“We did six months of research and couldn’t find some of these bars.”Įarly in the pandemic, the Lesbian Bar Project began as a way to bring attention to fund-raisers for the New York spots, Ginger’s, Cubbyhole and Henrietta Hudson. “But that’s part of the problem, right?” she said. Initially, the group feared there were only 15 across the United States, but it recently added a “ new discoveries” section to the effort, bringing the count to 19. “We did have people from our community reaching out and telling us about other local bars that we missed,” said Lily Ali-Oshatz, a former producer with the Lesbian Bar Project. This makes the city’s lack of lesbian spaces especially perplexing.
New York City, which boasted about 2,100 bars before the pandemic, offers options catering to nearly any niche, from gay “Coyote Ugly” bars to speakeasies tucked behind barbershops or ice cream parlors. And though most queer spaces saw a decline during the AIDS epidemic, the erasure of lesbian bars is especially staggering for those who frequent them. Though early incarnations of lesbian drinking spots were mostly underground, the Damron guide, which lists L.G.B.T.Q.-friendly establishments, included 206 lesbian bars (and 699 gay bars) in the United States as recently as 1987. It is a drastic shift from the heady boom of lesbian nightlife that started in the 1950s and ’60s. According to a nonprofit known as the Lesbian Bar Project, only 19 of these spaces are left nationwide. Though New York may have more lesbian bars than any other city in the United States, the venues are part of a dwindling industry. Cubbyhole is one of only three remaining lesbian bars in all of New York City, and Brooklyn’s only lesbian bar, Ginger’s, is still closed indefinitely. The scene hinted at normalcy and hope, but the buoyant night hid a precarious truth. Greenberg, who shouted, “I love you!” right back. The crowd cheered, many hollering, “I love you!” to Ms. Phase 4 of the city’s reopening plan allows for restaurants to operate at 50 percent capacity with a curfew - the 90-minute limit on each customer’s stay didn’t put a damper on the festivities. And though the bar had to close by 11 p.m. Blankenship was among the hundreds of people who stopped by to celebrate. When Cubbyhole reopened for the first time this year on April 8, Mx. “But it’s better than Olive Garden because there’s great drinks and queers everywhere.” Blankenship, a nonbinary lesbian, said from a perch with three friends outside of Cubbyhole, which had been closed since December.
A bubbly bartender ran up and down the block to collect orders, promising she’d be back with drinks en masse, so everyone could drink together for the first time in five months.
Outside Cubbyhole, a tiny bar in the West Village, the street was as packed as it could be these days, with dozens of friends, couples and exes mingling in the early spring evening. After a long and brutal pandemic winter, all Han Blankenship wanted to do was get a drink with a few friends at their favorite bar.