INTERVIEW
April 30, 2025
QUEER HAPPENED HERE
100 Years of NYC’s Landmark LGBTQ+ Places
Book by Marc Zinaman
Photography by various photographers
Interview by Karen Ghostlaw Pomarico
‘Queer Happened Here’ by Marc Zinaman is a captivating exploration of New York City’s rich and diverse LGBTQ+ history, highlighting the significance of various LGBTQ+ spaces throughout the city over the past century. Marc’s extensive research reveals places where these communities found the freedom to live authentically and express their true identities.
Marc takes readers on a journey through the city's most iconic queer spaces, as well as some hidden gems and lesser-celebrated spots, from the early 20th century to the present day. He creates a brilliant narrative supported by photography reliving memorable moments of legendary nightclubs, bars, and cultural hubs, celebrating the LGBTQ+ community that has shaped the city's cultural and social landscape.
In this interview, we discuss the inspiration behind the book, the challenges involved in researching and documenting these important but often overlooked or hidden histories, and the importance of preserving these stories for future generations. It is crucial to understand why these spaces are more than just physical locations; they are the heartbeats of a community that has faced immense adversity and yet thrived through creativity, solidarity, and resistance. In today’s social and political climate, it is more important than ever to acknowledge both the past and the present in order to move forward toward a better future.
‘Queer Happened Here’ sheds light on the valuable contributions that LGBTQ+ individuals have made to the cultural and social fabric of New York City. By taking notice of these spaces, we honor the legacy of those who fought for visibility and rights, while recognizing the ongoing struggle for equality and acceptance. Marc’s comprehensive study, combined with his passionate storytelling, provide a vital record of the places where history was made, love and identity were celebrated, and the LGBTQ+ community found refuge and joy.
The forward in ‘Queer Happened Here’, was written by Peppermint, an actress, musician, and public speaker based in New York City, who made history in 2018 by becoming the first openly transgender woman to play a leading role in a Broadway musical. As an artist, actress, and drag entertainer, who has lived and worked in New York City since the early 2000s, her foreword emphasizes how these spaces successfully created an inclusive community and environment for queer and gender diverse people to make authentic connections. She emphasizes the importance of books like this one in preserving the stories of the LGBTQ+ community, which have often been obscured or erased. Peppermint shares personal anecdotes from her early days immersed in the city's nightlife, reflecting on the evolution of queer spaces and the resilience of the LGBTQ+ community. Her insights set the stage for Marc’s deeper exploration of New York’s rich queer and gender diverse history.
The collection of images in this book offers an authentic visual journey through New York City’s LGBTQ+ history, capturing the true spirit of various eras and iconic moments. These images, sourced from a wide array of archives, personal collections, and historical records, provide an authentic glimpse into LGBTQ+ culture that has thrived in the city. From candid snapshots of legendary nightlife venues to poignant portraits of influential figures, the photographs complement the narrative by bringing to life the stories with firsthand experiences of these diverse communities. Each image stands as a tribute to the tenacity, creativity, and spirit of those who have shaped — and continue to shape — New York’s queer and gender diverse landscape.
Join us as Marc uncovers the hidden gems and pivotal moments that have shaped New York City’s LGBTQ+ heritage and learn why preserving the history of these spaces and remembering their stories is crucial for understanding our past and inspiring future generations.
header image: ‘House of Xtravaganza voguing (Luis, Dany, Jose, David Ian)’, 1989. © Chantal Regnault
image below: ‘Tramp Stamp’, 2013. © Jonathan Saldana
image below middle: ‘Couple Roger Pegram and Frank Bushong in Central Park’, 1951. © Robert Young Collection
“...a comment on language. The vocabulary used by and against the LGBTQ+ community has constantly shifted over time and continues to do so today. We’ve been called, and have called ourselves, all sorts of names: inverts, homophiles, homosexuals, pansies, butches, faggots, trannies, dykes, friends of Dorothy, and so much more. Some of these have been empowering, others have been belittling, and several have managed to swing both ways. Many of these terms will appear throughout this book in their historical contexts, but for the most part, “LGBTQ+” and “queer” will be used as umbrella terms to refer to the broad spectrum of people whose sexual and gender expressions were anything but normative during their time. “LGBTQ+” and “queer” are thus not historically accurate, but intentionally used here for ease, inclusivity, and consistency.”
