In the sapphic social scene, the promise of another night is never guaranteed. Fleeting moments of energy and familiarity are left on the dance floor once the DJ finishes their set, leaving partygoers to wait for another to take initiative and organize the next function at whatever space is willing to accommodate. This doesn\u2019t come as a surprise to those familiar with the environment\u2014a permanent home for these parties is hard to find.\u00a0<\/p>\n
The brick\u2013and\u2013mortar spaces that do exist for the LGBTQ+ community are often bars and clubs geared towards gay men. Out of the 803 recorded LGBTQ+ bars across the country in 2023<\/a>, 194 bars served exclusively gay men\u2014only 29 existed for lesbian women.\u00a0<\/p>\n With the sapphic community marginalized within gay spaces, it falls on the shoulders of grassroots movements to keep the social scene alive.\u00a0<\/p>\n Community organizing is a pillar of sapphic spaces to MP, who requested they be referred to by their initials rather than their legal name. MP runs Alphabet Soup<\/a>, a sapphic\u2013centered organization that plans events and parties for lesbians across the DMV and Philly. Based in Washington, D.C., MP started Alphabet Soup upon noticing the disparities between the sapphic and gay male social scenes. \u201cGay bars flourish [in D.C.] because there\u2019s at least seven of them \u2026 and they all kind of hit a different niche or corner within the gay man community,\u201d she notes, \u201cHistorically, people just haven\u2019t been used to there being a market for lesbians and sapphics, so we\u2019re kind of behind in that sense.\u201d<\/p>\n She began working to combat this imbalance in 2023, hosting sapphic events at the queer bar she worked at until its unexpected closure the next year. Without a stable space, she thought of abandoning the idea altogether until others in the sapphic community suggested an alternative. \u201cA lot of people were like, \u2018You know, you can just reach out to other bars and clubs. They don\u2019t have to be gay bars,\u2019\u201d she recalls. \u201cThat\u2019s how I started Alphabet Soup.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n Alphabet Soup\u2019s nomadic existence\u2014jumping from bar to bar and hosting events at any venue that welcomes them\u2014is what keeps them afloat. Without a lasting alternative, the sapphic community follows.\u00a0<\/p>\n As MP describes it, an Alphabet Soup party attracts Generation Z and early millennial lesbians from diverse backgrounds by acting as a space where energy breeds connection. \u201cIn this age of AI and technology and being so disconnected from each other, what I would want anyone that comes to an Alphabet Soup event to get out of it is some sort of connection,\u201d MP says.<\/p>\n Despite these efforts, brick\u2013and\u2013mortar spaces remain the ideal for satisfying a community without a place. \u201cIf a city does have a lesbian bar, it\u2019s one lesbian bar, and that lesbian bar has to appease the entire sapphic community,\u201d MP says. \u201cThat\u2019s why it\u2019s hard for sapphic spaces to be successful\u2014because there\u2019s only one, but the community has outgrown the need for just one.\u201d \u00a0<\/p>\n Val\u2019s Lesbian Bar<\/a> bears this weight for Philly. While other bars and clubs are popular amongst the women\u2013loving\u2013women community\u2014like the lesbian\u2013owned Stir Lounge<\/a> and women\u2019s sports bar Marsha\u2019s South Street<\/a>\u2014Val\u2019s remains the only place in the City of Brotherly Love explicitly labeled as a space to serve its sapphic sisters. Lesbian spaces are a relatively new addition to Philly\u2019s streets\u2014Val\u2019s only launched in March of 2026, with Marsha\u2019s opening six months prior.\u00a0<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s automatically a sapphic night if you\u2019re doing it there,\u201d Hope Martin says of Val\u2019s. Martin often hosts\u00a0Levee<\/a>\u2014a\u00a0sapphic\u2013centered electronic party series in Philly\u2014at Val\u2019s. Levee came out of their desire to create spaces exclusively for the lesbian community, away from the queer nightlife scene that tends to attract cisgender gay men. This trend of hosting sapphic-exclusive spaces has unfolded over time as historically lesbian spaces across Philly change to take on a general \u201cqueer\u201d label. Martin points to Franky Bradley\u2019s<\/a> as the prime example.