We have a duty to our community, and our community has a duty to us. We’re rarely celebrated, appreciated, or understood as profoundly as we are in queer spaces. Our community rallied behind us just when we needed them the most.Ĭubbyhole was built on community - every queer bar is, no matter which part of the community it caters to. I’d find notes from patrons and regulars saying how much they missed us, asking what they could do to help, or confessing to having clogged the bathroom sink that one time back in 2014. A pandemic would’ve been one of those times, for sure.ĭuring our closure, I started going by Cubbyhole just to check on the space, maintain it a bit. We’ve always prided ourselves on being a safe haven for our customers, especially during times of crisis. We were one of the only places open through 9/11. It’s why it caused me so much pain to have to shut down for COVID. LGBTQ+ folks are also always a smaller portion of a city’s population, so when you’re relying on a small pool of people with less access to funds, it can be hard to cover overhead costs.īeing in a city with queer bars, you grow used to them. But our patrons are less likely to have money to spend on a night out because of pay and employment inequity. Many of us pride ourselves on our inclusivity because it’s something our community has gone so long without.
Lesbian bars provide a safe space to folks all across the LGBTQ+ spectrum, especially to nonbinary and trans individuals. Men generally tend to have more money than women, so their opportunities to open and sustain a bar are greater. There seems to be no shortage of gay bars. We were targeted for who we are, who we love, how we present.' JEANETTE SPICER/NYT 'These bars were always fun, but they were also a necessity. Lisa Menichino, owner of Cubbyhole, on April 8, 2021.