icon is Dita von Teese. I frequent bur-
lesque nights and, in the privacy of
my own home, I’ve performed many a
risqué routine for my lover. So yes, it’s
fair to say I bloody love a stripper.
But until tonight, I’ve never actu-
ally stepped foot inside a strip club.
They always seemed too seedy, too
cis, too aggressively heterosexual.
My other half and I wouldn’t dream
of going there to get our kicks. Not
because of any objection to women
taking their kit off, but because of our
anxiety over how the predominantly
male punters might react to our pres-
ence. But here, in this bold new queer
wonderland celebrating sexuality and
self-expression, we don’t feel sleazy
or self-conscious or stared at. We feel
utterly at liberty to get our freak on.
And so does Amelie, our luminous
dancer, who has now finished her
performance and is rooting around
on the floor trying to track down her
thong. Losing underwear is a hazard
of the job. “The cleaner must have so
many pairs of my knickers!”
Sixty seconds ago she was
expertly disrobing for our erotic
entertainment, and now we’re chat-
ting away like old pals. She’s been
stripping for two years and relishes
the financial freedom and flexibility.
Now she can afford to seriously think
about applying to uni. “It’s just opened
up my life so much.” She laments that
she doesn’t get many female clients
in her regular workplace, although
there is the odd one accompanied
by a male partner. “A lot of the time,
the women are very into it. You don’t
often have an openly lesbian couple
come in, though – which is a shame.
We all have lusts, wants, desires. We
shouldn’t be ashamed.”
Rewind an hour and Harpies is
about to open its doors for the very
first time. The performers gather for a
group hug. Their excitement is palpa-
ble and entirely understandable. After
all, they’re about to make history by
peeling off their clothes for cash for
queers. They’re a fabulously diverse
bunch with different shapes, sizes,
ethnicities, genders and sexualities.
Among them is a minx in stock-
ings, suspenders and a tiger-print
mini dress that shows off her hairy
armpits, a beefcake resplendent in
kilt, chunky boots and rhinestone
jewellery (I make a mental note toask where it’s from later), and re-
nowned Afro-Latinx trans drag artist
Chiyo Gomes, who’s smouldering in a
leather harness.
The queen of this realm, the
superwoman who started it all, is
Lucia Blayke. She’s looking every inch
the glamourpuss in a gold beaded
gown and scarlet lippy. In addition to
her work with Harpies, she foundedLondon Trans Pride and cabaret night
Transmissions (a slot at Glasto + Beth
Ditto popping into their most recent
event = maximum queer cool points).
“This time last year, I was working
behind a bar with no qualifications,”
she recounts in her sultry Scouse lilt.
“My mum’s always said you can do
anything if you put your mind to it.”
It was her mum – Jill, sounds like an
absolute ledge – who gave her the
idea to start a queer strip club in the
first place. Lucia was having money
troubles and decided to give stripping
a go. “With exotic dancing, I get to feel
positive about my body. That’s always
a big bonus, especially for trans peo-
ple who suffer with dysphoria. You
spend the majority of your day want-
ing to change your body, so to have
people coming to enjoy it is a really
nice change.”
But when she started looking for
work, she found that most strip clubs
were unwilling to employ a trans
performer. While the desire for trans
bodies is huge – last year, Pornhub’s
fifth most popular search term was
“transgender” – there’s still a stigma
about admitting to being turned on by
trans people. “Society’s always trying
to keep it behind closed doors. You
can wipe your internet history, meet
an escort in a private hotel room,
but being seen in a club is a bit too
public.” Jill suggested Lucia launch
her own inclusive strip club, and so
Harpies was born. “Times are chang-
ing. We hope that cis society will
step up, stop being ashamed of being
attracted to trans people, and be loud
and proud about it. We centre trans
and queer bodies.”
Lucia introduces me to her collab-
orators, fellow “head bitches”, Jeanie
Crystal and Rachel Steele. They’re
both seasoned strippers and creative
directors of erotic art collective, BiRDS.
They’re also both gorgeous – Jeanie,
a petite Brummie bombshell in PVC
over-the-knee boots, and Rachel, a
siren with a Bettie Page fringe and
alabaster skin. The two met while
studying. “We started looking at the
intersections of performance art and
just being a ho,” drawls Jeanie. “I was
working for this artist that’s quite big
and I was performing naked. You’d get
these dirty, old men coming in watch-
ing you all day. I was paid £10 an hour
and then I’d go to the club and make
proper money. I was like, ‘HangShe’s writhing against the
wall of our private booth”
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