The truth about the ‘lesbian renaissance’—does visibility actually help LGBTQ+ communities?
With sapphic events sweeping the country and the biggest names in music singing loudly and proudly about their sexuality, it feels like there’s never been a more exciting time to be a lesbian. But does that actually do anything for the community? Or are we treating people’s realities as a passing trend?
I am swept up in a sea of Chappell Roans. Everywhere I look people are dressed up like the lesbian pop superstar, some in rhinestone cowgirl-core, others in white lace and precariously enormous wigs. My girlfriend and I are at a real-life Pink Pony Club, bathed in magenta light, surrounded by fuchsia balloons and banners declaring ‘LET’S GO GIRLS’.
During a rendition of “The Giver”, the singer belts out, ‘Only a woman knows how to treat a woman right’, and the audience cheers in euphoric agreement. There’s a board by the doorway crammed with pastel sticky notes scrawled with handwritten messages from partygoers: ‘I heart butches’, ‘They/them lesbians 4eva’, ‘To all queer people, you are magic’. I feel like I’ve stepped into a lesbian parallel universe.
I’m actually at a pop cabaret party, hosted by Sad Girl Shows. But it feels a lot deeper than ‘just’ a party. I squeeze my girlfriend’s hand and, on impulse, I kiss her. We’ve been together 10 years, yet we rarely feel comfortable holding hands in public. This joyful, queer space makes us feel safe. It is celebratory, a shame-free zone, and an antidote to decades of being othered.
Yes, it’s camp and fabulous, but it’s also affirming and healing. And we’re not the only ones moved by this gathering. Performer Ella Fae clacks a gigantic lesbian flag fan as, in heavy drag make-up, they gush: “It is so refreshing to feel unafraid.”
The rumblings began last summer and now we’re smack bang in the middle of it: the so-called lesbian ‘renaissance’. This sold-out Pink Pony Club Cabaret is just one among hundreds of flourishing sapphic spaces. In London, there are staples like Butch, Please!, Gal Pals, and Pxssy Palace. But in the past 18 months new events have been popping up: WET, Magic Dyke, Lezzer Fest, The London Dyke Market. Plus, there’s Vanilla in Manchester, Lavender Nights in Liverpool, GirlFlix in Worthing, and many more all over the UK.
There’s also a surge of lesbian visibility in music, with the success of singers like Kehlani, Hayley Kiyoko (dubbed ‘Lesbian Jesus’ by her fans), and, of course, Chappell Roan, BBC Radio 1’s official ‘Sound Of 2025’. Our screens are full of women-loving women, from shows like Heartstopper to films like Drive-Away Dolls and The Wedding Banquet. Celebrities including Baby Reindeer’s Jessica Gunning and Wicked’s Cynthia Erivo are owning their queerness. At last year’s Coachella, when lesbian Mean Girls star Reneé Rapp was introduced onstage by the cast of cult lesbian drama The L Word, it prompted mass queer hysteria.
As the editor-in-chief of Diva, the world’s leading magazine for LGBTQIA+ women and non-binary people, I’m delighted. This feels so drastically different from the world I grew up in. I was at school in the 90s and 00s under Section 28, the UK law banning the ‘promotion of homosexuality’ by local authorities, which made it illegal for teachers to say anything good about gay people. The only real-life lesbian I’d heard of was broadcaster Sandi Toksvig. When she came out in 1994, she had to take her family into hiding because of death threats. The World Health Organisation only declassified homosexuality as a mental illness in 1990. Despite kissing girls from the age of 13, I didn’t come out until I was in my 20s. For so long, my identity was shrouded in shame and secrecy, which makes it even more poignant when I see younger people embracing their authentic selves today. But how does this representation boom impact queer rights? Is there a way to take the energy of this cultural moment and turn it into long-lasting change for our community? I spoke to the trailblazers leading the revolution to find out.
Visibility and representation
In Queer Britain, the UK’s first national LGBTQIA+ museum, there’s a display case bursting with queer ephemera and a spectacular rainbow hijab. I pick up the handset of a vintage telephone and listen to recordings from Switchboard: The LGBT+ Helpline, in operation since 1974. Studying the artefacts in this museum is a potent reminder that LGBTQIA+ people have always been here, even when no one was talking about a lesbian renaissance. It’s an intoxicating but also strange experience, your identity suddenly being considered ‘cool’ after a lifetime on the fringes of society.