IN CONVERSATION WITH MARC ZINAMAN
THE PICTORIAL LIST: Marc, please tell our readers about yourself and how this project evolved. What inspired you to start documenting the history of LGBTQ+ spaces in New York City?
Marc: Sure! I’m a queer writer/historian and native New Yorker and this project began several years ago after I watched two back-to-back Studio 54 documentaries. I already knew lots about Studio 54, but what caught my attention in both films were brief mentions of and glances at several other out-of-this-world looking nightspots that I'd either never heard of or knew very little about. These were places from 50 years ago like GG’s Barnum Room, which had transgender trapeze artists flying above its dancefloor, or Crisco Disco, which had a giant Crisco can for its DJ booth that people danced around. I eagerly wanted to learn more about these spaces but was also bothered by the fact that I hadn’t known about them despite living in the city my whole life.
This curiosity made me want to dig deeper, and a daily ritual soon formed. Every morning, I’d research two or three places, trying to track down addresses, years of operation, old photos, and whatever scraps of history I could find. I then started pinning these spots to a simple Google Map I’d made, just to document them for myself. When the COVID-19 pandemic hit, I suddenly had all this extra time and before long, I realized I’d mapped nearly 1,000 locations. Initially, the map was just for my eyes, but when I started talking about some of these spots with other queer folks my age, I realized how many of these places none of them had heard of.
That led me to create the Queer Happened Here social media account — as a way to start sharing with friends the images and histories I’d already uncovered, but also as a way to hopefully connect with others who might be holding on to their own photos, memories, and stories from these venues. As the account gained traction, it became clear there was a real hunger for this kind of storytelling. While the social media platform offered a new way to document, celebrate, and preserve these spaces and moments — it also eventually inspired the creation of this book, as an alternative and more lasting extension of that archival work.
TPL: What was your process of selecting which venues and events to include in the book? It must have been difficult to narrow it down, do you have plans for the ones you could not include?
Marc: Yes, it was an extremely difficult process to narrow down and so many factors ultimately shaped both the inclusion and exclusion of spaces in the book. For starters, a book has physical limits — a word count, page count, etc. and so one difficult decision made early on was to only cover Manhattan. But even within the island of Manhattan there have been thousands of queer spaces, far more than I could fit in one volume. Meanwhile, the other four boroughs have also each held their own unique and important queer spaces and deserve books of their own — perhaps down the road! My dad is originally from Queens; I’ve lived in Brooklyn for over a decade — so these “other boroughs” hold incredible importance to me. That said, while books have their physical constraints, the internet does not. And so, with the ‘Queer Happened Here’ Instagram I document queer spaces across all five boroughs as well as those that existed before 1920 and after 2020, which are the bookend years of the book.
Beyond that, some spaces made it into the book simply because I was personally obsessed with them; others were beloved spots mentioned again and again by LGBTQ+ elders I interviewed. And then there were the icons — places like Stonewall and Studio 54 — that, despite being widely covered, simply couldn’t be left out. Just as important to note, though, were the challenges that led to exclusions. As a visual, coffee-table-style book, compelling imagery was essential — and that was often a major hurdle. Many queer spaces, especially in earlier eras, were deliberately undocumented to protect people’s privacy and safety. That made it hard to include them. I initially struggled to find any photos of 12 West, for example, but after hearing how deeply it resonated with so many, I knew I had to find a way to feature it and dug deeper. On the other hand, there was an important early hangout for trans women of color that I wanted to include but couldn’t be due to a lack of available images. That omission was particularly painful.
Overall, though, my primary guiding principle was to try and capture a wide variety of queer spaces that catered to different subsets of the community. Some of the places in the book were wonderfully quirky and short-lived while others have been around for over a century. I think that mix, placing the iconic and widely known alongside the obscure or ephemeral, paints a truer portrait of New York City itself: where a raggedy bodega can sit right next to a glossy high-end boutique. It’s a city defined by constant motion, where countless types of spaces coexist, overlap, and evolve. And this book certainly isn’t meant to be definitive, nor am I absolutely declaring that these were the best or most important or most influential. I know every reader will have their own thoughts about what was left out or what should’ve been included — and that’s exactly as it should be — in no way do I think there is a right or wrong answer.
