It’s easy to dismiss Florida as merely ground zero for anti-queer legislation; after all, the state earned an Advisory Warning from Equality Florida in 2023 — this before similar federal actions against the LGBTQ+ community followed. Yet my arrival in St. Petersburg revealed a surprising contrast: I landed in the heart of the city during the inaugural Winter Pride, a weeklong celebration held in February openly embracing the LGBTQ+ community in full force.
Checking into the adults-only Mari Jean Hotel, I soon found myself amid a boisterous crowd of LGBTQ+ revelers enthusiastically flinging bologna slices at “RuPaul’s Drag Race” winner Jimbo’s cartoonish figure within the hotel’s popular poolside bar, Cocktail. When one slice smacked against her breastplate like some absurdist game of pin the tail on the donkey, the cognitive dissonance struck me: Was this really Florida, the birthplace of “Don’t Say Gay” legislation? The answer, as I discovered, is that even the reddest states harbor vibrant pockets of bologna-tossing rebellion.
The Mari Jean, which opened in 2023, occupies a prime corner lot in the Grand Central District, St. Pete’s unofficial gayborhood. This vibrant area has served as an LGBTQ+ cultural hub since the 1980s and ’90s, organically growing with LGBTQ-owned businesses, bars and community spaces. Given its decades of colorful history and celebration, this district has undoubtedly witnessed its fair share of outrageous antics.
In this unexpected enclave of acceptance, I didn’t feel like I was living inside the troubling headlines about Florida. Instead, I was being warmly embraced by a community that defied the state’s reputation — on my first night, I was even led to the Grand Central Brewhouse across the street by two kind locals in their 60s who insisted I try their coffee stout.
All down Central Avenue, rainbow flags adorn shops and restaurants. The Mari Jean Hotel stands as a bold statement itself, with an unmissable mural on its exterior depicting two men intimately cozying up in a pool — a public celebration of queer identity that feels both defiant and perfectly at home in this progressive Sunshine State haven.
For co-owner David Fischer, the multiplex, which includes Cocktail and a new lounge called The Ball (featuring dancers in showers, it truly lives up to its “pop art paradise” description), is an extension of not just who he is but where he came from. Being raised by Catholic conservative parents who “would much rather tell you I’m gay than tell you I didn’t vote Republican” — plus, not coming out until he was 31 — was partly the catalyst for turning an old building previously used as a nursing home into something meaningful for the community: “I want to give people that space that I didn’t have,” Fischer tells me.
In his nine years as a full-time resident of St. Pete, Fischer has seen the city develop considerably — his Mari Jean property was one of the earliest renovations on that corner of Central Avenue. Down toward the pier is his home decor shop, ZaZoo’d, now located at 633 Central Ave.
“I can even think back to 12 years ago when we opened ZaZoo’d down at 500 block and Central: It was pretty bad and pretty desolate from businesses being there,” he recalls. “It was just starting to come back down that way. We were on the front end of developing down there. And once we started with the Mari Jean and the place across the street, Grand Central Brewhouse and LALA Karaoke started to build. That helped the resurgence of the whole neighborhood.”
Something ‘magical’ about St. Pete
For Rachel Covello, finding a wedding ring on the ground near a parking meter on her first night in St. Pete made her feel like she’d landed in a special place. “I picked it up,” she says, keeping it until returning later to the meter. There, she met its tearful owner. “He was emotional and crying when I showed him the ring. “That was my first impression of St. Pete,” Covello says, calling the city “magical.”
That feeling — of connection, of belonging, of things somehow falling into place — is what draws so many LGBTQ+ people to St. Pete. In a state where queer and trans communities are increasingly under political attack, this city stands as a sanctuary of inclusion and joy. Like a lost treasure discovered unexpectedly, St. Petersburg offers the acceptance many have searched for their entire lives.
Covello moved from Pennsylvania to St. Pete seven years ago. She runs OutCoast.com, an LGBTQ+ travel and fashion blog, and OutCoastTV on YouTube. During a recent talk she hosted with St. Pete’s LGBT Chamber, she said “one of the things we all agreed on was that St. Pete’s like a playground for adults.”
“It was the best way to summarize what it really is, because I feel that way,” she says. “There’s always something to do, whether it’s a museum or dining out or art. The art community here is huge. I feel like I found my place here, like I can fit in here regardless of who I am.”
