I went looking for lesbian bars in New York City and only found 3. That needs to change.

• There were once over 200 known lesbian bars in the US. Now, there are under 20.
• I didn't realize how few were in NYC until I went looking for them myself.

New York City is widely regarded as a hub for the LGBTQ community.

That's why I was so confused when, after coming out in 2020, my Google search result showed just three lesbian bars in my city: Henrietta Hudson and Cubbyhole (both in Manhattan's West Village), and Ginger's Bar (in Park Slope, Brooklyn, which was once a popular neighborhood for lesbians).

I was dumbfounded — how could this be true when entire neighborhoods take on the identity of "gayborhoods" and rainbow flags hang in windows year-round?

I learned quickly that almost everything I thought I knew about queer culture was actually just what I knew about cisgender male gay culture.

This discrepancy in nightlife and the disheartening lack of permanent-fixture spaces for other members of the queer community is widely known. There were an estimated 200 known lesbian bars across the US in the late 1980s, according to documentary company The Lesbian Bar Project. Now, there are around 20.

After walking past Henrietta's and Cubbyhole and seeing lines wrapped around the block day after day, I'd get frustrated that everyone waiting couldn't just walk a block to the next bar the way anyone looking for a hetero space could.

While this revelation was hardly news on the grander scale, it's not something I, or many others I've spoken with, realized until we went looking for these places ourselves.

Stepping into a lesbian bar after being in straight ones for years felt like a giant exhale

For me, the difference between queer and heteronormative bars was apparent the first time I walked into Duplex — a West Village gay bar where queer women happened to be hanging out upstairs — in 2018. Seeing even a few other people who I sensed I had some connection with ignited a feeling of solace. I was hooked on that feeling and I didn't even know why yet.

Fast forward two years to time spent in both Cubbyhole and Henrietta's, and that sense of comfort hit 10 times harder.

For those who haven't been (and those who won't ever be) able to experience it for themselves, I'd describe the feeling of stepping into a queer bar as a massive, instant relief. It's realizing what it feels like to not carry all the extra baggage — which you may not have even realized you were lugging — that comes with trying to fit yourself into spaces rather than finding spaces that fit you.

Lisa Menichino, Cubbyhole's owner, told me she understands that with the generally growing acceptance of gay marriage, we no longer need to be in an LGBTQ bar to meet people. But, she said, it's not just about meeting a partner or new friend.

"There's something that will be just incredibly comforting about going to a place and you know everyone's going to be like you," Menichino said. "It's a community. You feel like you're at home. And that will never go away, even with 100% acceptance."

Lua O'Reilly, a noise musician based in New Jersey, told me she believes existing in queer spaces is paramount to understanding what it is to be a queer person.

"It's one thing to be like, 'Oh, I'm a lesbian' or, 'Oh, I'm trans,'" she said, "but it's a whole other thing to be like, 'Oh, I'm going to freely exist openly in space as a trans woman, as a lesbian, as a nonbinary person.'"

Queer women-focused bars and gay bars are not the same

Many of the known gay bars and clubs in NYC are dominated by cisgender gay men.

"When you say 'gay bar,' people assume that it's an umbrella term where everyone is welcome," Vancouver-based content creator Breanne Williamson told me. "But, we've come to find out that queer women, in particular, do not feel welcome in a lot of the brick-and-mortar spaces that claim to be a safe space for everyone."

O'Reilly described past interactions at gay bars as "very confrontational" with men getting "really fucking angry," and said she often gets misgendered at the door. "I don't like gay bars," she said. "People do not want me to be there."

Williamson added there are myriad reasons why queer women may not feel comfortable in a predominantly male crowd. But in lesbian spaces, she said, "there's this camaraderie of understanding what it's like to both be queer and be a woman," adding that it's exciting to have that space because we're often not given it.

Lesbian bars aren't just for people who identify as lesbians. The terminology and clientele is fluid and ever-changing.

When O'Reilly hears the term lesbian bar, she thinks of a cis lesbian space where other femmes, trans mascs, and gay men can also exist.

The Lesbian Bar Project dubbs a bar "uniquely Lesbian" if it prioritizes "creating space for people of marginalized genders; including women, non-binary folks, and trans-men."

These distinctions are made increasingly complicated as our understanding of terminology shifts and evolves, and the bars themselves are grappling with the changes.

Menichino and a longtime bartender at Cubbyhole, Deb Greenberg, told me they reject the idea that their establishment is for lesbians only.

Historically, calling something a lesbian bar wouldn't indicate that non-cis lesbians are welcome. But that's no longer how many people interpret it.

"If you feel valid enough as a lesbian, no matter what your gender is, you should feel welcome to be there," O'Reilly said.

