A Map of Queer Manila: The Safe Spaces for Every King, Queen, and In-between

(SPOT.ph) Maybe you’ve heard that the gays only gather in the dark, hidden pockets of the city, to go and do the secret, shameful things we must love to do. While those may have been our circumstances once upon a time, it wasn’t because we were actually doing anything wrong, necessarily. Queer communities of the past (and some still today) were forced to get together clandestinely because of what the conservative authorities would do to us if they knew what we were, period.

Maybe that’s far removed from your reality; consider yourself extremely lucky if such a thing is unimaginable to you. We’re now living in an age that, even if not everyone is accepting of the LGBTQ+, we’re guaranteed to find the people who are, online and off.

These days, despite opposition that fluctuates in strength, we are as universal as the forgotten tarpaulin from two elections ago, now used for shade—literally and figuratively. And not unlike those same tarpaulins, where there’s one of us, there’s a bunch of us; if you’re still in the in-betweens of your identity, or still in the closet, you’re never truly alone.

So here’s a little map of Queer Manila, featuring both the expected and unexpected pockets of safety for our community; for the curious, the closeted, the out and lost, the future ally, the ones who’ve been away too long—we hope you find your second, third, fourth home on this list.

If there’s one thing this colorful community loves to do, it’s dance—granted, not all of us have been blessed with rhythm and open hips, but it’s nothing a few classes at this queer-friendly studio in San Juan can’t fix.

Coach Jamie Soriano in particular specializes in empowering, sex-positive, and artistic self-expression. The class we’re privileged to sit in on is an eager mix of people—largely of the feminine persuasion, queer and not alike—but we’re assured that everybody’s welcome, and there’s likely to be a coach teaching whatever dance it is one might want to learn.

“I found this place when I was grieving my dad,” says Jonnah, one of Soriano’s students. “I wanted to dance. I felt really welcome here and they make it easy—even rewarding—to be yourself.”

And don’t discount the possibility of meeting The One at a dance studio. (What is this, a 2001 rom-com?) Two of the dance students here met, partnered up from time to time, and pretty soon fell in love.

But when you’ve got the moves… where do you show them off?

Full Out Studios is at 3F 180 A. Mabini Street, San Juan City. Check out their schedules and shows or book a class through their Instagram.

You know ‘em, you love ‘em, and you’ve probably tipped the dolls at ‘em—the gay bars of Metro Manila, if I do say so myself, are second to none in their own ways. O Bar in Pasig is always a good time; Makati has gems like SANCTUARY and The Bolthole; and Bar Zero is a rising hotspot in Mandaluyong (more on that later), right alongside Club Mwah.

For a quick roundup, here are just some of the go-to gay outposts:

Makati: Apotheka, the Bolthole Bar, Hoesik, SANCTUARY

Mandaluyong: Bar Zero, Club Mwah

Pasig: O Bar (Note: This particular bar has strong roots in the old Malate drag scene.)

Quezon City: Butterfly, Rampa Club, Rapture

The point is that the gay (and occasional lesbian) bar, virtually no matter where you go, is some form of haven for queer communities. What we might see today as a normal facet of nightlife was once a lifeline; the reason we generally celebrate Pride in June can be traced to one gay bar in Greenwich Village, on a night when the NYPD messed with the wrong crowd.

That was Stonewall Inn, watering hole to LGBTQ luminaries like Marsha P. Johnson, Sylvia Rivera, and Stormé DeLarverie. Today, for all its great importance, the iconic New York bar is under attack yet again. So whatever you make of the bars—and many have come and gone through the years—remember that history can be made there at any moment.

Our friends at sapphic event group Sunny Club have, of course, thought of the homebody queers. (Trust women to consider the introverts.) Luckily, according to them, the wave of the cozy cafe hasn’t left the rainbow collective behind by any stretch.

Corner26 is a community art and intimate event space that serves coffee and serves, period. It’s also a great example of upcycling, which we’re all about—once a residential building, its conversion into a more communal space where the sense of inclusivity is quiet but pervasive is an excellent glimpse into the kind of world we want to build one day. Is that a lot to put on a single coffee shop? Maybe. But they’re not on their own in this.