Evelyn Long, 24, feels she’s already built the kind of life that would make her younger Ohio self gasp with envy. Working as the social media manager and executive assistant for Fischer’s businesses, Long escaped what she calls the “pretty depressed and constricted” suburbs of Dayton eight years ago. Now she’s living her best cottagecore-meets-queer fantasy in Gulfport — a “gay town” bordering St. Pete that she lovingly characterizes as full of “old lesbians” — complete with her own chicken and turkey as housemates.
Even though she acknowledges feeling acceptance and support from her family, “I absolutely hated it,” she says about living in Dayton, her voice tinged with the lingering memory of those confined days. “I grew up really resenting where I lived, and I was really happy to move away. I had never really been in a bigger city before and I couldn’t really believe how beautiful it was here. The weather, people. It was a culture shock, for sure, but in a good way.”
The vibrant tapestry of St. Pete’s LGBTQ+ community has given Long profound insights into what makes this coastal haven so magnetic for those with similar backgrounds. “I think St. Pete, in general, attracts transplants and people who have come from different places. And the fact that it’s a queer hub just kind of generates this community among people where there’s this understanding that most of you have probably come from rural areas out of state and have chosen to live here.” She describes the community feel in St. Pete as a “siblinghood.”
In a political era that demands community mobilization, Long has seen a remarkable shift in how community members show up for those who need the most support. When she first arrived in St. Pete, much of the LGBTQ+ visibility and resources centered around gay men. Now, she’s witnessing an inspiring surge of support networks specifically created for gender non-conforming and transgender individuals. The community isn’t just adapting — it’s meeting the moment with extraordinary initiative.
“I think people’s resourcefulness is incredible,” she says. “For example, yesterday someone I know peripherally from different queer events started a trans femme social group just out of nothing. And just a couple months ago, the same thing happened with a trans group.”
The contrast with her early days in the area is striking. “When I moved here, there was no such thing as even a lesbian group that was doing this. It was very much like, you could go to Enigma and you could hang out with the gay men who may or may not frankly want you there, you don’t really know.”
Recently, Long has witnessed the community rallying in response to not just Florida’s anti-queer legislation but federal policies, as LGBTQ+ individuals contend with targeted laws under the Trump administration. She also observes that St. Petersburg has experienced a demographic shift, with more conservative transplants choosing the area during the pandemic given its lack of lockdown restrictions. “So many conservative people fled here during Covid and Ron DeSantis’s reign,” she says.
Gov. DeSantis, who has enacted a record-breaking number of discriminatory measures against LGBTQ+ people into law, has only strengthened St. Pete’s sense of queer community. “I do live in my gay bubble, and that makes me want to stand my ground,” Long says, acknowledging gratitude for a job that allows her to unite community members with joyful experiences and connection. “People have fought to build queer community here, and the idea that people would move here and that would change that, it’s like, ‘Absolutely not.’ So even though there’s this big push against queer people right now, I feel like it’s only given people more motivation to band together and create their own resources together.”
Covello is part of that grassroots organizing, as she looks ahead to Sapphic St. Pete, a series of events taking place Nov. 1–9 that celebrates queer women, as well as nonbinary and trans people. Prior, on June 1, the city will host what has become one of the biggest Pride festivals in the Southeast, according to Visit St. Pete-Clearwater. In June 2023, the Tampa Bay Times reported that over half a million people attended local Pride events. Stanley Solomons, St. Pete Pride treasurer, told the Times, “It’s like we put on Woodstock every year.”
What impresses Long most is how the community continues to respond to political attacks with even stronger solidarity. Rather than retreating in the face of hostility, she’s seen people come together to create vital support systems. She marvels at how community members have “pulled together their resources,” establishing not just social connections but also mutual aid networks.
“The queer community is so resourceful here,” she emphasizes. “They are being attacked from all angles, and yet, the only thing that generates from it is more community.”
LGBTQ+ tourism remains vital to St. Pete’s queer community
Despite the warm embrace of its local community, St. Petersburg’s LGBTQ+ businesses still depend heavily on tourism to thrive. As rainbow-painted storefronts and Pride flags line the Grand Central District, these establishments represent more than just commercial ventures — they’re cultural anchors in a state increasingly hostile to queer expression. St. Pete tells a different story than what we hear on the news given its local government, Fischer tells me.
