It’s easy to romanticize nightlife in the movies — the picturesque cocktails, the glitzy outfits, the warm, intense glow of club lights. It all seems so irrefutably perfect.
But for LGBTQ+ students at BU, like freshman Nala Raitt, the average club experience is far from the ideal seen on a screen.
“It was mainly just a bunch of sweaty men hitting on me and my friends,” she said.
Many LGBTQ+ students say the heteronormative, non-diverse — and, at times, dangerous — nightlife scene in cities such as Boston has made it challenging for them to have enjoyable and safe experiences going out.
However, in the wake of new queer nightlife opening in Boston — such as Dani’s Queer Bar in Back Bay — some of BU’s LGBTQ+ students have found better experiences within the queer nightlife scene.
Prior to moving to Boston for college, sophomore Brendan Aiello said he had never been to any LGBTQ+ clubs.
Living in Westchester, a suburban county north of Manhattan, Aiello said he would take the train 45 to 50 minutes to go to clubs in the city.
Even in a city like New York where there is a vibrant LGBTQ+ community, Aiello said he felt alienated when clubbing in “hetero-dominated” spaces.
“It would seem like, from my perspective, that everyone could find someone,” Aiello said. “I didn’t realize that was because I wasn’t in the right space for me.”
Sophomore Deja Ford said being outside of queer spaces makes it more difficult for her to express herself authentically.
“When you’re not in those spaces, sometimes it can be kind of scary or awkward to let that part of yourself shine through,” Ford said.
For LGBTQ+ students, nightlife also poses an issue of safety.
Lucy Johnson, a BU freshman from Atlanta, Georgia, witnessed these dangers firsthand.
While visiting the University of Georgia, Johnson said two of her friends, both female and in a relationship, were verbally assaulted in the street while they held hands.
All forms of nightlife come with some risks, but Aiello said he feels more confident and safe in spaces he knows he’ll find queer people.
“I can look around and feel good talking to anyone I want, because I’m not nervous in the back of my mind that I’m flirting with a straight guy,” Aiello said.
During Ford’s first queer clubbing experience, she said the bouncer assured her of her safety.
“I remember the person at the door was so kind and welcoming,” Ford said. “They were saying, if you ever need any help or if you don’t feel well or anything, come get one of us. You’re safe here.”
This assurance of safety extended past the employees, Ford said. On the doors to the gender-neutral bathrooms were signs listing phone numbers to safety hotlines and code words to mention to a bartender if patrons felt unsafe, Ford said.
Raitt said part of the protection comes from within the community. Recently she attended Charli XCX and Troye Sivan’s “Sweat Tour,” two artists whose fan bases primarily identify as LGBTQ+.
While walking home after the concert, Raitt said she remarked to a friend that if someone were to make her uncomfortable, she knew there would be fellow concertgoers who would protect her.
“I do feel a sense of protection and belonging when I do go to more queer spaces,” she said. “And I do feel a lot more at home within myself.”
For Ford, this feeling of comfort can also be attributed to the diversity of the queer nightlife scene. In her experience, clubs lack people of color and she’s often found herself the only Black person in the room.
“When you’re around people that you know have similar experiences as you or identify the same way, you automatically know,” she said. “Okay, this person gets it.”
But Aiello said the best part of queer clubbing is the culture founded on community and friendship .
“No one’s trying to spread hate,” he said. “Everyone’s trying to spread love.”