The thing about trends is they are temporary. “I enjoy the term to talk about the cultural shift, but is it a fad? We don’t want it to be a trend, because it’s our lives,” says Jade Johnson, the performer behind Sad Girl Shows, and I agree. As, while queer representation has come a long way, there’s still a lot further to go for queer rights. According to the Office for National Statistics, homophobic hate crime has increased 112% in the past five years. Charity Akt reports that a quarter of young homeless people identify as LGBTQ+. Despite the government announcing its intention to ban so-called conversion ‘therapy’ last July, this horrific practice is still legal in the UK today. Then there’s the ongoing struggle for equitable access to IVF, as, despite the government committing to changing this in 2022’s Women’s Health Strategy, still the inequality remains. The result is a postcode lottery, with couples having to pay for expensive private treatment, take dangerous routes to source unregulated sperm, or give up their dreams of becoming parents.
How we look can also impact how we are treated. Due to my feminine appearance, strangers often refuse to believe I’m queer. I’ve been sexually harassed by predatory men and denied entry to gay bars because of how I look. Meanwhile, butch people face challenges of their own, from a lack of mainstream visibility to verbal and physical abuse. Like femmephobia, butchphobia boils down to misogyny, fuelled by sexist beliefs about how a woman ‘should’ look and behave. This kind of prejudice hurts all women, and it’s in all our interests to eradicate it.
I’m at this museum to meet the award-winning activist Ellen Jones. She has cropped purple hair, wears a vegan leather jacket, and literally wrote the book on queer rights — Outrage: Why The Fight For LGBTQ+ Equality Is Not Yet Won And What We Can Do About It. Ellen’s view on the lesbian renaissance? “Representation is important, but it can’t be material change.” I’m interested to find out what she thinks can bring about change, and how we can harness this movement and ensure it’s long-lasting. Then I spot a striking photograph from the 1980s, showing activists holding a banner saying: ‘Lesbians & Gays Support the Miners.’ Ellen comments: “Some people in the past were really good at being in collaboration with other groups. That’s how you build movements that last.”
In Ellen’s book, she outlines the many challenges that queer people face. The issue she’s most concerned about is health inequality. “We’re literally dying,” she states. “Lesbians are dying 20% sooner than straight women; bisexual women are dying. There’s a mass death of trans people. I have buried so many friends. Bigotry comes with a body count.” Hearing about the real lives being lost is sobering, so how can we hold on to hope? Ellen pauses before eventually answering. “I know that I’m part of this community that’s very resilient.” We’ve had to be.
But we must also be careful not to mistake the recent rise of visibility for total, inclusive representation. After all, there’s still nowhere near enough visibility for queer people of colour, disabled queer people and trans people. One queer person is often expected to speak on behalf of the entire community. What we really need is more: more voices being amplified, more stories being told, more rights being won. It’s not that we’re greedy; it’s that we’ve been starved.
Marching forwards
In the basement of a queer club in east London, a femme dyke with flame red hair and a black bodysuit is fondling her partner for all to see. The redhead, Pixie, unbuttons the shirt worn by the brunette, Tomboy, and kisses down Tomboy’s torso. Kissing turns into licking. They start making out feverishly as the crowd’s cheers reach a crescendo. An impromptu chant strikes up and I join in: “Dykes! Dykes! Dykes!”
I’m at a fundraiser for this June’s London Dyke March, led by artist, activist, and nightlife legend Stav B, and journalist, drag king, and community organiser Shivani Dave. Tonight, there’s in-your-face entertainment courtesy of Pixie, Tomboy, and a whole host of talented queer creatives, a raffle, and a club full of dykes dancing with abandon until 3am.
Last year marked the capital’s first Dyke March in 10 years. The historic event attracted thousands of people, many dressed in black leather, brandishing placards with slogans like, ‘Black dykes for queer liberation’ and ‘A day without lesbians is a day without sunshine’. “It was electrifying,” Stav remembers. “All of us together. We took the streets. Fundamentally, the goal is for us to be out there, visible, because we exist.” Shivani grins: “We are dykes. We recruit and we will assemble.” Stav rejects the very notion of a lesbian renaissance, insisting: “There is no ‘lesbian renaissance’! We’ve always been here and we’ll continue to be here.”
Spending time with the Dyke March gang gets me thinking about the Rebel Dykes of the 1980s, with their punk swagger, wild parties, and headline-grabbing protests. Lesbian activists of this era stood up for the rights of queer folks, sex workers, and people with HIV and Aids. Fiercely political, they raged against Section 28, invading the BBC studio during a live news broadcast and abseiling into the House of Lords. I reflect on how Pride began as a protest and how the fight for equal rights doesn’t have to be dreary. It can be fun and full of energy. It can look like what’s going on right now: queer people and our allies creating gorgeous representation, galvanising campaigns and life-affirming events.
Reclaiming the power
When Hackney lesbian bar La Camionera opened last year, hundreds of giddy sapphics flocked to the tiny venue, spilling out on to the streets and going viral on TikTok.
