These are places where trans and gender nonconforming folk can hopefully feel physically safe and recognised, away from a world that isn’t always so accepting.įor Meg-John Barker, author of Life Isn't Binary and expert on gender, sex and relationships, queer spaces are vital. These spaces give people who can’t be “out” publicly for whatever reason somewhere they can truly be themselves. It’s where we can be in the majority for once, where we can feel the most comfortable and protected, and where we have the most access to music by early noughties queer icons – an integral element for survival. That’s why queer spaces and bars are important to me and many other members of the LGBTQ+ community.
But there’s something quite special about being able to hold my girlfriend’s hand or kiss her without double takes from passers-by (or the horrifying offer of a ménage à trois). I could go to “straight” bars with my friends, and I often do. He loudly demanded to know why the bartender had thought he’d be interested because after all, he didn’t "look gay". One of my male friends came back from the bar carrying drinks and a phone number, written on a napkin.
It turned out most of them knew I was gay long before I did.īut recently, when I took a group of them to Soho in London for a night out, I realised even the most well-intentioned, supportive straight/cis friends can miss the mark entirely.
Luckily, neither one of those age-old stereotypes came true, and actually I didn’t give them enough credit. I was worried they would treat me differently after I came out, or be freaked out thinking I either hated men or fancied one of them. I came out just before starting university, having made wonderful (and very straight) friends during my time at college. I appreciate the accepting atmosphere that these spaces create, and I love that my friends want to show their support of me and my community so openly in them. As a gay person, knowing my straight friends want to come to LGBTQ+ bars and spaces fills my heart with joy.