TPL: What research did you do to find the photographers and images that illustrate your story, supporting your written narrative with the unforgettable visual? How did you choose them? Can you tell us about how these photographers' visual narrative has helped to create a broader message, helping to break down barriers while inviting awareness and acceptance for more inclusive communities?
Marc: Researching images and photographers for this book was just as important as the writing itself and was perhaps the more challenging process of the two. I had already been doing some of this image sourcing work for the Instagram account, and so I ultimately approached it like an archival project — digging through institutional, community and personal archives, scouring through club flyers, zines, and old LGBTQ+ publications, and reaching out to photographers whose work I had been familiar with or already loved and who I knew had helped contribute to how LGBTQ+ life had been visually documented in New York City through the decades. It was definitely a journey that also took me to some unexpected places — other Instagram accounts, of course, but also niche Facebook groups devoted to specific nightclubs from 50 years ago, for example.
Many of the photographers included — like Leonard Fink, Meryl Meisler, Ande Whyland, Efrain Gonzalez and Tina Paul are LGBTQ+ themselves and were very much in-and-a-part of the scenes they were capturing. Photographers like Linda Simpson, who as a legendary New York drag performer chronicled the downtown drag scene with an insider’s intimacy — bring a perspective that goes beyond just voyeurism or aesthetics. When I could, I tried to prioritize these photographers who were embedded in the communities they captured, because they weren’t just documenting a scene from the outside, they were living it themselves. And I think that can come through in their photos.
So, I hope each visual adds depth to the written narrative by grounding it in real lives, real stories, and real moments that shaped queer life in New York. These images also challenge stereotypes by showing LGBTQ+ people in moments of celebration, power, and love during eras like the 1950s when it was extremely difficult to be publicly queer. I think they invite readers — especially those who may not share those identities — to look closer, and with empathy. In that way, the photographs aren’t just illustrations, they are reminders and records that LGBTQ+ folk are people too with a significant historical past and an existence that’s ever-present. And hopefully that all contributes to creating a more inclusive and accepting future.
TPL: What were some of the images that allowed you to return to these spaces, transcending time, evoking a personal connection? Tell us about some of the photographer’s you have collaborated with and what you feel their contribution has been to the LGBTQ+ communities.
Marc: Some of the images that immediately transported me — not just visually, but emotionally — back into spaces that no longer exist were ones from venues that I was fortunate enough to once go to at some point. I think of the Pyramid Club, for example, which is now closed but which by the time I started frequenting it had become pretty much a straight and kind of tacky venue. Still, I got to experience and enjoy its physical space several times, and the photos by Linda Simpson and Ande Whyland of its colorful, gender-bending denizens from the ‘80s and ‘90s help take me back to that space’s prime and an era of raw, experimental and defiant creative energy. Other photos show patrons from different decades at venues that are near-and-dear to me, like Splash and Cubbyhole — which were two of my earliest and most formative LGBTQ+ bars. Then there are just incredible photos of clubs like Danceteria, Palladium, and The Saint — venues I never got to visit — but which capture the incredible aesthetics of the venues themselves as well as the uniquely personal styles of their patrons. These images make me want to build a time machine just so I can go back and be transported to their dancefloors for one night of ecstasy.
I’ve already mentioned a few of the book’s notable photographers, but some others who come to mind and who are absolutely worth mentioning include Chantal Regnault, who has an incredible and extremely important body of work documenting the city’s Ballroom community throughout the 1980s and ‘90s as well as many of its pivotal venues like Tracks and Sound Factory Bar. Then there’s Mariette Pathy Allen, who for many decades tirelessly photographed the transgender, genderfluid, and intersex communities and captured them at often forgotten venues like Edelweiss. Then there are legends like Diana Davies, whose photo graces the cover of the book, and who was a pioneering chronicler of the feminist and gay liberation movements throughout the 1960s and ‘70s.
There are so many more I could name, but across the board I think each of these people made significant contributions to the LGBTQ+ community simply by capturing and preserving its history. At some point in their lives, each of these folks made significant and potentially-career-damaging choices to start going out to venues or events that were often on the outskirts or looked down upon and to photograph what many others at the time didn’t want to know about or see. And so, without those daring moves and the incredible resulting bodies of work that came from them, the LGBTQ+ community today wouldn’t have such a wonderful and robust archive of visual materials that we can look back upon, learn from, and in which we can hopefully see ourselves.
