety—or they should. When you’re around people who are like you it’s easier to have implicit permission to be yourself. There still will be people who come into gay bars and don’t know where they are and you’ll still get comments and some harassment, but when that happens I’m surrounded by people who will back me up if it gets worse.” – Ariadne Inlerah, above

“I feel lucky to live in NYC where most places are safe and welcoming to me as a gay man. That freedom is the fruit of what in many ways began at Stonewall. However, when I travel with my boyfriend, gay bars are often the only places where we feel totally at ease being openly gay and affectionate with each other.” – Matthew Pillsbury, photographer

“Queer nightlife culture really came from a time where being gay was something to be ashamed of, so we were forced into places that were considered ‘inappropriate’ for children, like bars. It really shows that resilience of the LGBTQ community that we’ve turned that shame into something positive and empowering. West Virginia isn’t exactly known for being accepting of queer people, so we’re really fortunate to have a place like Stonewall in Huntington.” – Piper Towel, above

“Before it was a gay bar, it was a gay bar. Alaska is a very conservative state, so having a place where you can come out and be yourself is really important. It’s important to have a place that you can call your home.” – Laurie Richards, above

“Around 10:30 p.m. on a not-yet-crowded dance floor at the A House, I saw Paul dancing by himself. Fortunately, the elderly, often rendered invisible by our superficial and ageist culture, are routinely able to find welcoming spaces in the gay bars and clubs of North America. Observing Paul enjoying the music and cutting loose it struck me that over 50 years ago when he was a young man, it would have been illegal for him to gather in a similar space and do just this.” – Richard Renaldi, photographer

“Queer community spaces are indispensable. While in San Antonio, Texas, for an exhibition that included my photographs at The McNay, I was lead to Pegasus by my friend and artist, Xavier Schipani. The multi-room, multi-patio space felt dank and sexy; the 25-year patina of lives lived and conquests made reminded me of the gay bars I snuck into as a teenager in Syracuse, N.Y. I was struck by a thought that enters my mind often when I’m in public spaces in crowds: what if a psychopath barged in with guns and started shooting? I dropped into the tragedy at Pulse [nightclub in Orlando] in that moment, and wondered if mass shootings are contributing to people not venturing out, and the subsequent diminishing of queer nightlife spaces. I wondered if the intent of terrorism, to spread fear endemically, was successful by the very specter of my thought.” – Zackary Drucker, photographer and subject

“I was at karaoke the other night and I was speaking with a couple who have been together for I think two decades, and they met at Cafe Lafitte. That was where they had their first kiss. Every so often they come back, and it’s just a place for them to kind of like reminisce. The place where they felt comfortable and the place that they felt like they were able to kiss in front of other people in a time that was different from now. A lot of these bars are like a second home to these people. That’s why like after storms and hurricanes we try to get them open as soon as possible if we’ve had to close. If there’s not mandatory evacuations, we usually leave them open so people that may not have these concrete structures that will keep them safe can at least come here, feel safe.” – Michael Musa, Director of Operations

“When I first started going to The Parliament House [in 1997], there was a biker gentleman named Gary, and he was kind of a hard looking biker guy. He would come to the pool in a bright pink thong or bright orange thong and he would dance to the music and he would do splits on the side of the pool. You know, kind of entertain people. But just last Saturday, Gary passed away. That day, we were there at the pool meeting up with our other friends, and we started just telling stories about things that [Gary’s] done and things that we’ve done together. I’m sure he would have been out there just shakin’ it. I still have a lot of friends that I’ve met there that are still good friends.” – Allen, above

“This girl kept coming in. She was transgender. She never spent any money. She would just come and sit and watch the shows. [She is not pictured here.] One of my people got irritated. She came in here all the time. Never spends any money. At one point I went over to her and told her, ‘We would appreciate if you spend money.’ She came back again, and I realized, you know what, she doesn’t have any money and this is the only place that she can feel safe and enjoy herself. Just leave her alone. This is not about money. This is a place for her to come and be comfortable and we owe it to her. That’s what this is about.” – Warren Berger, club owner

“Where I come from in New Zealand we say, ‘He tangata, he tangata, he tangata,’ which means, ‘It is people, it is people, it is people.’ That is the meaning of everything. This is people being people in a community supporting and loving each other and raising each other up so that we can be strong and we can go out into the world and support ourselves and make a difference in whatever field you choose to go to.” – Rachel, above

“I spent nearly every summer of my life at the Jersey Shore with my family, but the vibe has always been young, hetero people partying hard, squeezing the most out of their time off. Sort of like the Jersey Shore MTV show, but in the 80’s. When I began photographing it in my 20s, I discovered the vibrant queer community of Asbury Park. It was a complete revelation, and Paradise Club in The Empress Hotel feels like its epicenter. I’ve followed the legend of Judy Garland staying there to see if any traces of her remain, and I was witness to the annual Miss Paradise competition, where the performers push the boundaries of camp, art, and drag with so much soul.” – Paul Moakley, TIME photographer

“We all have the power to hold safe spaces and be more mindful about how we ourselves can make that change for others and make everyone feel seen, and not just a select few. It means diversity and diversifying who your audience is.” – Evan James Benally Atwood, photographer