You get to decide the words that describe you. This is a home for lesbians, gays, and bisexuals who love the words that already describe them, and don't need a new label to belong.
For most of modern history, "gay," "lesbian," and "bisexual" were the words we fought for. They're the words 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. They're specific. They mean attraction to the same sex — or, for bisexual people, to more than one sex — without that attraction being folded into a broader political identity. They aren'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," "lesbian," and "bisexual." People who simply want to be called what they've always called themselves are corrected, relabeled, or told that holding onto those words 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 lesbian, gay man, and bisexual person 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 LGB 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," "lesbian," or "bisexual," 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 distinct identities that took generations to name and defend. Lesbian, gay, and bisexual 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 lesbian, gay, or bisexual and be conservative, religious, monogamous, married, gender-conventional, or none of those things. These words describe an orientation, not an ideology.
We're often told that preferring "lesbian," "gay," and "bisexual" 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 these words describe something specific — sexual orientation — 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 "lesbian," "gay," or "bisexual" over "queer" isn't a claim that our lives are "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 lesbian, gay, or bisexual, 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.
Right in the middle of it. This is an LGB space — lesbians, gays, and bisexuals all share a common experience of loving people of the same sex (among others, for bisexual people) that's distinct from "queer" as a political and theoretical umbrella. Bisexual people aren't an afterthought here; "bisexual" is one of the specific words, alongside "lesbian" and "gay," that we think deserves the same respect as any other.
No — this site simply isn't speaking for transgender people's own choice of language, because gender identity is a separate question from sexual orientation. We're not asking anyone to stop using "queer," "trans," or any other word that fits them. We're asking for the same courtesy in return: let lesbians, gays, and bisexuals use those specific words without correction.
For many people, yes — and we respect that. But reclamation isn't universal or automatic. Many older lesbians, gays, and bisexuals 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 LGB 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 "lesbian, gay, and bisexual" for "queer" in their materials, the specific history of LGB people — the AIDS crisis, the marriage fight, decades of activism done under those names — 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 lesbians, gays, and bisexuals 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.