TPL: What was the most surprising discovery you made while researching for this book? What are some of the lesser-known facts that emerged from your research? Can you share a particularly memorable story or anecdote from one of the venues featured in the book?
Marc: One of the most surprising discoveries to make—and what was partially the impetus for the book/project — was realizing just how much queer history is hiding in plain sight. I grew up in Manhattan, and so as a closeted, scared queer kid with no knowledge of LGBTQ+ history I walked past a beautiful but otherwise unassuming building on the Upper West Side every single day to get to school. Then when I was in my 20s I learned for the first time that this exact building had previously housed the Continental Baths, one of the most lavish and legendary gay bathhouses of all time. Maybe knowing that tidbit of history even ten years earlier would have helped me realize that there were, in fact, gay people who had come before me, that there were gay people all around me, and that a whole lotta gay people had already sauntered up and down this very street upon which I was raised. So, discoveries like these suddenly make the NYC feel like a kind of palimpsest, with generations of LGBTQ+ life layered into its architecture.
On a similar note, another discovery that really struck me was how certain addresses in Manhattan weren’t just home to one queer space but have actually been witness to multiple (and often very different) venues across different eras. The book highlights Lucky Cheng’s, for example, which was a groundbreaking restaurant where all the servers were Asian trans women drag queens who also performed there. Before that opened in the ‘90s, though, that building had been home to the Club Baths, the first openly gay-owned bathhouse, and then housed an Ancient Rome-themed restaurant that was a hip hangout for lesbians. So, nuggets like that, which feel like they could only happen in New York. And even if it was purely coincidental, I think there’s something particularly beautiful about this — like these places were being passed down, repurposed, and reimagined by each new LGBTQ+ generation. Even when the names changed or the buildings were renovated, the queer energy lingered.
I feel incredibly lucky to have gotten to hear so many unforgettable stories from the LGBTQ+ elders I interviewed for the book. One that really sticks with me came from Michael Mitchell, an artist who did erotic figure drawings at the LURE — one of New York’s most iconic leather bars in the 1990s. Because he was working inside the space, sketching what he saw, I think he was able to develop this sharp observational eye that maybe most clubgoers don’t — or can’t — tap into in the same way. In any case, he vividly recounted this story of once watching a very-in-love gay couple on the LURE’s stage performing a whipping scene. The top (the whipper) was decked out in classic leather gear, but the bottom, for reasons unknown, was dressed head-to-toe as Mickey Mouse: giant mouse ears, four-fingered gloves, little red shorts with big buttons — the whole thing. And every time he was whipped, instead of crying out in pain, he’d squeal “Oh boy!” in a pitch-perfect Mickey Mouse voice. So, for whatever reason, I just can't get that image out of my head. It’s surreal, hilarious, and oddly tender—a blend that feels deeply New York to me. Where else would something that absurd and intimate unfold on a club stage and somehow just work?
TPL: How do you think the evolution of Queer and LGBTQ+ spaces in NYC reflects broader social and cultural changes?
Marc: The evolution of queer spaces in New York City definitely maps closely onto broader social, cultural, and political changes — sometimes mirroring them, and sometimes resisting them outright. In each chapter of the book, I begin by setting the scene for the decade, discussing some of the broader political, cultural and social goings-on in the city, the country, and the world, whose effects I think can then be observed in the types of spaces that emerged or thrived during that era. In the early 20th century, for example, queer spaces were often underground by necessity, shaped by criminalization and surveillance, and so you’re then constantly encountering spaces like the Howdy Club, Club 82, and Stonewall where the mafia is calling the shots. But even then, you can see queer creativity and community thriving in those margins. As legal and social attitudes begin to shift—especially post-Stonewall—then you start to see more visibly queer bars, and things like LGBTQ+ bookstores and community centers emerge, reflecting both a growing sense of safety and a new refusal to stay hidden.