And Brooklynite AP Freedman told me while in a lesbian bar, they feel like they're "around like-minded people who similarly may or may not identify as a lesbian but seek out those spaces."

Others agree that's what's so important about these bars. In 2019, Eater's Meghan McCarron wrote that queer-inclusive spaces like bars also create "an opportunity to build solidarity between cis and trans queers." While O'Reilly says lesbian bars are not places she feels most at ease, she appreciates that she feels comfortable.

"Realistically, I think it's a safe space for me to exist as a trans woman and not get flack," she said, "as long as I don't flirt with anyone."

Williamson, who wants to see more bars for all LGBTQ folks, told me she understands that it's hard to find terminology that's inclusive of the whole community.

"It's a lesbian space with an asterisk," Menichino said when talking about how she would categorize Cubbyhole. "It's a queer space collectively; it's a lesbian space as a subcategory."

Greenberg said she believes a lesbian-only bar "is very pigeonholed" and something she's not interested in being a part of. But where some establishments have made branding pivots, Menichino and Greenberg, who are Generation X, say they're still grappling with the word "queer," which was used as a slur when they were growing up.

"When people a few years ago started saying 'queer,' I literally, my whole body tensed up I thought I was going to throw up and pass out," Greenberg said as she recalled memories of her childhood.

Henrietta's owner, Lisa Cannistraci, agrees that these bars should be all-inclusive, and chose to lean into reclaiming terminology. In a "Cruising" podcast episode, she explained her choice to rebrand as "a queer human bar built by lesbians." But she clarified that this doesn't mean the bar's clientele changed.

It's a new era for queer women-focused bars, and I'm hopeful for it all

Freedman told me they frequent many different queer bars in Brooklyn — which they said is becoming more of what they consider an ideal queer world.

"I can walk into many bars in Bushwick that already feel kind of inherently queer," Freedman said, "and that feels different than it used to be even a few years ago."

O'Reilly told me while she does hope for more transgender-focused bars, she feels lesbian bars are necessary for community and safety.

"Of course we need that," she told me. "Regardless of how difficult those spaces could be for me as a trans woman, they are the most accepting spaces if I just wanna go get a drink and hang out with a bunch of women," which she said is all she wants to do at a bar. "I don't need it to be a trans lesbian space."

While it might seem easy to just build a lesbian bar, Greenberg says a queer-bar owner has to take the time to really understand the community, or it won't stand a chance.

Therapist Ashley Zayas told me as a patron, "I don't want to go to a queer bar that's owned by a cis-het person and give my money to that person versus someone that's within the community."

I feel the same way, and just because a place is labeled as inclusive doesn't guarantee it will be.

Freedman agrees: "If a space is inclusive, you will know, and if it's not, you will know."

Williamson thinks ownership is a crucial piece to solving this issue, saying she hopes these new bars are "run, owned, and operated by lesbians and queer women," because their ideals will trickle down to reflect who these spots are for.

Zayas said xe (Zayas uses both they/them and xe/xem pronouns) wants to see bars catered to a more racially-diverse and ability-diverse crowd. When going out in queer spaces, Zayas heads to BIPOC and Latinx parties instead of lesbian bars because they don't have the option to go to a bar specifically made for people in those communities — if the option existed, xe said they would go.

But as Freedman pointed out, these spots might actually already exist, they may just not be searchable.

Over the past few years, I've seen new queer women-owned bars open around the country and in my city, including Oddly Enough in Brooklyn. I've also seen more events groups form in my area, including Dave's Lesbian Bar, a pop-up bar in Queens planning to open a permanent location, and GayJoy, a queer community collective hosting events and keeping people informed of local goings-on.

While parties and one-off events are important and serve a purpose, I love the community that comes with having a bunch of neighborhood bars where you can cool off from a rough day, make friends with regulars, chat, and grab one last drink before heading home ending the night on a good note.

These centers for community are, of course, businesses like any other bar. They need funds — sometimes over $1 million, as The New York Times reported — to open, and then even more to stay open.

Greenberg suggests that anyone who wants to see more lesbian bars open should help financially support them if they can. She says it's also important to show up and spend money at already-open establishments and put your dollars behind the people who believe in the same end goal of creating more of these all-inclusive bars.

In June, musical artist Fletcher toured four of the remaining queer women-owned bars around the country, raising awareness and money for the dwindling spaces, and making a $50,000 donation to GLAAD.

In my ideal world, there'd be countless variations of queer women-owned bars welcoming all LGBTQ folks through their doors every day, all across the country. And until then, you better believe I'll keep waiting over an hour in the rain to walk through the doors of the ones in my city. Because, honestly, that feeling is worth it.