Why Philly Needed the Lezborhood

A Beautiful Night in the Lezborhood / Illustration by Lars Leetaru

A huge granite bar on the first floor, a pool table on the second, a bright patio for smoking, all drenched in pink and red lighting — Val’s Lesbian Bar at 3rd and South in Queen Village feels like your cool aunt’s living room. And your favorite dive bar. Also, the hottest nightclub in town and a community center, all rolled into one.

The place debuted in March with a weeknight grand-opening party that hit capacity so fast that by 10 p.m. the line to get in snaked down the block. The following Saturday, the bar was so packed that owners Julia Harris and Clover Gilfor actually ran out of alcohol, and had to temporarily close on Sunday. Now, even on a “slow” night, a couple dozen patrons can be found seated at the bar and chatting with friends, or immersed in Val’s frequent events — dancing, karaoke, even the occasional book launch.

When I visited in April to experience the buzz for myself, I spotted some 15 people huddled around a back table, where two women were arm wrestling — part of a skills workshop hosted by a group called, yes, Queer Arm Wrestling. Attendees ordered drinks with droll names like Butch Bait and the My Ex-Girlfriend Is Here! shot. I did’t realize, until a bar-goer mentioned it, that this was Lesbian Visibility Week — an apt time to be in this stretch of the neighborhood. Val’s sits just two blocks from Marsha’s — the popular queer-owned women’s-sports bar that opened in September — and now, the two brick-and-mortar spaces for queer women (something Philly hasn’t had for years) have led patrons of both spots to dub the area the Lezborhood.

“Lesbian bars are dying in this country, so the fact that there’s one popping up here is a pretty bold thing,” said Martina, a Fishtown resident who’d stopped by Val’s the same April weeknight as I did. “What better place for a Lezborhood than Queen Village?”

For decades, lesbian bars have been disappearing across America, undone — like many bars in general — by high operating costs, a new generation of non-drinkers, the rise of dating apps, and the slow death of “third spaces.”

Philly has felt that loss acutely. From the ’60s on, spots like Rusty’s, Rainbows, Mahogany, Mamzelle’s, Sisters, and more all drew crowds of the region’s party-going queer women. But over time, those spots vanished. Toasted Walnut at 13th and Walnut streets was the last one standing until it closed in 2021, felled by the pandemic.

Until Marsha’s and Val’s opened, Philly — sandwiched between robust lesbian bar scenes in D.C. and New York — had next to no permanent, brick-and-mortar queer women’s spaces to speak of. Which is what makes this stretch of South Street’s eastern corridor feel akin to a phoenix beginning to rise from the ashes.

After all, South Street has experienced a similar rise and fall. What was once a shining star of Philadelphia’s nightlife and alternative culture has stagnated over time, characterized by little more than a collection of smoke shops, sex shops, cheesesteak joints, and vacant storefronts — offset by a handful of enduring, beloved institutions like Tattooed Mom, Philly AIDS Thrift, Magic Gardens, and the TLA.

Chivonn Anderson, owner of Marsha’s sports bar, hangs a Pride flag emblazoned with the Phillies logo. / Photograph by Linette Messina

Then, last September, came Marsha’s. Though owner Chivonn Anderson says it’s not a traditional lesbian bar, it’s a hit with sapphic patrons and sports fans who regularly fill the space and sell out events, with customers ranging from 21-year-olds to octogenarians.

Meanwhile, Queen Village’s alternative and artistic history and concentration of other queer-centric businesses was a big selling point for Val’s co-owner Harris, a PhD candidate in lesbian history at Harvard. The size of the place — a bilevel bar with approximately 2,000 square feet — was also a draw.

“One of the things that we were so excited about is that we have the space now to allow some of these parties that move around to have this as a home base where the sound gear is already here for the most part,” Harris says of the city’s weekly and monthly queer- and woman-focused parties, many of which tend to bounce from venue to venue. “We are trying to create a very low barrier to entry for people who want to throw events here.”

A peek at Val’s event lineup proves it. Within a month of opening, the bar had already hosted or scheduled line dancing, a meetup for Magic the Gathering, a Black lesbian strip club pop-up, a craft night, and several DJ sets, with much more in the works.

Other businesses have been wildly supportive, Harris and Gilfor say, helping shovel sidewalks after snow, sharing ice machines when the one at Val’s broke, bringing hot meals. But the best endorsements — and signs of a real thing happening — are from the regulars.

Hanging out at the bar on a busy night at Val’s Lesbian Bar / Photograph by Linette Messina

“I’ve been here on dates. I’ve been here for events. I’ve been here with friends just to have a good time,” says Michi, a twentysomething Brewerytown resident and regular at Val’s. “I love it and I’m gonna keep coming back. I hope that more people keep coming back, and that it lasts a very, very long time. It’s definitely a great spot to be with other sapphics and to make new friends and connections and community and maybe even more.”

The feeling that everyone wants Val’s — and a Lezborhood — to succeed is palpable. (Gilfor and Harris tell me that the South Street Headhouse District jumped at the chance to welcome their bar to 3rd Street. “I feel like they’ve pretty heavily insinuated that the plan is sort of for a new neighborhood revival,” Gilfor says.) And the couple, and patrons of their bar, feel that Val’s already is a South Street staple, and a staple for the city’s community of queer women.

Lee, another bar-goer coming in from Mount Airy, echoes the sentiment. “I’m so grateful to have the Gayborhood and have these really popular, healthy gay bars, but to just be able to go to a bar that’s for lesbians is so nice,” she says. “To be able to have a couple drinks, have a couple snacks, talk to people that are cool and fun, and know that we’re all sort of on the same page, it’s one less thing to think about. I’ve never thought about there being a specifically [lesbian neighborhood], but if there’s a place in Philly that could pull it off, it’s here.”

Published as “A Beautiful Night in the Lezborhood” in the June 2026 issue of Philadelphia magazine.