It’s hidden. If you’re driving down Forest Park Avenue near the edge of the Central West End, you might completely miss it. There aren’t any neon signs screaming for your attention. There’s just a brick facade and a history that stretches back decades. We’re talking about The Club St. Louis. It isn’t just a gym or a sauna; it’s one of the last remaining pillars of a specific era of gay culture in the Midwest. While cities like New York and San Francisco have seen their historic bathhouses shuttered by gentrification or shifting social apps, the St. Louis "Club" has somehow survived.
Honestly, it’s a bit of a time capsule.
But it’s also a business that has had to navigate massive shifts in public health, technology, and social acceptance. When you walk inside, you aren’t just entering a private men’s club; you’re stepping into a space that has been a sanctuary, a controversy, and a community hub since the 1970s.
What is The Club St. Louis exactly?
Let’s get the basics out of the way. The Club St. Louis is a private, members-only health club catering primarily to gay and bisexual men. It’s part of a small, loosely affiliated chain of "The Club" locations across the country, including spots like Columbus and Indianapolis.
It’s open 24/7. That’s a big deal.
The layout is pretty straightforward. You’ve got your standard gym equipment, a steam room, a dry sauna, a whirlpool, and private dressing rooms that double as sleeping quarters or "resting" areas. For a lot of guys, it’s a place to work out at 3:00 AM without the judgmental stares of a corporate "Big Box" gym. For others, it’s about the social aspect—or the sexual one. We shouldn't beat around the bush here; bathhouses have always been spaces for sexual freedom. That’s part of the DNA.
The survival of the bathhouse in the age of Grindr
You’d think apps would have killed this place by now.
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Why leave the house when you can just swipe? It’s a valid question. However, places like The Club St. Louis offer something a screen can’t: physical presence and immediate safety. In a world where digital ghosting is the norm, the "Club" offers a tangible environment. You know who is there. You can see them. There’s a certain level of vetting that happens just by virtue of someone paying a membership fee and walking through the door.
A history rooted in the 1970s and 80s
The Club St. Louis didn't just appear out of nowhere. It’s been at its current location since the late 1970s. Back then, gay bars were often windowless holes-in-the-wall because being "out" was a genuine professional and physical risk. Bathhouses provided a rare "safe zone."
Then the 80s hit.
The HIV/AIDS epidemic changed everything for these establishments. While many cities, notably San Francisco under intense political pressure, moved to shut down bathhouses entirely, St. Louis took a slightly different path. The Club had to evolve. It shifted from being just a "pleasure palace" to becoming a site for health outreach. This is a nuance people often miss. Throughout the 90s and 2000s, local health organizations often partnered with these spaces to provide testing and education. It was—and is—easier to reach a high-risk population where they already congregate than to hope they show up at a clinic.
The legal and social hurdles
It hasn't always been smooth sailing. Like any business operating in a "gray area" of social morality, The Club St. Louis has faced its share of scrutiny. Zoning laws, health department inspections, and police "walk-throughs" were common throughout its history.
But here’s the thing: it’s legal.
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Because it’s a private club with a membership structure, it operates under different rules than a public park or a standard commercial gym. This private status is what has allowed it to weather various political storms. While the surrounding neighborhood—the Cortex Innovation Community and the ever-expanding SLU campus—has modernized and "cleaned up," The Club has remained a constant, albeit quiet, neighbor.
What to expect if you actually go
If you’re imagining a scene out of a movie with red velvet and incense, you're going to be disappointed. It looks like a mid-range athletic club from about 1995. It’s clean, but it’s utilitarian.
- The Check-In: You show your ID, pay for a locker or a room, and get a towel. Simple.
- The Vibe: It varies wildly depending on the time of day. Saturday night at midnight is a different universe compared to Tuesday morning at 10:00 AM.
- The People: You’ll see everyone from college students to retirees. It’s surprisingly democratic in that way.
One thing that surprises newcomers is the silence. It isn't a loud, thumping nightclub. It’s actually quite quiet. People are there for their own reasons—whether that's a steam after a long shift or something more adventurous.
Why places like this are still relevant in 2026
We live in an era of "loneliness epidemics." Even within the LGBTQ+ community, physical spaces are disappearing. Lesbian bars are almost extinct, and many historic gay bars are being replaced by luxury condos. The Club St. Louis represents a specific type of "third space." It’s not home, and it’s not work.
It’s a place where the barriers of social class often drop away because, frankly, everyone is just in a towel.
Moreover, there’s a historical preservation aspect here. While the building itself might not be an architectural marvel, the culture it houses is a direct link to the pre-Stonewall and post-Stonewall era of queer history in Missouri. To lose it would be to lose a chapter of the city's social fabric that isn't written down in the standard history books.
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Addressing the misconceptions
Most people who have never been to a bathhouse think they are den of iniquity or inherently "dirty." That’s mostly just leftovers from 1950s morality. In reality, the management at The Club St. Louis is pretty strict about conduct. There are rules. You can't just do whatever you want. If you’re disrespectful or break the house rules, you’re out. It’s a business, and they want to keep their license and their reputation among their regulars.
Practical Information for the Curious
If you’re planning to visit or are just researching the local landscape, here are a few things to keep in mind:
- Membership is mandatory. You can usually get a one-day trial or a "student" rate if you're younger, but you will have to provide a valid ID. No exceptions.
- Bring your own flip-flops. While they keep the place clean, it’s a wet environment. Common sense applies.
- Respect the "No." The culture of the club is built on consent. If someone isn't interested, you move on. It’s that simple.
- Security. There is 24-hour security and monitored parking. Given the location near a busy metro area, this is a major plus for patrons.
Looking Forward: The future of 2625 Forest Park Ave
Will The Club St. Louis be there in another twenty years? It’s hard to say. The land it sits on is becoming incredibly valuable as the "Cortex" tech corridor expands. Developers are constantly eyeing these blocks for new lab spaces or high-end apartments.
However, the "Club" has survived the AIDS crisis, the rise of the internet, and a global pandemic. It’s resilient. It serves a niche that, despite all our digital progress, still craves physical connection and a place to truly be oneself without the "filter" of the outside world.
Whether you view it as a relic of the past or a vital community asset, its impact on the St. Louis LGBTQ+ landscape is undeniable. It’s a quiet survivor in a city that is constantly changing.
Actionable Steps for the Community and Visitors
If you're interested in supporting or exploring the local LGBTQ+ history of St. Louis, don't just stop at the bathhouse. Check out the St. Louis LGBT History Project. They do incredible work documenting spaces like The Club and the bars that used to line Manchester Avenue.
For those visiting The Club St. Louis for the first time, go during a "tour" time if they offer one, or simply go during a weekend afternoon when it's a bit more relaxed. Understand the etiquette: keep your voice down, be respectful of people's privacy, and remember that you are in a space that has served as a refuge for many men long before it was "cool" or safe to be out in public.
Support local businesses in the Grove nearby after your visit. The ecosystem of queer St. Louis is small but mighty, and it thrives when people actually show up in person rather than just liking a post online.