Then in the ’80s and ’90s, during the height of the AIDS crisis, many of these queer spaces that were meant to just be pleasure domes often became sites of care and organizing — places where people gathered not just to party but to grieve, fundraise, organize, and fight back. And today, while there’s more mainstream visibility, cultural acceptance, and legal protection than ever before, we’re seeing how the pressures of gentrification, rising rents, digital communication and corporate co-optation continue to threaten the survival of grassroots or independent queer spaces. So, at every stage, in some way or another, these spaces have reflected the conditions that queer people were living under — and what was possible to have, what was dangerous to try, and what was necessary no matter what.
The story of queer space in NYC is really a story of marginalized people continuously carving out room for themselves and creating, defending, and reimagining what community gathering looks like.
TPL: What challenges did you face in gathering information and verifying the history of these venues? What advice would you give to readers who are interested in starting a project that involves researching and exploring historical context?
Marc: One of the biggest challenges in gathering information about these venues was the lack of formal documentation regarding their history. So many queer spaces — especially nightlife venues — existed off the grid by necessity and were thus typically not covered in mainstream media or preserved in official archives. That meant that sometimes verifying exact dates of operation, correct addresses, or even the actual names of spaces could be really difficult. For example, finding the exact year that the Pyramid opened required cross-referencing different sources — official records when available, but also interviews, ephemera, and even individuals’ memories. And then there were discrepancies regarding its official name. Over the years it's been called the Pyramid Cocktail Lounge, the Pyramid Bar, the Pyramid Club, and sometimes simply just the Pyramid — so which is correct, and which do you settle on?
I think my recent experience working on another book called ‘Getting In: NYC Club Flyers from the Gay 1990s’ by David Kennerley helped me realize just how important flyers can be for archival work. For one, they often include a date and address, which becomes extremely handy when it comes to pinpointing the exact location and years of operation of clubs or bars. Flyers also often document key players in the scene, listing DJs, drag performers and party promoters, which can then serve as a checklist of important people who shaped these spaces and who might have stories to tell about them.
So, for anyone interested in starting a similar project, I’d say to embrace the detective work. Be willing to think outside the box for possible sources, follow unconventional leads, talk to lots of people and have them connect you with even more people, and take seriously the kinds of records that aren’t always treated as “authoritative.” And for a project like this one, I think communal memory is really important and powerful. Photos and hard facts are useful, of course, but what really brought these nightclubs and bars to life for me were the stories — hearing multiple people light up as they recalled their nights there, the songs they danced to, the outfits they crafted, and the joy they felt.
TPL: How has the influence of technological advancements, such as social media and dating apps, impacted Queer and LGBTQ+ nightlife and community spaces?
Marc: Technology has definitely reshaped queer nightlife and community spaces, both for better and for worse. The rise of social media and dating apps (and the online websites and chat rooms that came before them) have definitely made it easier for LGBTQ+ people to connect, find another, and feel less alone, especially in regions where in-person queer spaces might be limited or even nonexistent. At the same time, they’ve also been credited as significantly igniting a shift away from the importance of in-person gathering spaces — which as the book demonstrates — were historically some of the only spots that LGBTQ+ folks could feel comfortable finding community.
Then there’s also the experience of physically being in a queer space today — everyone can whip their phones out and snap a pic, so that’s good because it means these spaces today are most definitely being documented for the future. On the flipside, when so much socializing has moved online it can lead to the loss of some of the serendipity, connection, and sense of shared culture that comes from being physically present in a room full of other queer people. It’s that classic scenario now of being alone at a gay bar, surrounded by other lonely gay people, but everyone’s too shy to approach one another and instead are on their phones trying to connect with someone in the digital sphere.
Still, queer people have always adapted to whatever tools of communication and connection were available and in vogue — whether it was cruising IRL, sifting through classified ads, using listservs, or DMing on Instagram. The question now is how do we keep that sense of real-life community alive while navigating increasingly digital lives. But I do also think we’re starting to see a growing sense of exhaustion with social media and apps, and a renewed nostalgia for simply being together in physical spaces. There’s a rekindled desire to reconnect offline — and time will tell where that leads.
TPL: How did the AIDS crisis of the 1980s affect the Queer and LGBTQ+ nightlife scene in New York City?
TPL: What do you hope readers will take away from your book? What did you take away from this project?