Neighborhood Coffee, Deuces, Middle Kid, Hakid and Kombi Brew are just some of the names you may have seen around the metro in your search for your next favorite latte, but it’s worth noting they’re also queer-owned and -operated. So our ‘you’re never alone’ point? Consider it made.

Corner26 is at 26 Maalalahanin cor. Mapagkawanggawa, Diliman, Quezon City. Learn more via their Instagram.

Neighborhood Coffee is at 7A Capitol Hill Drive, Quezon City. Learn more via their Instagram.

Learn more about Sunny Club here.

Color us tickled when DJ Xtina Superstar named one of our 50 Great Restaurants of 2023 as one of her safe spaces.

“It’s not strictly a queer space, but when I was thinking of it in terms of places I enjoy and can feel totally safe and myself, Kodawari in Salcedo was a no-brainer,” she says. “It helps that a lot of my favorite food is here, obviously, but on top of that, I know I can be myself in here.”

The Michelin Selected (belatedly informed as they were) Filipino-Japanese fusion spot is about as colorful as its crew and customer base. Creative Director Toni Potenciano-Abesamis doesn’t take their accolades lightly. “Michelin was crazy,” she says, “but I like to think it says something about us that our diners do feel at home here. How could you not feel honored by that?”

It does need to be said that not every well-decorated restaurant with a near-perfect menu is going to be a queer hotspot, and more’s the pity. However, Team Kodawari overall are a pretty warm and affirming bunch of people. From their servers to their chef, it’s an understood thing—come as you are, you’re safe here.

It’s more than that for Xtina though, and for that, we must look at her parties.

Xtina Superstar was photographed at Kodawari, 121 L.P. Leviste Street, Makati City. See a list of Kodawari branches.

Churchlovesu, or simply Church, began as an IYKYK disco party—almost exclusively for the more feminine-leaning of our community. Where this party is held changes as they have no set venue, with many of their save-the-date posters on their Instagram initially reading, “Location: TBA.”

“When we started Church, virtually nobody wanted to give us a chance,” Xtina recalls. “I knew what I wanted was to spotlight the dolls—women of all experiences, trans people of all flavors—because that’s my overlap, and I know how easily we’re pushed to the margins everywhere else.”

It’s not unrealistic to say that Xtina’s noble goals were also her first obstacles, but that’s exactly where Kodawari stepped in. “[They] gave me gift certificates to give as prizes for a costume party when my other friends in the industry didn’t pick up the phone,” she says, “but it’s only gotten better since then.”

It’s become a series of the most well-attended parties Metro Manila has ever seen, with ticket drops going for broke once they’re announced on Church’s social media—they’ve even had to make walk-in tickets available due to demand. These celebrations (quarterly, for the most part) are where the femme and fabulous absolutely take center stage—wherever the venue, at this Church, queerness isn’t queer at all.

Get updates on Church's next venues and upcoming parties by following them on Instagram.

Now you know where to party. But where do you go to get ready?

Since 2022, Barbierro has been catering not only to the cis (that is, not trans—it’s only a descriptor, don’t be scared) gay men, and not even only to the strictly masculine-presenting. Regular barbershops can feel rife with danger if you’re not exactly what they call a man’s man, but a place like this queer barbershop can get you the look you’ve been dying to try or—as many others have gone in for—to simply help you feel more at home in your body.

I’ve not gone myself, as I have the privilege of being a generally gender-conforming woman, but I know many who can only sing Barbierro’s praises—gay men, queer women, and nonbinary walking lookbooks. If you don’t think you can pull off a mohawk, there’s probably a stylist in one of their three (coming up on four, we hear!) branches who could talk you into it. 

Some of you may have looked into similar spots like Backalley Barbershop, Revised Salon, and, of course, every Ricky Reyes branch in existence—this isn’t a competition, in the end. The beautiful thing about all the queer-friendly and queer-owned establishments these days is that we get to choose.

See a list of Barbierro branches, or keep up with their pop-ups via Instagram.

This comes as no surprise—in fact, the University of the Philippines (Diliman and Manila, where I attended) is where I had to fully come to terms with the fact that I wasn’t, am not, and probably have never been totally straight.

