Last call, or last chapter?
Queer bars are closing across the country. In an Upstate New York city, one community is grieving the loss of two legacy spaces and betting on what comes next. (Shutterstock Creative/Christina Krivonos)
The energy at the bar was already electrifying by 9 pm. An hour later, it was picking up. Renditions of iconic disco music filled the air with conviviality and joy as two bartenders managed - miraculously, despite the noise - to take orders and slay drinks.
The bar owner and manager made their way through the bar's growing number of patrons. Not to manage, but to socialize. (The owner graciously gave me a stool to sit at the bar.) Familiar and the newcomers; regulars and the uninitiated. They were all there to enjoy a fun night of dancing and burlesque.
Meanwhile, just down the street, another queer bar stood empty. After five decades of operation, one of this city's revered gay establishments had closed down within the past six months. The first of two casualties, so far, at a time when we see these spaces closing down at an alarming rate.
In the past 18 months, communities across the country have witnessed neighborhood queer establishments closing their doors. Once a refuge from a hostile, anti-queer community, these spaces have been the only spaces for folks to form friendships and find love long before the era of social media and the internet. From Club Lambda in New York City to Denver Sweet in Colorado and Ginger's in San Francisco, there's a not-so-subtle trend of closing venues as anti-queer legislation increases at the local, state, and federal levels.
As some communities are grappling with the loss of these long-revered spaces, others are seeing the birth of new ones. And, in some cases, renewals, striving to cultivate inclusivity amid rejection.
Located along Lake Ontario, Rochester is the fourth-most populous city in New York State. In addition to being home to nationally known brands like Kodak, Xerox, and Wegman's, the city is also home to a vibrant queer community that enthusiastically celebrates year-round, from their annual Pride Week in July to pop-up dance parties at Water Street Music Hall and other venues. Among the newest venues to offer space is Flora. Before opening the queer venue back in November 2025, Tom DeBlase was known in Upstate New York's music scene for over 20 years and had been producing queer nightlife events for half that time.
"I really just have a passion for bringing people together and creating events," he tells me. "I'm passionate about building a community and bringing people together...how that enhances people's lives." Flora was a project he had been working on for years. Having a space like this was more than just slinging back drinks: it was about having a safe space as the conservative and far-right rhetoric and legislation tried rolling back hard-fought gains for the community.
"There was a sense of urgency," DeBlase says passionately. "It is a bar, but I see it as a gathering place first and foremost for the community. That was a lot of the intention with how the space is laid out, and not having television screens there....A space that gets people out of the house and come together, talking, creating conversations." In the early evenings, you can catch folks sitting quietly in corners reading books or chatting. Of course, by 10 pm, the atmosphere is different, but still one that invites rather than excludes. Tom and his team have put on remarkable events, from having regular DJs spin every Friday to pop-up burlesque shows to a new series of "queerky science (and social) nights" for the community. It's remarkable, and surprisingly refreshing for an establishment of this caliber.
At the start of 2025, Rochester had three queer establishments, with Flora being the fourth. But by the end of the year, it was down to just two. The Avenue Pub and Bachelor Forum each had over 50 years of queer history in their spaces, serving the community from the 1970s onward. First working at Avenue Pub and later at the Bachelor Forum, Peter Mohr eventually became the owner of both legacy bars. When he announced the closing of Avenue Pub in November, he cited the changes in neighborhood bars. On Christmas Eve, Mohr followed up with an announcement of closing the Bachelor Forum's doors – albeit temporarily. "We're going to do a rebranding," Peter assured. "It's still going to have the legacy of the Bachelor Forum...We want to celebrate 60 years because they're milestones."
When asked what led to the decisions to close the bars, he was honest about them. "I bought a bar. I remodeled a bar," Mohr responds. "The first year of taking over the Pub, we were successful. The Forum was also successful. The following year, we had crime on Monroe Ave...I always say there's only one person to blame, and that's me."
On New Year's Eve, Mohr took to Bachelor Forum's Instagram with a thank you to the community – and an apology. "I've made mistakes along the way," he said candidly in the video, "but I'm looking forward to a [sic] 2026." The mistakes, he admitted in our interview, were mainly about putting too many resources into the Avenue Pub, which detracted from Forum's success. Though the community response to these closures ranged from sympathy to anger and allegations of staff misbehavior, Mohr is determined to bring back at least one of the legacy bars: rebranding Bachelor Forum as Forum Seventy-Three, an homage to the bar's original founding, set to open in June.
Ownership accounts for only half the story. There's another story on the other side of the bar: the people these establishments serve, particularly those who have never felt fully welcome in them. The question is whether a new name or a themed night is enough if you're only going to end up sitting in the corner feeling excluded. For Javannah Davis, President & Founder of W.A.V.E. Women, Inc., dedicated to uplifting Rochester's trans community, you can't separate the conversation around queer bar closures from a harder one about who these spaces have actually served. "Inclusivity means respecting the intersectionality of your clientele," she affirms. "Knowing that everybody is not going to look like you." It's a standard, she notes, that many establishments – however well-intentioned their programming – have consistently failed to meet. Most bars remain overwhelmingly white, cisgender, and gay, and for Black, brown, and trans patrons, the gap between what's on the flyer and what happens at the front door has always been wide. "It's oftentimes where shit starts," Davis plainly explains, "at your own front door."
The fix, she argues, isn't cosmetic. It starts before the door opens. "Get to know the community you're trying to be a part of," she says. "Don't open the doors based on your own thoughts, opinions, or biases." For a bar like Flora, which has positioned itself as a queer space rather than a gay one – that language carries its own promise – Davis sees potential, but also a challenge. Earning the trust of Black, queer, and trans Rochesterians requires more than inclusive branding: it requires showing up in the neighborhood before anyone has ordered a single drink.
When the last song ended at Flora, I sat with it for a moment while enjoying my now-favorite drink: Carrie Bradshaw Lied (a fun take on the iconic cosmopolitan). The room had given people what they came for – and maybe more than that. A dance floor. A barstool. A conversation with a stranger who turned out to be exactly who they needed to meet. Queer bars have always been in the business of these salvations, long before anyone thought to write about them. Rochester may be down to two of them now, but on this particular Saturday, in this particular room, you wouldn't know anything was missing.
You would have only known that something was here.
And somewhere in the archive of every queer bar that has kept its lights on past midnight, there is proof that the insistence on gathering, joy, and taking up space has always been the most radical act of all.
