You get to decide the words that describe you. This is a home for gay people who love the word "gay," feel it in their bones, and don't need a different label to belong.
For most of modern history, "gay" was the word we fought for. It's the word chanted at Stonewall, printed on the earliest protest signs, spoken quietly in hospital rooms during the AIDS crisis, and whispered by teenagers coming out to their parents for the first time. It's specific. It means same-sex attraction — men who love men, women who love women. It isn't a mood, a politics, or an umbrella term for anyone who feels a little different.
In recent years, many institutions — universities, media outlets, even some LGBTQ+ organizations — have started treating "queer" as the default, more sophisticated replacement for "gay" and "lesbian." People who simply want to be called what they've always called themselves are corrected, relabeled, or told that holding onto "gay" is old-fashioned or exclusionary.
We think that's backwards. Being told what to call yourself — even with good intentions — isn't liberation. It's just a new kind of pressure.
This site exists for every gay man and lesbian who has felt that pressure and wants to say, plainly: I know what I am. I don't need a new word for it.
Some critics call this position exclusionary, or even bigoted. We think the accusation gets the history backwards. "Queer" began as a slur. Its reclamation in the 1990s was a deliberate act of political theory — an attempt to build a big tent that dissolves the boundaries between sexual orientation and gender identity, and often between gay identity and broader questions about monogamy, marriage, and gender norms. That's a legitimate choice for the people who make it. But it was never a universal replacement for "gay" or "lesbian," and plenty of people who lived through the era when "queer" was hurled as an insult never made peace with it.
Insisting that all same-sex-attracted people fall under "queer" doesn't expand inclusion — it erases a distinct identity that took generations to name and defend. Gay and lesbian identity is about who we love. It doesn't require a theory, a rejection of gender categories, or agreement on politics or lifestyle. You can be gay and be conservative, religious, monogamous, married, gender-conventional, or none of those things. "Gay" describes an orientation, not an ideology.
We're often told that preferring "gay" over "queer" is trans-hostile or "heteronormative." We reject the first claim outright: supporting the dignity, safety, and rights of transgender people is not in tension with maintaining that "gay" describes something specific — same-sex attraction — that is distinct from gender identity. You can hold both without contradiction. Plenty of us do, every day.
As for "heteronormative" — we'll take it, with a clarification. Marriage equality was never a request for something new. It was a request for the same institution, the same protections, and the same obligations that straight couples already had — nothing more, nothing engineered to be different. That was the point. Equality doesn't mean inventing a separate lane; it means securing full access to the one that already exists.
Choosing "gay" over "queer" isn't a claim that being gay is "just like being straight." It isn't a rejection of anyone else's identity or politics. It's simply this: we get to choose our own words, our own communities, and our own lives — the same freedom that queer politics claims to be about in the first place.
If you've ever felt uncomfortable being folded into a label you didn't choose — if you've been corrected for calling yourself gay or lesbian, or made to feel like your preference is a political failing — you are not alone, and you are not wrong to feel that way. This is a space to find people who feel the same, events where you can meet them in person, and resources if you need support.
Welcome home.
We'd rather engage honestly than pretend these questions don't come up. Tap each one to read our answer.
No — internalized homophobia is shame about being gay. This is the opposite: it's pride in the word "gay" itself, and confidence that our specific experience of same-sex attraction doesn't need to be folded into a broader theory to be legitimate. Loving the word that generations fought to reclaim isn't shame. It's the point of the fight.
We're not asking anyone to stop using "queer," "bi," "trans," or any other word that fits them. We're asking for the same courtesy in return: let gay men and lesbians use "gay" without correction. Distinguishing our specific experience from others' isn't exclusion — it's precision, and it's compatible with full support for the rest of the community.
For many people, yes — and we respect that. But reclamation isn't universal or automatic. Many older gay men and lesbians were called "queer" as an insult long before it was reclaimed, and that history doesn't disappear because a newer generation adopted the word differently. A term can't be "neutral by default" for people who never signed up for the reclamation.
We accept that label and think it's a feature, not a flaw. Marriage equality was always about equal protection — access to the same institution straight couples already had, not a new or different one. Wanting ordinary things (marriage, family, a stable community) is not a betrayal of gay liberation; it's one legitimate outcome of it, alongside every other way people choose to live.
Words are how we're seen, counted, and remembered. When institutions quietly swap "gay and lesbian" for "queer" in their materials, the specific history of gay and lesbian people — the AIDS crisis, the marriage fight, decades of activism done under that name — gets rebranded under a term many of us never chose. Naming ourselves accurately is how that history stays visible.
Meetups, pride events, support groups, and gatherings organized by verified members — anywhere in the world.
No lectures, no relabeling. Just other gay men and lesbians who see their experience reflected back at them.
Crisis lines, further reading, and a growing library to back up what you already know about yourself.
Browse events near you, get support when you need it, or just say hello. You belong here exactly as you are.