A naming row exposes old tensions: who are Sydney’s gay bars for?

Author’s note: Ben Grubb is a cisgender white gay man and GSN’s editor

Analysis: The backlash surrounding Sydney’s upcoming gay nightclub – initially called Pink Pony but now set to be renamed – has exposed tensions within parts of the LGBTQIA+ community and reignited a long-running debate: should venues that primarily cater to gay men have a say over who comes through their doors?

The controversy erupted after Gay Sydney News revealed that Kevin Du-Val, the 80-year-old owner of Oxford Street venue Palms, had purchased Two 3 One, another bar located near the Paddington end of the strip. It would open as a gay club in December under the name “Pink Pony” – inspired by the title of a song by Chappell Roan, a lesbian artist, in which she reminisces about her time at The Abbey, an LA gay bar described in the lyrics as a place “where boys and girls can all be queens every single day”.

The central tension was the clash between the name and the venue’s very publicly stated target demographic. But that wasn’t the only source of anger. Pink Pony CEO Michael Lewis, 57, said the club was aimed at “the [gay] boys, pretty much 18 to 35”, which many queer women saw as incompatible with the name of Roan’s song and its inclusive message. It was, in their eyes, a form of lesbian cultural misappropriation, if you will.

Anger grew quickly when the club said it would “unashamedly” and “predominantly” be for gay men, adding that while “the girls will be welcome”, its “desire” was for a male-heavy clientele.

Comments from Lewis about “legal hurdles” in enforcing door policies deepened concerns that exclusion was more than implied, especially when “90 per cent plus” was referred to as a goal for how many men the venue would be aiming to have inside at any one time.

After initial resistance, management dropped the Pink Pony name, acknowledging it was “tone deaf” and apologising for “clumsy” communication. But the damage was done.

Many queer women felt the episode confirmed a longstanding perception: that Palms itself has been unwelcoming to them, either because of its more than 20-year-old fully enclosed footwear rule or because women were often turned away at the door.

Despite subsequent assurances that “all members of our community are welcome at all of our venues”, the original intent was hard to ignore.

The episode forced an uncomfortable conversation about how queer spaces define their audiences – and what happens when those definitions collide with broader inclusion ideals.

The “tone deaf” name aside, queer women remained angry about the club not being as open to them as it was promising to be for gay men.

When queer spaces draw lines

The question many gay men asked privately this week was straightforward: is it wrong for a gay club to market itself primarily to gay men and limit who enters? The answer isn’t always black and white. Queer spaces have long drawn boundaries to protect their communities.

In 2012, the weekly Birdcage party in Newtown began as a lesbian night. As it grew in popularity and broadened its audience, organisers said in June 2023 that they had been “tightening up our door policy as of late” and warned: “If you’re considering bringing your cis straight male friends to the party… maybe reconsider”. They admitted prioritising safety over inclusion.

But such policies can backfire. One commenter noted that “very gay cis men” with a certain aesthetic had been turned away under similar rules, pointing to the inherent subjectivity of door assessments.

Universal Sydney also restricts bucks and hens parties to minimise antisocial behaviour. And in Perth, a women-only club night launched this year to give patrons a space where they wouldn’t “get chatted up” by men.

These decisions highlight a recurring tension: women-only, queer and gay spaces often prioritise community safety and comfort over open access. Whether they say it out loud is another thing.

The legal landscape

Under NSW law, venues can apply for exemptions from anti-discrimination legislation, allowing them to legally exclude certain groups of people.

Examples include the now-closed sex-on-premises venues 357 Sydney City Steam and Bodyline Spa & Sauna, which were approved as gay male venues.

But granted exemptions aren’t limited to men’s spaces. In fact, most have been granted to women’s organisations and businesses – including gyms, sports programs and the women-only rideshare service Shebah.

A “women-only nightclub and restaurant” called Sirens received an exemption in 1996, and Melbourne’s gay Peel Hotel famously got an exemption under its state’s laws in 2007 to refuse entry to lesbians and heterosexual men and women. Yes, you read that right: it wasn’t just a gender-based exemption, but one of sexuality.

At the time, owner Tom McFeely argued that gay men felt unsafe due to behaviour from heterosexuals and lesbians, and that he needed to “protect the integrity of the venue as a space for gay males”. His language was blunt, but the legal principle remains: exemptions exist to preserve certain communities’ spaces.

“To be honest, most of the Peel’s physical altercations since I’ve been there in the past 13 years have involved lesbians. I am sorry to say that they are the most aggressive customers we have,” he said then. In response to the door policy, protesters scrawled the phrases “Queers hate all discrimination” and “Aren’t we gay enough?” on the outside walls of the Peel.

Even straight men have clubs that exclude women, like Australia’s oldest, The Australian Club in Sydney’s CBD, founded in 1838. For a number of years now, it has been debating internally about whether to allow women. In 2021, its membership voted against allowing them to join. Only 37 per cent voted in favour of allowing women, while 1 per cent abstained. A 75 per cent majority was required for change.

