For myself and the queer women in my life, the opportunity to boogie with our community is one hardly passed up. That ugly sweaty dancing is invaluable - twirling, jumping, kissing. But there’s something that I have found leaves me wanting.

Misogyny.

The likes of events like High Hoops, Freak Queer Rave and Homobloc allow us to celebrate our queerness together unabashedly, but somehow I still find myself fighting for my own room to groove in swathes of men. Despite the shared struggle of our queerness, myself and my queer femme friends still find ourselves at the peril cis men dominating the space. We are barged passed and cat-called… it feels like we’re in deansgate again…

The cis white men in this community still benefit from their social standing as cis white men. Their identity can afford them the privilege of masculinity in a man’s world, still facing little repercussions when disregarding women’s dignity.

The pushing, shoving and harassment persists.

Events the likes of Butch Revival and Rojak speak to a growing demand for our gorgeously gay city. The queer liberation tucked away in those four walls does scratch an itch, but we need somewhere to be seen - a lack of queer spaces is a lack of queer visibility. If we are not seen and heard, we risk disappearing back into the taboo. 

I want to venture further than Canal St. The exhibitionist in me wants passers by to peer in and see us sitting proudly in place. I want people to see us thriving here. For the queer kids that are afraid of what life will look like for them, and for the queer adults that shame has followed into adulthood.

I may be beginning to sound bratty here but I still ask Manchester of one more thing. We need somewhere to flirt with each other. I may be alone in this but I’m not quite my sexiest at club events (see the “ugly sweaty dancing” mentioned above). I’m not my chattiest either (see “twirling, jumping”). A bar however breeds conversation. Hoards of eager lesbians fled to the opening night of East London’s lesbian bar La Camoinera last year. Does this not speak to the nation’s need for lesbian bars alike?

As Hinge makes us more accessible to each other, it also starves us of the luxury that is sapphic flirting. There’s no eye contact that lasts too long, no touching for the sake of touching, just mindlessly browsing sat on the loo - it’s all remarkably un-sexy.

While these may have been the ramblings of a tiresome single lesbian in the North, my closing statement is this: We need lesbian bars to both escape systematic misogyny within the queer community - and so we can start shagging each other again.