It’s 10 pm on a Saturday night, the bar is packed, and a DJ called Mullets is on the decks.
Positioned above the throng of bodies on a slightly raised stage and wearing a graphic tee pronouncing ‘I HATE MEN’, Mullets is delivering a steady mix of 2010s club bangers that has the crowd slick with sweat.
Behind them, a large window is fogged over, the lights of the Sky Tower barely discernible through the haze. In the moisture, someone has used their finger to write a word in huge, loopy writing on the glass pane: Sapphic.
I’m at Sapphic Sounds: a Tāmaki Makaurau club night for queer shes and theys, wearing knee-high leather boots, a red lip and something I hope resembles confidence.
It’s skin-deep, of course. I only really came to grips with my queerness last year, and I still feel nervous entering queer spaces, haunted by the perennial questions of the freshly-out: Do I belong here? Is this for me? Am I queer, enough?
At least I can really see what I’m up against. Without the hulking statures of the male populace, I can see all the way from one side of the room to the other, from the friends taking selfies on an old digital camera to the throuple violently making out against the back wall. No mean feat for 5’5 in a crowded room.
This is how I manage to spot someone I know across the bar. She spots me too, and as she makes her way through the crowd to me, a Red Sea of lesbians part before her, a symphony of “go right ahead” and “after-you” trailing in her wake. The politeness of queer women really makes you wonder why we accept less from anyone else.
Drinks in-hand, we rejoin the crowd. An hour or two dancing and getting up close and personal with how much lesbians love natural deodorant, and it’s time for fresh air. Outside, I run into April, one of the event’s organisers, and the face of Sapphic Sounds on its key marketing platform, TikTok. She’s beaming.
“I can’t believe this,” she squeals. “We sold out!”
April is part of the collective behind Sapphic Sounds, five non-binary and queer women who first met at a DJ competition in late 2023: Dior, Luke, Olivia, Victoria and Nina (our aforementioned Mullets).
“We started going to [club night] Open Decks together, but we really felt there wasn’t much of a queer presence. It was a lot of – God bless them – but a lot of ‘DnB dudes’ congregating. We weren’t feeling there was space for us.
“We thought, why don't we just do a night where it’s us, and we invite our queer friends and see what happens?”
No one was prepared for the first event to be such a success. “It was hectic. We had no idea so many people would come.
“Non-binary and queer women don’t really have any spaces or events in Auckland. A lot of people don’t know each other, or don’t have any queer friends, and don’t have a space to hang out or meet other queer people, queer women particularly. I think people really wanted that.”
Club nights like Sapphic Sounds exist within a long tradition of queer inclusive spaces for women – the most preeminent being Auckland’s KG club, which existed as a nightclub, community hub, recreation centre and venue for lesbian weddings in various downtown locations through the 1970s and 80s. For our community, these places can feel no less than sacred: offering us a rare opportunity to let loose without worrying about safety or being sexualised.
“We wanted to create a safe nightclub experience for queer women, non-binary people, trans women. Somewhere that’s not a place you’re likely to have guys come up to you or make you feel uncomfortable.” Like many queer events, Sapphic Sounds institute clear House Rules all attendees must abide by, and party goers are encouraged to be vocal about any concerning behaviour to organisers on the night.
Aside from safety, there’s another clear benefit to queer-only spaces: “you know if you want to hit on someone, you’ve got a good chance it’s not going to be a straight girl!” April says laughing.
Alongside another Sapphic Sounds night set for June 30, the team also want to run more low-key community-building and networking events. They have run a speed-dating event, and will host the first Sapphic Sips, billed as ‘queer networking, cocktails and games’, on May 17.
April believes Sapphic Sounds fills a unique gap in Auckland’s queer scene. “[Compared to other events], we’re a bit more low-key vibes, almost house party energy. We’re having a sing-a-long, we’re having a dance, we’re having a cocktail. It’s fun and easy.”
It’s at this point the call of these exact vibes is drawing us back to the dancefloor. April heads up the stairs, while myself and my gaggle of gays make our way to the bathroom. The line, of course, is astronomical.
