As the founder of EveryQueer, a travel media company dedicated to queer women, transgender, and nonbinary individuals, the landscape of queer spaces has always been deeply personal to me. My work is built on the understanding that these spaces are not just venues, but lifelines, cultural hubs, and sanctuaries. So, when I picked up June Thomas’s A Place of Our Own, at The Nonbinarian Bookstore, I was eager to delve into an exploration of the spaces that have shaped our community.
Thomas’s book promises a deep dive into six forms of lesbian spaces over the last sixty years: lesbian bars, vacation destinations, feminist bookstores, softball fields, sex toy shops, and rural separatist communities. It’s a compelling premise, especially in a time where the narrative of disappearing lesbian spaces is pervasive.
We’re constantly told that our spaces are closing, that we’re losing our havens. But I’ve witnessed a resurgence of new queer bars, bookstores, events, and festivals in recent years, a counter-narrative that often gets lost in the doom and gloom. This book, I hoped, would offer a nuanced understanding of this complex dynamic.
Thomas structures her book around these six distinct spaces, weaving together historical research, interviews, and personal anecdotes. She introduces us to pioneering figures like Elaine Romagnoli, Susie Bright, and Jacqueline Woodson, giving voice to the women who built these vital institutions. The book is, in many ways, a love letter to these spaces, a testament to their significance in the queer liberation movement.
Society is Gaslighting Generations of Queer Women
However, as I delved deeper, I found myself grappling with several critical points. While Thomas’s journalistic background lends credibility to her research, her perspective occasionally felt limited and, at times, dated. One of my primary concerns was the book’s tendency to perpetuate the narrative of decline without adequately addressing the broader economic forces at play.
We’re told that lesbian bars are closing because we’re “broke,” “don’t drink enough,” or “prefer to cuddle at home.” This gaslighting ignores the systemic issues that plague independently owned small businesses, particularly those owned by women. Capitalism, gentrification, and the consolidation of business ownership by mass market corporations have decimated our third spaces across identities, making it more visible for queer women simply because we started with fewer spaces to begin with.
Thomas repeatedly highlights that the lesbian business owners she interviewed yearned for community centers, but financial constraints forced them to create commercial spaces instead. These businesses, often run with the heart of a nonprofit, faced insurmountable challenges.
Women-owned businesses are chronically underfunded, receiving smaller loans with higher interest rates compared to their male counterparts. This is not a matter of personal failure; it’s a systemic issue. Male investors often dismiss products and services designed for women as “niche,” even when they represent significant market opportunities.
The book’s focus on feminist bookstores, while historically significant, felt disproportionately long. While these spaces were undoubtedly vital, their decline is a complex issue intertwined with the rise of online retail, changing consumer habits, and the advent of the Internet.
Similarly, the emphasis on softball as a quintessential lesbian space felt narrow. Historically, many women’s sports have held a place in queer culture, including hockey, basketball, soccer, and rugby. To center one sport while ignoring others felt like a missed opportunity to paint a fuller picture. Particularly in a time with the WNBA, PWHL, and women’s sports bars are having a moment in the spotlight. The softball lesbian stereotype, while rooted in truth, is also a dated joke that no longer feels accurate.
I was disappointed by the book’s limited focus on contemporary queer spaces. While Thomas acknowledges the rise of inclusive LGBTQ+ communities, she dedicates little attention to the vibrant queer bars, bookstores, and festivals that have emerged in recent years. She focuses on the fall of MichFest due to TERF nonsense but doesn’t acknowledge the pivotal role of Dinah Shore.
This is a personal bias of mine, but the dismissal of Olivia Travel as elitist because of the expensive price tag without acknowledging the immense financial risk of chartering entire cruise ships to the tune of a million dollars or more felt particularly dismissive and uninformed. This dismissal also ignores the vital function that Olivia Travel provides, creating a space for queer women to travel safely for the last 50 years. Olivia is also one of the only spaces that caters to queer women of older generations.
The Future of Lesbian Spaces
Thomas’s perspective on lesbian spaces, in general, leaned toward the negative. While acknowledging their importance, and the pivotal role they’ve played in her life experience, she often portrayed them as struggling and outdated. This perspective fails to capture the dynamism and resilience of these spaces. Many queer bars, bookstores, travel based festivals, and small businesses are thriving, adapting to the changing needs of our community, and serving as vital hubs for connection and celebration.
One of the book’s strengths lies in its exploration of the multifaceted role of queer spaces. They serve as support networks, political activist hubs, meeting places, and access points for community resources.
Queer culture isn’t something we’re taught as children; we must seek it out, often in our late teens and early twenties. These spaces become crucial for learning and navigating our identities. They also, unfortunately, provide unpaid therapy for individuals facing family rejection, domestic violence, and substance abuse. The employees and patrons of these spaces become educators, activists, donors, and therapists.
Several quotes resonated deeply with me.
This speaks to the magnetic pull of authentic queer spaces, the sense of belonging that draws us in. It’s the same pull that has thousands of young queers clamoring to experience Futch Night, investing in queer sober spaces, and demanding inclusion.
In the conclusion, Thomas acknowledges that queer women can be terrible customers, demanding too much of the businesses we give too little support to…Queer women have high standards, especially when it comes to policing our own community. We love our spaces, so we’re tough on them, which often ends up hurting them.
Thomas highlights the internal pressures within our community, the high expectations that can inadvertently harm the very spaces we cherish, which is something I deeply relate to as a queer business owner. It is nearly impossible to meet the customer needs of an audience that ranges in age from 21 to death with preferences and identities that are diverse and nuanced.
The question remains: can an inherently diverse group create a truly equitable community, or are we doomed to replicate the exclusionary dynamics of the larger society? This is a question that A Place of Our Own raises but doesn’t fully answer.
Moving Beyond the Narrative of Decline
As someone deeply invested in the future of queer women’s spaces, I believe we need to move beyond the narrative of decline. I am guilty of perpetuating this narrative. While it’s important to recognize the loss, we need to move forward. We need to acknowledge the systemic challenges while celebrating the resilience and innovation of our community.
We need to support our businesses, advocate for equitable funding, and create spaces that reflect the diversity and dynamism of our identities. I also believe that community centers are a necessity and not a luxury. While commercial spaces fill a need, they can not fully replace the function of a true community center and nonprofit initiatives.
A Place of Our Own offers a valuable historical perspective on queer women’s spaces. It is well-researched, thought-provoking, and unique in its approach to a variety of spaces. However, it’s essential to read it with a critical eye, recognizing its limitations and biases. This book is for those who are interested in the history of lesbian spaces, and who are willing to look deeper into the complex issues that surround the creation, maintenance, and loss of those spaces. It is a starting point for a conversation that needs to continue, and a call to action to create spaces that truly reflect the needs and aspirations of our community.
