The former Club Toronto. (Scaachi Koul) The construction worker wants to be clear on only one thing: “I’m not gay. Really. I’m not.” Such a charming show of how strong homophobia can be only steps away from one of the biggest gay neighbourhoods in North America. He’s already trying to coax me into a date, but he feels obliged to assure me, once again, that he’s definitely not gay. It’s April 2010 and Club Toronto is being gutted of all its contents. The gay bathhouse that withstood homophobia, police raids and dynamic shifts in the Church-Wellesley Village is shutting down after more than three decades as one of the oldest all-male spas in Toronto. The former owners aren’t around to watch their long-standing business be emptied of its possessions. “They couldn’t pay their rent,” the worker tells me. “They’re opening a straight swingers’ club here instead.” He’s holding a beautiful antique chest, readying himself with a hammer to smash it into kindling. I try to stop him – it’s too striking to be destroyed. So what if it’s been in a bathhouse? He points to some off-white stains on the chest that look like paint splotches but aren’t. “So, uh, what are you doing later?” he asks. It’s been a year now since Club Toronto closed its doors at Mutual and Carlton streets for good, but it’s tough to deny that its demise wasn’t a long time coming. The spa had seen a downturn in patrons and maintenance during the years preceding its close. The bath once known as a refuge for men both in and out of the closet during the 70s and 80s had gotten a reputation for being run-down, dirty and empty. A filthy bathhouse is akin to a restaurant with cockroaches: it’s unacceptable. But in its prime, Club Toronto was the bathhouse to beat. It became an outlet for the closeted, a haven for novices of the scene, and a home for the experienced. Spas continue to foster communities for men. While they offer a good time, they also provide a place for gay men to be themselves, support systems, and sometimes, a place to just be around other people. Club Toronto, like many other baths, was home when home wasn’t an accepting place. But if a bathhouse giant like Club Toronto couldn’t make it near the heart of the city’s gay district, what hope do other similar businesses have? The club’s clientele dipped, and as rent increased, there was no money to keep up. Where did all the bathhouse-dwelling gays go? The purpose and value of The Village has been hotly debated for a decade now with no clear answers. Demographics on the Church strip have changed: the cost of living in the area has increased leading some to say it’s too expensive for the younger crowd. Gay hubs are popping up on the west end – some in Parkdale, some on Queen West – but many of the better-known bathhouses are staying put in The Village. Baths like Steamworks (a North American chain), Spa Excess (ideal for the closeted for its lack of explicit signage) and The Cellar (known for offering a pitch-black experience) are still rooted in or around The Village. Others like The Oak Leaf and Central Spa are finding communities on the west end. ‘Fred’ has been running The Oak Leaf for a year. He took over after his father couldn’t maintain the building anymore. He’s straight and refuses to give his last name, a signal that bathhouse culture still dredges up shame for all orientations in spite of its legality and pervasiveness throughout Toronto and the GTA. “I’m just following up on my father’s wishes to keep it going. I’m just trying to make it work.” Fred freely admits that as a straight man who’s just taking over the family business, he knows little about the bathhouse industry. So little, in fact, that he has no idea where or what The Village is. He does concede that business isn’t great, as it requires a small fortune to maintain the Oak Leaf. They haven’t made a profit in three years and Fred still doesn’t take a salary. “You need a lot of customers to make it,” he says. “It’s gone through a period where there wasn’t any money spent on it.” The Oak Leaf is going through renovations to fix years of neglect, which just adds to a never-ending pile of bills for the spa. Fred estimates that the bath costs an average of $20,000 a month to maintain, including a $4,000 gas bill. “It doesn’t take long for this to add up.” The Oak Leaf may be struggling, but general manager of Steamworks Toronto, John Brodhagen, says business is booming in spite of demographic shifts around their Church and Wellesley location. “[The Village] has a purpose. I can also see that there’s a trend that maybe that purpose is not so prevalent anymore.” As gay hubs become more developed throughout the city, it becomes loudly argued that The Village’s entertainment centres, like gay spas, have worn out their welcome. An example of such a casualty was Club Toronto. Steamworks, however, has positioned itself as “a destination as opposed to an afterthought,” unlike other baths that are seen more as an afterhours. They often reach their 267-person capacity on weekends thanks to marketing themselves across the city instead of staying stagnant on the Church strip. Signs of Club Toronto’s failure aren’t seen in Brodhagen’s business model: notoriety, varied membership base, cleanliness, cash flow. Brodhagen says that The Village may be changing shape and the west may be adding new niches, but bathhouses haven’t lost their purpose for gays of all trades. “When I came out 25 years ago, people needed someplace to congregate with their own,” he says. “We were castaways.” Some still are. Parkdale resident Brandon Marsh, 27, has been to Steamworks and foresees no end to gay bathhouse culture regardless of what side of Yonge Street you’re on. “It’s more and more common for gay men and gay women to be unrecognizable to the naked eye,” says Marsh. “I like the idea now that at Queen West, you can’t even tell who likes what. I love that.” While he has become a member of the much-hyped “Queer West,” he still visits The Village periodically. To him, the baths are only getting bigger. “The west is definitely changing,” he says, “but there’s no business loss [in The Village.] Just go there on a Saturday night and tell me its losing the appeal.” It’s easy to assume that maybe bathhouse industry is on the way out, what with the internet, an increasingly gay-positive Toronto, and the sheer ew-factor that bathhouses can still hold.  But then I think back to my construction worker “friend” emptying out Club Toronto. How he rambled on about cleaning up after “fucking faggots” while simultaneously asking me to come over to his house for a drink with a semen-stained leather pommel-horse tucked under his arm. A few things came clear: the internet can’t guarantee you a quick lay like a bathhouse can; there are still and may always be a need for gay men to have a safe space away from judgment; and nearly anonymous sex never goes out of style. That, and I should probably be a little more careful about dumpster diving.