In the mid-1990s, around 140 feminist bookstores were in operation. They varied in size, inventory, and structure—some were collectives, some community-based, some had a single owner—but all were queer-friendly spaces for people of all ages. Now most are but a memory. Only a dozen or so survive—mostly thanks to a loose affiliation with local colleges, “side lines” like jewelry and labyris-shaped tchotchkes becoming the store’s main focus, or a reliance on volunteer labor. As someone who experienced all the benefits of the feminist bookstore movement, this breaks my heart. The halcyon world of my own lesbian acculturation seems more distant by the day—and shuttered bookstores aren’t the only symptom.
In recent years, lesbian—the identity, the community, the spaces and sensibilities organized under the word’s banner—seems to have fallen on hard times. According to one sociologist, 103 lesbian-identified bars have closed across the United States in the past decade or so. Younger women who love women are choosing the label queer or espousing some notion of sexual fluidity at higher rates. Radical feminist thinking, historically led by lesbians, has come under criticism in some cases as being transphobic or otherwise outmoded. Butch/femme gender dynamics are evolving, with a growing sense of porousness between butch and transmasculine identities. Although aspects of classical gay male culture (RuPaul’s Drag Race, app-based cruising, campy humor) have worked their way into the mainstream for better or worse, lesbian culture—if such a thing still exists—can feel as opaque to outsiders as ever.
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