It’s not without its antiquities or faults, let me be crystal clear; the diversity of thought within the university system is a double-edged sword. There are still many organizations that are well within their rights to privately (and at times not-so-privately) make their disdain for queerness and gender non-conformity known. Yet UP has housed generations of LGBTQ+ icons—artists, designers, architects, lawyers, doctors, community leaders, you name it—it’s almost as if the budget cuts taught us all to do more with less.

Where perhaps other schools with stricter religious roots had to come around, UP’s always been a little more free-spirited. This comes with a very particular set of downsides—because queerness is almost part of the UP experience, it becomes a little harder to explain the oppression we experience to fellow students or alumni. The school has probably produced the most people who assume that our community is asking for ‘special rights.’ Still, for the most part, students who still don’t quite know where they land on the spectrum will find some understanding here, and friends for life before long. Those outside of the system, well… you’re still welcome. I hear the run clubs are cool.

University of the Philippines Diliman's primary vehicle entrance is at M339+H94, Roxas Avenue, Diliman, Quezon City.

Speaking of clubs—did you guys know about this? (Pardon the homebody bisexual.) We asked around and Greenfield as a whole came up as one of the top answers for a queer safe space, owing the honor not only to the aforementioned Bar Zero, or even to the vast choices of entertainment and recreation. In reality, Greenfield should be recognized as a marker of societal progress and queer history.

Writer and activist Thysz Estrada shares with SPOT that it is no result of random chance that this plot of commercial land has become something of a micro-city for the community—the gay capital, some might say. “Once the BPOs, marketing agencies, and call centers started coming in around the early 2000s, it was cheaper to build and hire around the Ortigas area,” she says. “Those opportunities in turn pulled us out of niche, artsy jobs and, in a sense, out of the old capital that was Malate.”

It’s a classic example of queer migration patterns, which are really just a subset of regular migration patterns: we go where our quality of life is shown to improve. “It really appealed to what we’re good at, especially those client-facing jobs that require a higher level of English proficiency,” adds Thysz. “Those offices around there were among the first to implement no-discrimination hiring policies, which contributes to Greenfield’s status and longevity as a queer safe space.”

The 15-hectare slice of Mandaluyong is a patchwork of energies—you have your nerds playing tabletop games in one corner, your fitness gays in another (see: Climb Central, Obstacle Central, and Anytime Fitness). There’s a pocket for an older crowd towards Mayflower Street; this branch of Flipside Burgers even stays open late for the night shift girlies.

It’s a far cry from the ‘one giant hookup spot’ blanket assessment that others may have assigned the area, but as it happens, Greenfield is also a short distance away from a cluster of clinics.

The Greenfield District's primary vehicle entrance is at H3H3+PQC, Mayflower St, Mandaluyong City.

LoveYourself is a line of sexual health facilities that began in 2011 and continues to thrive under the leadership of Dr. Ronivin G. Pagtakhan, whose vision for a safe future for queer youth and an HIV-free world inspires even patients to become volunteers. Janlee Dungca, the clinic’s Head of Public Relations, is one of over 1,000 people so touched by the warm, unconditional care that LoveYourself is built on.

“It happened early on in my transition,” she shares with SPOT. “I was going out, having fun, and had unprotected sex once… he urged me to get tested some time after.” She shakes her head at her own recollection. “LoveYourself was already around, but it wasn’t the first place I went. I just kind of Googled in a panic. Thankfully the doctors I first saw were not judgmental and really put things in perspective for me. They said, ‘You’re a woman now. You have to be more careful because your partners will tend not to be.’”

Despite the 30 days’ worth of post-exposure prophylaxis that her two doctors managed to pool together between them, Janlee did come up with a reactive result—she’d need to test again just to be sure. “It’s a less than 1% chance that a reactive result is a false positive,” she says, quoting from memory. “But they have to be completely certain. LoveYourself is where I went to get the final test.”

Because of the stigma at the time (which lingers even today), Janlee was understandably distraught. The walk between the clinics was ‘the longest ten minutes ever’, tears pouring down her face almost the entire way. “The counselors here saved my life before they even took blood or gave me medicine,” she says. “I’ll never forget that.”

And it would be hard to forget, because she got her miracle—in the end, she tested negative.

“It didn’t matter that I didn’t need meds after all,” she explains. “They cared for me so well before we even knew for sure, that I wanted to give back and pay it forward and all the rest, you know? They really taught me the value of loving yourself enough to protect yourself, and to love others by being responsible.”