<\/p>\n Before Franky Bradley\u2019s was Franky Bradley\u2019s, it was Sisters\u2014a lesbian nightclub that started in the 1990s until the space was shut down<\/a> in 2013 and rebranded to Franky Bradley\u2019s in 2015. \u201cNow it\u2019s like a gay [bar] infiltrated by a lot of straight people,\u201d Martin says. \u201cI was trying to have Levee at Franky Bradley\u2019s to bring back the fact that it is historically a lesbian nightclub.\u201d<\/p>\n Despite it being one of the largest gay nightclubs in Philly, Martin believes the space has become increasingly less queer.\u00a0\u201cTheir biggest dance floor is just everyone in the city who likes going out dancing,\u201d Martin says. \u201cThey\u2019re not loud about the fact that they\u2019re a gay club.\u201d Speaking with the bar\u2019s previous manager, Martin was told that Franky Bradley\u2019s was a space for everyone. \u201cThat\u2019s lame,\u201d Martin says. For now, organizers in the sapphic party scene in Philly must make do with what they have\u2014whether it\u2019s Val\u2019s or the next queer space ready to open its doors to non\u2013queer people.<\/p>\n Rohan Kurup (C \u201927) echoes Martin\u2019s sentiment on Franky Bradley\u2019s\u2014he\u2019s been there with his straight friends more than his queer ones. \u201cFranky Bradley\u2019s is not a gay bar anymore. It\u2019s more of an everybody bar,\u201d he says. \u201cI think they\u2019re getting a little colonized, which is okay. But it\u2019s sad to see their roots kind of disappear.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n Entering Penn as a gay freshman searching for a party implied a sort of code\u2013switching for Rohan. \u201cWhen you come to Penn, if you want a social life, that outlet is frats,\u201d he says. \u201cIt\u2019s only frats, right? And frats are not gay. They\u2019re the opposite.\u201d<\/p>\n The social scene changed for Rohan, however, when he went to his first Swalloween, the LGBTQ+ Halloween party hosted by Penn\u2019s queer senior society Carriage<\/a>. \u201cI just thought that was such a cool concept\u2014the idea that gays can throw their own party and it\u2019s only for gay people,\u201d he remembers. \u201cIt\u2019s very liberating.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n At a school home to over 50 Greek organizations<\/a> and senior societies<\/a>, groups like Carriage, Elmo, and Herzog are some of the few spaces where queer social life has a home at Penn. And as the current president of Carriage, Rohan hopes to keep queer spaces on campus alive.<\/p>\n He accomplishes this by enforcing the one policy Carriage has for its events: If you\u2019re straight, don\u2019t show up. Despite exclusivity being the goal, however, it isn\u2019t always achieved\u2014at every Swalloween, Rohan says, you\u2019ll find your fair share of straight students invading the scene.\u00a0<\/p>\n \u201cBut it\u2019s an affinity space for gay people only, right?\u201d Rohan emphasizes. He sees Swalloween as a way for Penn\u2019s LGBTQ+ community to emulate straight culture\u2014to look at a person at a party and not question their sexuality. \u201cSwalloween is our night to have that,\u201d he says, \u201cIf I see two girls making out, that\u2019s normal. That\u2019s Halloween, you know.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n Paradoxically, exclusivity in who gets to dance on the floors of Penn\u2019s queer social scene is how party culture becomes inclusive of LGBTQ+ students searching for on\u2013campus nightlife. It\u2019s why Rohan stepped back from advertising parties Carriage hosts to the broader Penn student body other than to amplify its philanthropic goals of giving back to the LGBTQ+ community.\u00a0<\/p>\n \u201cThere is some niceness in being small and not being super recognized by everybody,\u201d he says, \u201cbecause when we want to throw an affinity event, if only the affinity [group] knows about it, that\u2019s kind of how that should work, right?\u201d<\/p>\n Penn\u2019s sapphic social scene has a place on campus, albeit mixed within the greater fabric of its queer party subculture. This trend follows for the sapphic community outside of the Penn bubble, which similarly has to assimilate into the greater fabric of urban queer nightlife in order to survive.<\/p>\n Martin attests to the difficulty of creating sapphic\u2013exclusive spaces. \u201cMaybe one day I could open a bar or club space, and that\u2019d be really cool,\u201d they say. \u201cBut I think that would probably end up being more in general queer rather than sapphic, just because of the range of people who I work with and know in the community.\u201d<\/p>\n