Do We Still Need Gay Bars? Or Have Dating Apps Replaced Them?

Recently, while I was in Sydney, I overheard a younger gay guy say, "We don’t need gay bars anymore—we have Grindr." The statement unsettled me. Had he never turned up to a questionable hookup's house, only to find himself desperately looking for an exit? Had he never experienced the soul-crushing disappointment of an interaction that felt entirely transactional? Or—perhaps most telling — was he part of a generational shift in how LGBTQIA+ people socialise and connect?

For me, the fun has never been the hookup itself — it’s been in showing up, meeting people, making new friends, dancing, and experiencing the energy of a room full of people like me. That can’t happen in the front bedroom of a stranger’s house, where I’m unsure if we even like the same music, let alone share anything deeper. The idea that gay bars have become redundant because of dating apps feels alien to me — but maybe that’s because, as someone who has actively moved away from using apps, I still rely on these spaces to connect with my community.

But I can’t ignore a real question here: Do younger generations feel the same need for these spaces? And if they don’t, what does that mean for their future?

A Shift in Socialisation

Gen Z is rewriting the rulebook on how they interact with the world. Research shows they are dating less, having less sex, and experiencing unprecedented levels of loneliness. They are, by many measures, the most digitally connected yet socially disconnected generation in history. They have grown up with a wealth of information at their fingertips — less reliant on physical spaces for identity formation and more attuned to curated online realities.

The phrase “We don’t need gay bars anymore” might not be about a rejection of LGBTQIA+ spaces, but rather a reflection of a world where queer people integrate more seamlessly into mainstream social settings. Perhaps younger LGBTQIA+ individuals don’t frequent gay bars because they don’t feel the same need to carve out protected spaces for themselves. They go out with mixed groups of friends, to venues where their identity isn’t questioned or scrutinised. In a way, that’s a victory — it’s the very inclusivity we fought for. But it also raises an uncomfortable question: If LGBTQIA+ venues no longer hold the same appeal for younger generations, will they survive? And if they don’t, what do we lose?

Generational Disconnection

This isn’t about nostalgia or lamenting a bygone era. Every generation of LGBTQIA+ people has had to navigate its own battles. The 80s were marked by unimaginable loss as HIV/AIDS devastated our community. Many of my generation — millennials — grew up without mainstream LGBTQIA+ role models, seeing only drag queens and activists as our public figures. We’ve lost so many of our peers along the way, whether to addiction, suicide, or the continued struggles of existing in a world that has historically made being queer an uphill battle.

Gen Z faces their own struggles: rising hate speech, increasing anti-trans legislation, and the pressures of a digital world that often prioritises performance over real connection. But one thing remains unchanged — community matters.

Where Do We Go From Here?

Maybe I need to accept that younger generations simply interact differently. Maybe community spaces need to evolve to meet the needs of a generation that forms friendships in Discord servers and relationships through TikTok DMs. But I do think we risk losing something vital if we dismiss physical queer spaces entirely.

Rather than fighting over whether gay bars should remain, perhaps the conversation should be: How do we create spaces that matter to LGBTQIA+ people today? Maybe that means more intergenerational storytelling, collaboration, and mentorship. Maybe it means reimagining what LGBTQIA+ spaces can be — less about alcohol and late nights, and more about meaningful connection.

Because while Grindr might be able to get you laid, it’s not going to help you belong.