Arielle Domb

‘No one look please!’ shouts Black Venus, stripping off a Nike tracksuit and pulling up a shiny black slingshot swimming costume. ‘Not that you’re not gonna see it later!’  It’s just off 10pm and Time Out is backstage at Sex and Rage’s Black Pride lesbian strip club party, hosted at the Dalston arts centre, EartH. Five performers are tending to their outfits — putting on dangling diamante earrings and exchanging beat-up trainers for Cinderella-esque, translucent heels. Everyone performing is a queer BIPOC sex worker. Photograph: Serene PowerSex and Rage ‘We really represent the words ‘‘sex’’ and ‘‘rage’’’, said Venus, martial artist, self-defence instructor and Sex and Rage founder. She hoists up her leg onto a counter and slips her foot into a patent stiletto-heeled boot. ‘I think a lot of people are very angry about not fitting in [at other nights out] but are very sensual, very in tune with their bodies, and they want to have an opportunity to express that.’ Tonight’s event is one of a number of strip club collectives that have emerged in the UK in recent years, pioneered by women and non-binary people belonging to marginalised groups. Many parties are actively reinventing the traditional strip club model, throwing events in rented spaces with policies that prioritise performer safety and well-being. But throwing these sorts of parties isn’t always easy; organisers often face stigma and discrimination from hostile venue owners and staff who are skeptical about hosting se