The Only Lesbian Bar Guide in the World Is from 1928
Since the first episodes of the Our Dyke Histories podcast will begin in nine days(!) and we start with the 1920s and 1930s in n Berlin dyke bars*, it's only fair to bring the magic and visuals to you. May we all have such Berlin joys.
We traveled to Berlin when we could travel again. In 2022, I finished two exciting talks earlier in the week, and now it was all bike rides through Tiergarten, sleep-ins, sex, writing, espressos on sidewalk cafes—and archival adventures ahead. It was my partner Rachel’s first time, my nth visit, and we both glowed. On our second to last day, we jumped on the U8 from Kreuzberg for me to give a workshop at the Spinnboden Lesbenarchiv, the world’s second largest lesbian archive.
I frequented Spinnboden for the year I lived in Berlin (2010-2011), and I was excited to be landed again in its rooms. I dazzled the fellowship committee who (I still think) gave me the funds based not only on my project but the transnational comparison of lezqueer history based on the impressiveness of Spinnboden’s size and impact, second only to the U.S. with Brooklyn’s Lesbian Herstory Archives. Fellowships that believe promoting their national heritage means promoting dyke history remain the only kind of nationalism I can sort of get behind.
Back to 2022, the Spinnboden archival team was delighted that the signup filled to collaborate on an early 20th century Berlin timeline of Spinnboden materials, and I was happy to bring dykes into their main reading room, around their long, wooden table. The shelves there are tightly stocked with German books and periodicals, the stories of tens of thousands (more?) dykes surrounding us.
After introductions, the 14 of us lezbiqueertrans+ people were revealed to be German, French, and American, aged 21 to mid-60s. Pulsing in the middle of the table with its own hum were texts like the 1930s Das 3. Geschlet / The Third Sex, the world’s first transvestite magazine, and materials about lovers like Karen Boye (a Swedish poet that the Swedes are still into and wrote many dykey poems) and Margot Hanel, a German Jew, who fell in love in permissive and accepting 1932 Germany, but escaped the Nazis by heading to Sweden in 1933. A few 20somethings hopped in their chair with excitement.
Each of these items was something a dyke had owned, created, and held dear was now in our hands anywhere from 60 to 100 years later. In between typing, touching, clutching our hearts, asking each other for advice, and laughing, we started sharing what energized us. I mentioned that it would be fun to include some stories of bars, clubs, and parties in our timeline and the crew vigorously nodded in agreement.
I added my inclinations for bar* stories because
- people love lesbian bar stories
- they help dykes to understand how public we could be and where and why, and
- I admitted for the first time in public that I was writing a book on dyke bars*.
Just then, Spinnboden archivist and director Katja Koblitz gently sprung up. Unsurprisingly, someone who is a German AND a lesbian AND an archivist, Koblitz seems to do everything purposefully and gracefully, with efficiency and cleverness. (In my head, she is forever associated both with years of monthly newsletters packed with activist and social activities that I devoured, as well the handful of free tickets to the L-Tunes Party I never got in time.)
Koblitz arrived at my shoulder and tapped me gently, as she said, “Why didn’t you tell me earlier you were writing a book on dyke bars?” I turned and found her beaming with an ultra-straight back in her small frame, short hair, and glasses, as if she may take off in joy like a rocket for my imminent joy. At my eye height, she was presenting me with the 1928 Berlin lesbian bar guide framed in her white-gloved hands.
“What is this beautiful object?!,” I declared.
“A sort of lesbian bar guide,” she paused. “From 1928,” she added, with a twinkle in her eyes.
“A bar guide!,” I exclaimed, wide-eyed as I beheld . Then I stuttered: “In Berlin? For lesbians???? In 1928?!?!?!!”
I was having trouble breathing, and in a good way.
There are LGBTQ or gay men’s bar guides, sure. And there are queer women’s guides but they’re never ever just about bars. Since 1964, The Damron Guide published mostly white gay men's spaces. The Damron Women’s Traveler kicked off in 1990 with an international focus but published from and tended to report more out of the U.S.
Sure, Damron Guides are really useful. They're where we get our historic counts of LGBTQ+ bars c/o Greggor Mattson. They're where we understand our queer nightlife thanks to the Mapping the Gay Guides project. Still, they are still mostly about gay men's spaces.
But, in 20 years of research, Rolling's 1928 Berlins lesbische frauen / Berlin's Lesbian Women guide is the only published and printed lesbian bar guide I have ever seen—about any city, in the world, for all time.
Technically, it’s not even a lesbian bar guide, but rather a record of lezbiqueertrans lives told through the (nightlife) spaces they frequent – and so it becomes a lesbian bar guide by beautiful accident. Rolling’s descriptions include clubgoers’ fashion, the music and décor of each party, and types of women, transvestite (as we were called then), and other gender non-conforming people who filled these spaces.
Might there be other lesbian bar guides rolling around out there, published in long, detailed form like this? Absolutely. But I've been researching lesbian bars, queer parties, and trans hangouts for 20 years the world over, and I've only seen lesbian+ guides that include bars and other dykey spaces.
Dyke worlds are never just bars; dyke bars are, however, what we all want to read about.
Most importantly, these anecdotes capture the sense of being there. I'll share my translated excerpts from Rolling's Berlins lesbische frauen in the weeks to come. 😼 Brace for amazingness.
In the meantime, enjoy the timeline of Early 20th-Century Lesbian History we made at the Spinnboden together.