“That our crazy governor has mandated stuff against the LGBTQ+ community is sad, but a lot of that we don’t feel in the cities because this local government embraces us so well,” he says. “It’s a culture of acceptance around here, and it’s very bizarre to see the exact opposite be felt from the outside.”
Each visitor who chooses St. Pete as their destination contributes to a delicate economic ecosystem that allows these spaces to remain open and vibrant. “It’s tough on businesses, for sure, that are gay-oriented and gay-owned. Because you’re fighting that constant battle with the outside world, thinking one thing because that’s what they see on the news and then feeling something totally different if you can get them here.”
The city’s unique position as a progressive enclave within Florida creates both opportunity and vulnerability. Events like Winter Pride don’t just celebrate identity; they provide crucial revenue streams that help businesses weather slower seasons and political headwinds. For bar owners, hoteliers and shop proprietors like Fischer, each booking at the Mari Jean or each cocktail purchased at The Ball represents a vote of confidence in St. Pete’s continued role as a queer-friendly city.
Tourism dollars enable these businesses to expand their community programming, hire more LGBTQ+ staff and maintain spaces where both locals and visitors can experience the freedom of authenticity.
“And so that’s the key message that I know groups like Visit St. Clearwater have been working on: how we get that message out and make it not so scary to come and visit and realize how accepting it is,” Fischer says.
The contrast between St. Pete’s reality and Florida’s reputation, which he admits is “pretty scary for people from the outside who only see one-sided views of it,” couldn’t be clearer when Fischer reflects on his choice to settle here: “St. Pete is the most gay-friendly city I’ve ever lived in, and I’ve lived in Philadelphia. I’ve lived in some cool places and traveled to some cool places, and I would tell you it’s a very accepting city, and one of the biggest reasons I chose to retire here.”
Beyond Fischer’s gay paradise of entertainment and nightlife lies businesses such as The Garage, described as a “dive with Pride,” and Enigma, a popular bar during the day and a full-on dance club at night. Both are located along Central Avenue, as is Lucky Star Lounge, a laid-back bar with a retro vibe. If you visit, the morning after your night out, grab a cold brew and pastry at Black Crow Coffee Co., just a few blocks from Central Avenue.
Walking there from the Mari Jean Hotel, I was immediately struck by its welcoming atmosphere. Door signs proudly proclaimed “Here We Say Gay” and “We Sell Banned Books,” while inside, rainbow flags decorated the space alongside a powerful message: “We Cannot Stay Silent in the Face of Racism.” A barista told me that everyone there is “a little bit queer” when I mentioned that I was writing this assignment. In that moment, this progressive refuge made me forget I was in Florida, reminding me of what a manager at Teak, a popular restaurant overlooking the pier (worth a visit for the skyline view alone), proudly mentioned during my visit: that St. Pete is “the exception to the Floridian rule.”
“It’s super LGBTQ-friendly, the whole region is,” Covello says. “If you go to Gulfport, that’s super LGBTQ, or if you go to Central Avenue from 31st down to the waterfront, you’re going to find a huge community there.” At the same time, Covello, who is queer and married to a woman, acknowledges that what feels friendly for her isn’t necessarily true for someone else. “My life here is much easier than someone who might be trans,” she adds. “I’m also white. So I don’t want to minimize people that don’t want to move here because they’re truly afraid of living here as a transgender person. Everyone needs to do what feels safe for them from a traveler’s perspective.”
Long suggests LGBTQ+ travelers interested in going to St. Pete skip the car trip down. “Personally, I wouldn’t advise somebody who’s visibly queer to road trip down to Florida because you’re traveling through many cities that are not as queer-friendly as St. Petersburg is,” she says.
She acknowledges the “precarious” nature of traversing landscapes where your identity as a queer person hangs in delicate balance, but insists that “ultimately the truth is that we do need queer people to visit. We need queer people to move here.”
Long reveals the soul of St. Pete, which shimmers beyond its queer-friendly storefronts and the lunchmeat sometimes being flung at drag queens — it lives in the heartbeat of its people, bound together by a shared narrative: “St. Petersburg as an escape from a situation that was bad for them.”
“I want St. Pete to continue being that,” she adds, her words a gentle invitation to a sanctuary that refuses to dim its light.
