Why New Orleans Is the Best LGBTQ+ Destination in the Country
How one writer found “the most inclusive queer festival” in the US and the confidence to strip down to a towel.
As one of the most culturally distinct cities in the US, New Orleans has always been a sanctuary for othered voices.
A bastion of creativity and self expression, it’s a destination for misfits and transients, for artists and dreamers. It’s a refuge for queer people, boldly fostering its LGBTQ+ community and setting the precedent for what inclusivity should look like.
“I have dreamed of New Orleans since I was five. I had always felt a connection to the city,” says Jimmy Gale, a San Francisco Bay Area expat who works in HIV/AIDS research for the City of New Orleans and was Grand Marshal at Southern Decadence in 2023. Moving here four years ago, Gale was blown away by how welcoming people were. “People are so open with themselves and their history here,” he says.
For a queer bubble in the deep South, that’s crucial. “As a transplant living in the deep South and as an openly gay person living with HIV, it was very scary moving to such a different place,” Gale recalls. “But it’s always been a safe haven for people that felt different or not connected.”
I’ve never lived in New Orleans, but Gale’s words resonate. I’ve long felt a kindred connection here. Prior to my most recent visit, for Southern Decadence last year, I never really pinpointed where that kinship stemmed from. But returning to New Orleans with my husband for the most inclusive queer festival I’ve ever seen tapped into an overarching facet of the city I’ve always vibed with, but never put into words until now.
As with any city, New Orleans underwent its own cultural evolution to get to where it is today. Frank Perez, former Southern Decadence Grand Marshal and head of the nonprofit LGBT+ Archives Project of Louisiana, says it took setbacks before achieving progress. “There was a time when it was not OK to be gay here,” he recounts, detailing 1950s-era police raids and gay bashing. “As tolerant and wonderful as we are now, it wasn’t always that way.”
Afraid that queer visibility would deter tourist dollars, most marketing was toward white cis-male conventioneers.
“Queer community has its struggles,” echoes Gale, citing the arson attack on the French Quarter gay bar, the UpStairs Lounge, in 1973 which was the largest LGBTQ+ massacre in our nation’s history prior to the Pulse Nightclub shooting in Orlando in 2016.
But, as Gale points out, this is a city that thrives in adversity. “Surviving my first hurricane here, I was terrified, but I saw the best of people come together. Same with the pandemic. When everyone is struggling, everybody steps up and takes care of each other.”
That sense of camaraderie is intrinsic, and it’s been quantified: New Orleans is one of the only cities to achieve a near-perfect score on the Human Rights Campaign’s Municipal Equality Index. “Being a port city, for more than 300 years people have come from all over the world—it’s in our DNA that we take in people,” explains Mark Romig, CMO of New Orleans & Company and the leader of the “Everyone’s Welcome Here” campaign.
Thanks to Southern Decadence, which started in 1972, and advocacy groups educating politicians in the 1980s about queer issues, the city passed a nondiscrimination ordinance in 1991—way ahead of the curve on a national scale.
For many locals, that annual event signaled a sea change. “[Southern Decadence] got bigger year after year, so much that they started naming Grand Marshals, and then a parade and a whole weekend of activities,” explains Gale, one of three Grand Marshals last year, along with Nicole Dubois and Monica Synclaire Kennedy.
“Labor Day rolls around, and 200 to 300,000 gay men show up and hotels are filled, cabs are busy, restaurants are slammed, and bartenders are making money,” Perez explains. “Money doesn’t buy acceptance, but it’ll buy a lot of tolerance. The city had an attitude adjustment.”
Southern Decadence has become nearly as iconic as Mardi Gras, with close to half a million people in attendance for five days of events across the city. “[2023] was record breaking,” says Gale. “It was the largest parade ever, with close to 70 marching groups and over 3,000 people in the parade itself.”
Parties and pageantry aside, never in my life had I seen such a grand display of inclusivity. When we showed up for the parade, an older gentleman who looked like he was in his mid-80s, asked if he could take a photo of me in my gold-sequined tank. He was giddy to be there, and to feel just as celebrated as everyone else. In the parade, there were lesbians, trans people, elders, people in fetish gear, people in pup masks, and people in sexy Star Wars costumes—Southern Decadence is a glitzy reminder that everyone is welcome.
And the parade is just the tip of the iceberg. The whole weekend is a spectacle of affirming revelry, with scantily clad events that do wonders for body positivity and expression—like a bathhouse- and Bette Midler-themed party that made me confident enough to strip down to a towel. Southern Decadence encompasses all that I love about this city that wears its Pride on its sleeve (and its towel).
Another major festival also plays a role. “Mardi Gras is one of our secret sauces,” Romig describes. “It allows everyone to celebrate themselves and their truth, and people respect that.” It’s a spectacle that highlights the unity of humanity, regardless of race, background, size, age, or sexual orientation. Plus, there’s nothing unifying quite like a good party.
“I always like to tell folks that in New Orleans, any excuse to celebrate is all they need,” says Romig. In a city where there’s always something to celebrate, and there’s room for everyone, the queer community thrives. “The fears of visiting the South as queer people are real,” he adds. “But once you come to New Orleans, you’ll be welcomed with open arms and you’ll probably get glitter on you without even trying.”