I’d either entered heaven or hell, the conclusion of this planet or the beginning of a fresh one.
Clare Hand is just a self-described London that is flaming lesbian. She’s spent the this past year composing about queer women’s nightlife inside her town. She documents the environment, music, fashions, vibe (will you get set or make mates that are new), and the ones behind the evenings.
Clare decided she packed her bags and hit the road that it wouldn’t be right to only document dyke nightlife in one city, so. She’s written concerning the thriving scenes in nyc, bay area, Bogota, Sao Paulo, Berlin, and Dublin to date. This list will keep expanding. Keep eye on the Dyke Nightlife Diaries right right here.
I’ve just stepped on the path that is dusty to Berghain. I’m able to view it: the unmistakable tangible facade of this energy plant switched sanctuary of hardcore techno and queer hedonism.
The sight is my cue to simply take my fill up and buckle up my leather-based harness. It’s a Sunday afternoon, and although Berlin is a really permissive spot, the old people using their grandkids towards the lakes don’t need to see me personally in every my Bergs glory. While the dudes in the tram whom confuse a glimpse of the thigh that is harnessed a cry for attention, input, or perhaps the D won’t ever deserve to view it.