The Stud San Francisco is back. Honestly, if you’d asked anyone in the SoMa district back in 2020 if the city’s oldest queer bar would survive a global pandemic and a massive rent hike, the answer probably would’ve been a polite, tearful "no." But queer spaces in this city have a weird way of haunting the pavement until they find a new place to materialize.
It’s a miracle. Seriously.
When the keys were handed back to the landlord at the old 9th and Harrison spot, it felt like the end of an era that started in 1966. We’re talking about a place where Etta James sang, where Björk DJed, and where the cocktails were always a little too strong for a Tuesday night. It wasn't just a bar; it was a living, breathing archive of leather culture, drag excellence, and the kind of messy, beautiful community that modern corporate "rainbow" bars just can't replicate.
What actually makes The Stud San Francisco different?
Most bars are owned by one person or a small group of investors looking at a spreadsheet. The Stud is a worker-owned cooperative. That sounds like a bunch of buzzwords, but it basically means the bartenders, the performers, and the cleaners are the ones calling the shots. When the bar faced closure in 2016, a 17-member collective stepped in to save it. They didn't do it for the ROI. They did it because losing The Stud would have been like losing a limb.
San Francisco changes fast. Tech money moves in, old Victorians get gutted, and suddenly the "vibe" of a neighborhood shifts from grit to glass. But The Stud managed to maintain its soul because it wasn't beholden to a single owner's mid-life crisis or a bank's demand for higher margins. It was held together by the people who actually used the space.
The history here is deep. It’s "drinking through the AIDS crisis" deep. It’s "police raids in the 60s" deep. You can't just move that history into a new building and expect it to work instantly, but the collective is trying anyway.
The new era at 1123 Folsom Street
The new location isn't just a pivot; it's a massive upgrade. Moving into the old Julie’s Supper Club space on Folsom Street puts The Stud San Francisco right back in the heart of the South of Market leather district. It feels right. The new spot is bigger, featuring a dedicated stage for drag and live music, which was always the lifeblood of the original venue.
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There's a specific kind of magic required to make a new venue feel old. You need the smell of spilt beer, the dim lighting that hides a decade of bad decisions, and a sound system that makes your teeth rattle. The collective has been working tirelessly to ensure the "Stud-ness" of the place survived the move. This isn't a sterile lounge. It’s a dark, loud, inclusive cavern.
Why the "Save The Stud" campaign worked when others failed
We’ve seen so many iconic spots vanish. The Lexington Club? Gone. The Gangway? History. So why did The Stud San Francisco survive?
Persistence. And a hell of a lot of fundraising.
The collective didn't just ask for hand-outs; they built a brand. They threw "Drag Alive" shows online during the lockdown. They sold merch that people actually wanted to wear. They leaned into the fact that San Francisco is a city that loves a comeback story.
It also helps that they are incredibly transparent. If you look at their public statements, they don't hide behind PR-speak. They talk about the struggles of commercial real estate in SF. They talk about the $500,000+ needed for renovations. They talk about the reality of being a queer business in an era where "inclusive" often just means "expensive."
The Drag Scene and the "Meow Mix" Legacy
You can't talk about this place without talking about the performers. The Stud has always been a laboratory for the weird. While other bars were booking "pageant queens," The Stud was hosting "Princess," a weekly party that embraced the bizarre, the political, and the downright gross.
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It’s where Heklina and Peaches Christ helped define the San Francisco drag aesthetic: DIY, subversive, and fiercely intelligent. The Stud San Francisco didn't care if your wig was straight or your heels were scuffed, as long as you had something to say. That spirit is what attracts the younger generation of performers who feel alienated by the polished, "RuPaul-ified" version of drag seen on TV.
Dealing with the San Francisco real estate monster
Let’s be real for a second. San Francisco is a nightmare for small businesses. Between the permitting process, the seismic retrofitting requirements, and the sheer cost of labor, opening a bar is a Herculean task. The Stud's journey to 1123 Folsom was stalled by the usual red tape that kills most dreams in this city.
The collective had to navigate the "Legacy Business" program, which provides some grants and rent stabilization, but it isn't a silver bullet. They had to fight for every inch of that space. It’s a testament to the power of communal ownership. If it were one person's bank account on the line, they would have folded years ago. Instead, they had 17 people—and a whole city of supporters—carrying the weight.
A timeline of the survival
- 1966: The Stud opens at Folsom and 7th. It’s a hippie-inflected gay bar, unique for its time.
- 1987: It moves to 9th and Harrison. This is the "classic" location most people remember.
- 2016: The collective forms to buy the business and save it from a massive rent hike.
- 2020: The physical location closes during the pandemic. The business goes "nomadic."
- 2023-2024: The new Folsom Street location is secured and renovated.
- 2025-2026: The Stud fully cements its place as the anchor of the SoMa queer scene once again.
What you need to know before you go
If you’re heading to The Stud San Francisco for the first time, leave your expectations of a "normal" club at the door. It’s a place of radical self-expression.
Expect a mix of ages. One of the coolest things about The Stud is seeing 22-year-old art students dancing next to 70-year-old leather daddies who were there when the bar first opened. That intergenerational connection is rare in a world that usually markets to the 21-34 demographic and ignores everyone else.
The drink prices remain relatively reasonable for San Francisco. They know their crowd isn't all tech VPs. It’s a "people’s bar" first and foremost.
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The cultural impact beyond the drinks
The Stud is a piece of living history. It’s one of the few places left that remembers the city before the dot-com boom, the second tech boom, and the post-pandemic shift. When you walk in, you’re walking into a lineage of resistance.
It’s a place where political organizing happened during the darkest days of the 80s. It’s a place where gender was being deconstructed long before it was a mainstream conversation. That kind of cultural weight is why people fought so hard to keep the name alive. The Stud San Francisco isn't just a business; it’s a landmark.
Moving forward: How to support the legacy
Saving a bar is one thing. Keeping it open is another. The reality of the nightlife industry in 2026 is that it requires constant engagement.
- Show up for the weird stuff. Don't just go on Friday nights. Go to the Tuesday night experimental performances. Go to the fundraisers.
- Buy the merch. It actually helps fund the astronomical insurance and operating costs.
- Respect the space. The Stud is a sanctuary for many. Understand the history of the neighborhood and the people who made it what it is.
The Stud’s survival is a blueprint for other cities losing their soul to gentrification. It proves that cooperative ownership and community grit can actually beat the odds. It’s not easy, and it’s definitely not pretty, but it’s real. And in a city that often feels increasingly curated and artificial, "real" is the most valuable thing you can find.
Visit the new location, buy a drink, tip the performers generously, and take a moment to realize you’re standing in a place that technically shouldn't exist anymore. But it does. And that’s worth celebrating.