Posters advertising a “bear weekend” cling to the utility poles on Fire Island, punctuating the wooden boardwalks that meander through a lush dune landscape of beach grass and pitch pine. It’s not a celebration of grizzlies, by the looks of the flyers, but of large bearded men in small swimming trunks, bobbing in the pools and sprawled on the sundecks of mid-century modernist homes. You might also find them frolicking in the bushes of this idyllic car-free island, a nature reserve of an unusual kind that stretches in a 30-mile sliver of sand off the coast of Long Island in New York.
Over the last century, Fire Island Pines, as the central square-mile section of this sandy spit is known, has evolved into something of a queer Xanadu. Now counting about 600 homes, it is a place of mythic weekend-long parties and carnal pleasure, a byword for bacchanalia and fleshy hedonism – but also simply a secluded haven where people can be themselves.
“My most vivid memory of my first visit here in the late 90s is being able to hold my boyfriend’s hand in public without fear,” says Christopher Rawlins, architect and co-founder of Pines Modern, a non-profit dedicated to celebrating the modern architecture of the island. The palpable sense of community and liberation here is, he says, “what happens when people who are accustomed to a certain degree of fear no longer feel it.”