Marc: I hope readers walk away with a deeper understanding of how rich, layered, and resilient queer history is — especially in a place like New York. I hope people learn about queer spaces they’d never heard of or get transported back to spots they once loved and to memories they’d forgotten about. I hope that people can also relate to these stories and picture themselves in these spaces which they maybe never got to visit. And I hope it reminds people that LGBTQ+ humans have always been here and that we’ve always been seeking and creating spaces in order to be with one another and feel a sense of belonging.
For me personally, the biggest takeaway was the importance of connecting with LGBTQ+ elders — listening to their stories, honoring their experiences, and making sure their histories are documented. So many of these spaces and moments would be lost without their memories. I hadn’t really had the opportunity to do that before ‘Queer Happened Here’, and during this project I realized that my generation is one of the first to grow up with a visible, surviving generation of out-and-proud queer people who came before us. So having access to those voices quickly started to feel like both a gift and a responsibility and reminded me how much we owe to those who came before and paved the way and how much we can and still need to learn from them.
TPL: How do you see the future of LGBTQ+ spaces in New York City evolving in the next decade?
Marc: Oh, that’s always hard to predict, and these past couple years have certainly felt especially unpredictable. Our country on the whole has begun to experience a new wave of anti-LGBTQ+ backlash, and while that feels less directly impactful in a place like New York City, it may still have notable consequences. That said, I think the book reveals patterns in history that can be helpful to look back on and learn from. Earlier attacks on queer existence like the Lavender Scare were terrifying, but queer spaces and lives persisted, and the community came back stronger. So, documenting this history isn’t just about recording the past—it’s also about providing a reminder that we’ve survived before, and we’ll continue to do so.
One trend that I hope will continue to gain traction is the blurring of lines and divisions within the LGBTQ+ community and the burgeoning of spaces that feel extremely inclusive across race, gender, class, and accessibility. So just the presence of more grassroots, BIPOC-led, and trans-centered spaces has been much needed. This past year, for example, the city got not one but two new LGBTQ-owned and operated queer bookshops, including one named The Nonbinarian Bookstore. So that feels really new and exciting and important, and I hope more spaces like that will appear.
Real estate — rising rents, property taxes, insurance costs, etc. — has also always been a key player to threatening queer spaces in NYC, dictating what they look like and where they are located. Over time, as the book reveals, we’ve witnessed queer creatives and venues get pushed out of the West Village, East Village, and Chelsea, leading to a shift toward Brooklyn and Queens. And even those spaces are now moving further out, so it will be interesting to see what neighborhoods become the next cool queer enclaves. Maspeth? Gravesend? Only time can tell.
TPL: What are future projects you would like to explore? What is on the horizon for Marc Zinaman?
Marc: I’m definitely still interested in continuing to explore the intersections of queer history, memory, and place — especially in ways that bring untold or overlooked stories to the surface. As mentioned, there’s still so much of New York I wanted to highlight, including the other boroughs, so I certainly plan to keep running Queer Happened Here online and perhaps more books will come out of it. At the same time, I would also like to maybe shift focus on other cities or regions that haven’t gotten as much attention as New York. I recently worked for several months with a queer archive that’s documenting and preserving the stories from the Deep South — Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, etc. — and so that was really fascinating and feels particularly urgent right now.
And no matter what, I definitely want to keep talking to and working with LGBTQ+ elders, because those stories are still so profoundly important and need to be documented. As for what’s on the horizon — I have a few ideas brewing, but I’m staying open. If this project taught me anything, it’s that history often shows up when you least expect it. So, I’m trying to stay curious and follow the stories wherever they lead.
‘Queer Happened Here’, written by Marc Zinaman and published by Prestel Publishing, is an exceptional and beautifully crafted book. It offers a comprehensive exploration of the rich history and cultural significance of LGBTQ+ spaces in New York City. From the early queer landscapes of the 1920s to the diverse venues of the 2010s, the book traces the evolution of the LGBTQ+ community. Through detailed accounts, personal stories, and historical events, it takes readers on an exciting journey through NYC landmarks and LGBTQ+ spaces. The book serves as a testament to the ongoing struggle for equality and the importance of preserving these spaces as integral parts of the city's heritage. As we look to the future, it reminds us that queer history is still unfolding, and the fight for acceptance and visibility remains as crucial as ever. It’s a valuable addition to any library.
