West Hollywood: The City That Forgot Its Queer Soul

From Queer Haven to Corporate Playground: How West Hollywood Lost Its Soul

By Samantha Krause

Once hailed as a global symbol of LGBTQ liberation, West Hollywood is no longer the safe, inclusive haven it once imagined itself to be. What was founded as a sanctuary for queer people, artists, and outsiders has steadily transformed into a developer-driven playground for investors, luxury brands, and political insiders.

From Haven to Commodity

The city that once embodied queer freedom now caters to developers and hoteliers. New glass towers rise where rent-controlled apartments once stood. Longtime residents are pushed out as property values skyrocket. Younger LGBTQ Angelenos, the very generation that should inherit West Hollywood’s legacy, can no longer afford to live there and have increasingly relocated to North Hollywood (NoHo) and nearby neighborhoods.

Former Councilmember John Duran insists that the city isn’t getting “less gay, but more gray.” In truth, that statement underscores the problem: West Hollywood’s older residents remain while younger queer people, priced out and alienated, scatter across the Valley, Koreatown, and East L.A. The pipeline of queer migration that once led to WeHo has reversed.

Eroding Queer Identity

Even culturally, the city feels less queer-friendly. The historic stretch of Santa Monica Boulevard once lovingly called “Boys Town” now faces criticism and resistance, some from within the city itself. There are now several women-only gyms in West Hollywood, including Bia Mind & Body, SWEAT Fitness Studio, and The Strength Code, yet a small stretch of Santa Monica Boulevard celebrating gay men as “Boys Town” is treated as controversial.

Boystown refers to that part of West Hollywood where, historically, gay boys thrown out of their homes came from all over the country to seek refuge. The name Boystown is not about gender, exclusivity, or gay men only, but a name paying homage to a period in history when that stretch of WeHo gave young queer people a sense of belonging, community, and safety that few other places in America offered.

Women’s groups and non-LGBTQ activists have campaigned to erase that label, framing it as exclusionary. What was once a vibrant, visible expression of gay male culture is now treated as a public-relations liability.

Meanwhile, incidents of homophobia directed at gay men, often cloaked in political correctness or “community inclusion” language, have surfaced. The city’s response has been tepid, more focused on image management than genuine dialogue.

Today, gay men, who are often perceived as being at the top of the so-called LGBTQ hierarchy, face a different kind of prejudice. The very group that endured the most brutal years of the HIV and AIDS epidemic, who fought for equality when the world turned its back on them, are now experiencing hostility and reverse discrimination from within their own community. Among some activists and organizations, gay men are viewed not as survivors of oppression but as privileged insiders, an ironic and painful distortion that erases decades of sacrifice and resilience.

Former Councilmember John D’Amico once tried to revive that sense of celebration and queer identity by founding West Hollywood Go-Go Dancer Appreciation Day, a festival and competition created after the city’s Halloween Carnaval had lost much of its gay roots. He wanted to build something new that honored gay culture and nightlife in WeHo. But after facing significant criticism, his then-campaign manager convinced him to end the event after just three years, making 2013 the last year so that he could secure reelection.

The Affordable Housing Mirage

City Hall loves to boast about its “affordable housing mandate,” which requires that 30 percent of new units be designated for low- to middle-income residents. In practice, however, there’s little to no enforcement. Developers market “affordable” units, then quietly rent them at near-market rates. Oversight is minimal, complaints go unanswered, and the city’s supposed commitment to housing equity is little more than a press-release talking point.

Behind the scenes, political donations from developers, closed-door deals, and a revolving door of consultants create a system where those who profit most from the city’s land have the loudest voice. Corruption may be an impolite word, but many longtime residents whisper it openly.

The West Hollywood Chamber of Commerce, which is partially funded by the City of West Hollywood, has effectively become a lobbying organization for developers and hoteliers. While it claims to represent the city’s business community, small and medium-sized businesses receive little to no meaningful support from it. Instead, the Chamber functions as an advocacy arm for corporate interests, pushing luxury projects that further price out locals and reshape the city’s character.

Losing the Plot

West Hollywood was supposed to represent a radical experiment in self-governance, a small city built on progressive values where marginalized communities shaped policy and culture. But somewhere along the way, it became a brand instead of a movement.

The rainbow banners still hang on Santa Monica Boulevard, but for many, they feel like set dressing, colorful reminders of a past ideal that no longer matches reality.

West Hollywood can’t continue to market itself as an LGBTQ haven while pushing out the very people who built it. Pride isn’t measured by parade sponsorships or hotel tax revenue; it’s measured by who can actually afford to live, love, and feel safe in the city that once promised sanctuary.

Until that promise is renewed, West Hollywood will remain what it has quietly become, a queer city in name, but not in spirit.