at my first lesbian bar, I felt like a clueless 13 year old at a disco

I was nervous. Sweaty palms & random poops, nervous. (Spontaneous song interlude: Mom’s spaghetti, but on the surface he looked calm and ready). I felt like a kid attending a disco for the first time. I didn’t know what to wear. How to act. Who would be there? What would the other kids be like?! Were there rules?? 

There’s only one lesbian bar in the WHOLE of london (yes, one), and it’s called She bar, in Soho. (Gay clubs are for straight people and gay men, sorry but it’s just a fact sweetie). It’s tiny, like honest to god might have been a tiny air raid shelter at some stage. And underground, like a baby tunnel. With flashing lights, smoke in the air and the smell of sweet horny potential, I was excited but equal parts dreading it. My chosen buddy for the night, an old school friend who had also come out over lockdown. So we made the perfect, clueless pair. 

It felt very very strange and very very cool to be in a space that was exclusively for queer women.

It felt very very strange and very very cool to be in a space that was exclusively for queer women. Like being at a candy store, but it turns out that everything is free and also good for you? It was funny feeling unencumbered by the anxiety of functioning as a queer person in a very much still straight world, especially on nights out. All my other interactions with potential women romantically have been quite anxiety ridden. Are they into me? Are they into women at all? But here, in this glorious, tiny little hovel of a bar – in theory, everyone in that room was DTK (down to kiss guys). 

Early on, I spotted someone gorge. Cut to a lady wearing a turtleneck, looking chill, but like she went on a gap year to South America and bought all her jewellery there, just as a way to let people KNOW that she can in fact speak fluent Spanish, but it’s honestly not even a big deal okay? I elbowed my friend, and gave them the very unsubtle eye meaning “LET’S GO OVER THERE THEY LOOK HOT”. They nodded, but OH OH wait the women were heading over to us. I felt sick. Excited, but also sick. 

So there were all were. Dancing, in a circle, cute. Like Step Up, but make it terrible, uninspired little body rocks. And we continued… dancing… in a circle. No one actually making a move, or even making EYE CONTACT. Guys come on, are we 13?? Apparently yes.  But how does it work with two women? Who makes the move now? What’s the power dynamic here? In my previous [puts tortoise shell glasses on] scientific experience, men always make the first move… don’t they? Do lesbians just dance in a circle until someone gets tired enough to sit down and then they eventually snog? The posse of ladies eventually left, and the gazelles went back to the watering pool to gain their strength for the next onslaught. 

Do lesbians just dance in a circle until someone gets tired enough to sit down and then they eventually snog?

At the bar my friend and I decided we were quite s*** at being gay, turns out. We made epic promises, speeches to amp one another up. LOOK you look at me, we are going to KISS someone this evening if it kills us. We hauled ourselves up from the semi sex swing in one of the side rooms, slapped some goddamn sense into each other and set small challenges (okay you go up and dance with that person, great ok, now you go talk to her – OH NOPE – she’s definitely in a relationship). And then slowly but surely, we felt, comfortable, at ease. I snogged honestly about everyone guys, which I haven’t done since I was maybe 17 in XOYO. Including a lovely American girl named Jordan, whose name I didn’t find out until post snog. In fact, for future reference, this is how I would prefer to exchange all information. Snog first, names and job info after. And my friend found themselves a delightful club girlfriend. 

Eventually, I spotted someone. She was wearing a yellow, corduroy suit, her hair cut short, French and she was by far the coolest person in the bar. Finally, I found my way to be stood next to her. I leant over and said ‘I like your suit’. A smoking area, some shared bonding over Phoebe Waller Bridge and a few chicken nuggets later, I was pretty sure she might be my soulmate. But that’s a story for another day…. 

Any queer gals reading this who’d like to come to the next night out. Hit me up hunnies! Slide into my DM’s (meant in a wholesome lovely way!). It’s a safe space! And I actually think I really understand the meaning of that word now.