Neither Pink Pony, Palms, nor Birdcage – nor the venue that hosts Birdcage, The Bank Hotel – hold any legal exemptions allowing them to discriminate. Without them, any attempt to enforce entry preferences through the door relies on subjective judgments – often by bouncers or door people – about who “fits”. That inevitably risks bias and discrimination. But even with legal exemptions, how does one go about proving their queerness or gayness?

Among the only other legal reasons that can be used to deny entry is whether someone fails to meet responsible service of alcohol requirements. Even then, those rules can sometimes discriminate against people living with a disability such as cerebral palsy, who may appear intoxicated when they are not, due to the way they walk or if they slur their words.

Cultural tensions and generational divides

Reactions to the Pink Pony saga revealed more than legal questions – they also exposed cultural and generational divides. Many Millennial and older gay men privately said while it was hard to defend use of the Pink Pony name, they saw nothing wrong with wanting a space that caters specifically to them.

Very few spoke online or left comments with their real names attached, fearing similar public criticism to Pink Pony. By contrast, some younger gay men viewed the controversy differently.

One man in his early 20s argued that older gay men view gay venues partly as hook-up spaces – a legacy of the pre-Grindr era – and feel threatened when their perceived “club hook-up pool” includes women. The more women there are, the less opportunity to meet a man, or so it goes.

Another, in his late 20s, said that Pink Pony’s real mistake was “saying the quiet part out loud”, a phrase heard privately several times this week. Of course gay men want gay-male-centred spaces, the late 20s gay man said, “but you won’t hear them saying it out loud. They’ll probably deny it if asked, but it’s true.”

Older men will also tell you that if a gay venue has more women than men, it “ruins the vibe”.

But none of these men expressed hostility toward women. Their comments point instead to shifting expectations about how identity-based spaces should operate in a more inclusive era.

Safety, identity and ownership

Women’s groups have long argued for their own spaces for reasons of safety and comfort – to avoid harassment, being stared at or worse.

Gay men similarly rely on spaces where they can express themselves without fear. Yet when these spaces set boundaries, they face accusations of exclusion from within the LGBTQIA+ community.

Of the lesbians I spoke to, one admitted that this came from a place of jealousy due to the fact that almost every bricks-and-mortar clubbing space in Sydney that is non-straight is catered towards gay men.

Where are the permanent lesbian bars for them, they asked. And it’s a fair point.

The Bearded Tit, a favourite Redfern bar among lesbians, is closing later this month – and the Ladies League sports bar lasted just four months on Oxford Street.

The Pink Pony saga is less about one club than about the evolving purpose of queer venues. Historically, gay bars were sanctuaries from a hostile world. Today, they exist in a more complex landscape: LGBTQIA+ communities are larger, more diverse and more visible. The boundaries that once protected can now appear exclusionary, especially when applied without care or cultural sensitivity.

The choice of the Pink Pony name was emblematic of cultural insensitivity. It borrowed from a lesbian artist’s celebration of inclusivity, while planning to prioritise gay men. The dissonance was obvious – and avoidable with broad community consultation. It highlights how naming, marketing and door policies are no longer neutral decisions; they can signal who belongs and who doesn’t.

The unresolved question

No single person can speak for an increasingly fragmented LGBTQIA+ community. But the Pink Pony debate shows that assumptions once taken for granted in gay male spaces are now being challenged.

Can a venue for gay men exist without alienating others? And if so, under what legal and cultural frameworks? Is it now a societal demand that all gay bars host weekly queer women’s nights despite the potential financial losses that might come with doing so?

Legal exemptions offer one pathway, but they require justification and formal approval. Informal practices, like relying on door staff to assess “who belongs”, are fraught. Equally, blanket demands for fully inclusive spaces risk erasing the specific cultural and social functions these venues serve.

The Pink Pony controversy didn’t resolve these tensions; it exposed them. Gay male spaces now face scrutiny not only from outside the community, but within it. Navigating that will require more thoughtful communication than Pink Pony initially offered – and perhaps a clearer understanding that safety and inclusion are not always perfectly aligned.

Then there’s the fact that if a gay bar doesn’t actively project and enforce its identity there’s a risk it will be overwhelmed by straight patrons, a similar risk faced by queer women’s events. In the eyes of many I spoke to, this is exactly what has happened at some Oxford Street venues.

As one person wrote in a comment this week: “I was at Universal recently [and] some of the gays were asking the guys they fancy ‘are you gay?’, only to find out they are straight and with their girlfriends. Unfortunately being ‘inclusive’ is now [an] uncontrolled free-for-all and driving the gay regulars away.”

Ultimately, and perhaps sadly, creating spaces where people feel included, safe and comfortable sometimes means drawing lines that exclude others.

The Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras organisation knows this all too well after its event’s name was changed in 2011 to “Sydney Mardi Gras” to represent the broader community it was seeking to represent, but reverted back to “Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras” after its gay and lesbian members raised concerns about a lack of consultation.

At a time when homophobia is again on the rise, these debates about who belongs in queer spaces aren’t just about branding or demographics – they go to the heart of what it means to feel safe, visible and at home.

Editor’s note: Palms is an occasional sponsor of the irregular Gay Sydney News “what’s on” guides. This article is not sponsored.