There is a very small, sweaty and slightly garish basement club on Stoke Newington Road called VFDalston. It used to be called ‘Vogue Fabrics Dalston’, until Vogue magazine came knocking with a cease and desist order a couple of years ago. Occasionally, as a student, I’d find myself working on the door at VFD. And though some nights could feel very long and very cold, it was certainly never boring — after all, no one has better outfits, compliments or gossip than the queer community.
A large group of 17-year-olds would always be the first to show up. They liked to get through the door before the bouncer arrived to check their fake IDs. Obviously it was illegal to let them in, but we did anyway and for good reason: this dark, sticky basement was one of the very few places they could go to meet up. They travelled from outside of London escaping mum and dad for the night to be out, proud and safe in a space they knew they could count on. They had found community in each other, but needed a place to exist with each other. It is for this exact reason that queer spaces are so vital to our community.