Today, LoveYourself operates and supports over 10 clinics and counting around the Philippines, offering post-exposure care and pre-exposure prophylaxis (which you may know as PrEP). While they started out by addressing the urgent need of sexually active gay and bisexual men, over time they’ve seen to the sexual health and safety of people of all persuasions.

“Sometimes children come in here with no guardian,” says Julius Ramilo, a full-time employee at the clinic along Shaw Boulevard. “It could be anything—one of their parents was a carrier of HIV and didn’t know it, or it could be an abusive situation. Either way, we’re here for them.”

“Would it help break the stigma if people like me got on PrEP and were open about it?” I ask.

“For sure, but your safety would be far more important than addressing that,” says Julius. “Girl, we’ve always lived with stigma. Ang importante is yung safety.”

Janlee Dungca and Julius Ramilo were photographed at LoveYourself, Inc. Anglo, Unit 5, 3/F, Anglo Building, #715-A Shaw Boulevard, Mandaluyong City. See a list of LoveYourself clinics and partner hubs.

We return to San Juan for perhaps one of the most unexpected safe spaces for queer folk in Metro Manila, but also arguably one of the essential spots.

One’s spiritual well-being mustn’t be overlooked, especially in this day and age—and especially if you’re likely to be marginalized in traditional spiritual environments. Enter Open Table MCC, an ecumenical Christian church that aims to have as vibrant a congregation as possible—hence, too, the ‘ecumenical’ part, which is the more fun version of espousing no particular denomination.

The Google results say as much, with an outright label after their name: “Same-sex weddings.” The MCC stands for Metropolitan Community Church, or a church that operates under the Universal Fellowship of Metropolitan Community Churches (UFMCC), a progressive Christian movement with 250 member congregations in over 20 countries.

For full transparency: None of our queer friends recommended this, but only because they hadn’t heard of the place. How did we come by it? A coworker got married there—she and her wife are celebrating five years of domestic bliss now, and looking forward to more.

When we reached out to the church, we expected to be allowed to drop by on a random weekday so we wouldn’t get in the way of the weekly Sunday service (4 p.m., if you’re interested). “Please come on Sunday,” replied one of their representatives via email. “It’ll be extra special. Pura Luka Vega will be there as we’ve invited her to assist in communion.”

And it’s a beautiful service, where no one insists on themselves (except maybe us, camera clicking away) and, more importantly, no one hides from one another. Of course, members and guests are discouraged from using the church as a place to ‘meet people,’ as it were—but if Jesus is your guy and His fans tend to disappoint you, this might be the place for you.

While their website doesn’t specify any formal counseling sessions, newbies and guests are encouraged to come every Sunday for the service (or attend via Zoom if you can’t make it!), after which the floor is open for questions—you’ll hear from the pastor, and from ordinary churchgoers who have likely been exactly where you are on your spiritual journey.

“I was kind of ready to give up my faith because of how others treated me in religious spaces, which used to be safe spaces when I was younger,” says one member of the congregation. “In a way, I found Open Table MCC not only when I needed it most, but when I was ready to accept the love of a church again, and ready to truly choose myself in the eyes of a loving God—not just accept what I am because I have no other choice.”

I don’t know for sure what I believe, myself; adolescent and religious trauma may have messed me up more than being queer ever has or ever will. But I know when I sat there feeling zero judgment, I in turn gave zero judgment; it is what self-acceptance (and perhaps the concept of God) may have been about all along.

Maybe you’ve seen the church's float or individual members at Pride parades and wondered whether they’re the real deal. Let’s get one thing straight, and two things gay: They are. They absolutely are.

Open Table MCC is at 1604 Annapolis Wilshire Plaza, Annapolis Street, San Juan City. For more information on services, volunteer opportunities, or donations, check out their website.

Photos by Paul Sugano

Art by Warren Espejo

Special thanks to Jonnah Dayuta, Janlee Dungca, Thysz Estrada, Jamie Soriano, Xtina Superstar, Toni Potenciano-Abesamis, Jack Nicklaus Quimpo, Pura Luka Vega, Full Out Studios, and Open Table MCC

Happy Pride.