I’m here to meet Amy Spalding, star of BBC Three’s sapphic dating show I Kissed A Girl. “These key moments in the cultural zeitgeist lined up perfectly,” Amy reflects. “When the floodgates broke, it all came out — a tsunami of sapphics.” Like me, Amy grew up seeing very little lesbian representation. She jokes about “watching lesbian porn for the women-loving-women plotline” and describes I Kissed A Girl as “life-changing”.
Since the show, Amy has grown her business, SLT Studios, designing a range of sterling silver statement jewellery. Reneé Rapp recently wore her ‘DYKE’ ring at Paris Fashion Week. “I wear the slur on my fingers every day,” says Amy. “They’ve used this word against us for so long. We’re gonna claim it back and it’s gonna empower us.” However, despite being at the centre of the lesbian renaissance, she, like many, is keen for us not to rest on our laurels. “It’s such a hot topic. What happens after?”
Standing together
Sipping on juices at The Common Press in Shoreditch, I catch up with writer and presenter Char Bailey, a director at Birmingham Pride, community engagement officer at UK Black Pride, and co-founder of The Big Queer Poetry Show. A leading LGBTQIA+ figure, she gestures around the queer, intersectional bookshop, cafe, and events space — one of her favourite haunts. “I’ve been to nights here where I’ve been grinding with my girlfriend at [club night] Faggamuffin. I come here for a coffee with the mandem to talk about unlearning our toxic traits. It’s an outside home.”
Char shares her experiences as a Black, masculine lesbian. “I am very much perceived as butch and carry that title with pride. Our community is a microcosm of the world. We still have sexism, transphobia, and racism.” Nevertheless, she’s excited about the future. “‘Lesbian’ is no longer a dirty word. I can see the next generation of lesbians owning it. It feels almost sacred. This is not just about girls kissing girls. It fully encompasses women’s liberation.”Just after I filed this feature, the UK’s Supreme Court ruled that a woman is defined by biological sex under the Equality Act, followed by subsequent guidance from the equality watchdog amounting to a blanket ban on trans people using toilets and other services of the gender they identify as. This was a huge blow to trans rights, but, even before the ruling, everyone I spoke to shared my concern about transphobia in the wider world, and, heartbreakingly, within our community. It’s true that an increasing number of prominent women are speaking against trans people. But it’s also true that all the queer women I know in real life (and as the editor of Diva, I know a lot) are emphatically inclusive of our trans siblings. In 2023, LGBTQIA+ youth charity Just Like Us found that, out of the whole community, lesbians are actually the most likely to be trans allies, with 96% of those surveyed saying they are ‘supportive’ or ‘very supportive’ of trans people.
Then there are the rollbacks of LGBTQIA+ rights that we are seeing globally, from Trump’s anti-queer and anti-trans agenda, to Trinidad and Tobago’s move to recriminalise gay sex. I say to Char that it feels like the more visible we become, the more furious the backlash. She nods: “People have said, ‘Fuck the patriarchy!’, and the patriarchy has said, ‘Absolutely not’.” Amy tells me: “Sometimes I accidentally get on the wrong side of the For You Page, and the homophobia is still rife. We’ve got people doing Nazi salutes in America. It’s so backwards.” So how can we take the energy of the lesbian renaissance and turn it into meaningful change? And how can allies get involved? “Show up at marches,” urges Amy. “Show up at the voting booth. Be loud on socials. Every little helps. There’s power in numbers.”
I meet club promoter and DJ Karlie Marx at the queer clubbing institution, Dalston Superstore. A proud trans femme lesbian, she has a neck tattoo of three stars in the colours of the trans flag: blue, pink, and white. She opens up about the reality of being trans today. “There’s this horrible stigma that’s enough to make you feel deeply separate and rotten.” She talks about “the medical reality of navigating the system” and “decades-long campaigns of abuse”.
Despite all this, Karlie is feeling good because tonight she’s running Plastyk, ‘a dyke night where trans women aren’t sidelined’. Her face lights up when she speaks about how she feels in this space she has created. “The lasers are lasering, the DJ is doing a perfect blend, people are making out, climbing up on the go-go cage. I’m just like, ‘Thank God I’m trans. Thank God I’m a lesbian. This makes all the bullshit worth it’.” Late at night on my train back home, I think about what I’ve learned during my deep dive into the queer culture boom.
There are so many different ways that a lesbian, or any woman or non-binary person, can feel empowered. It might look like dressing up as a rhinestone cowgirl at the Pink Pony Club, or screaming at the top of your lungs at a dyke march, or honouring the ones who paved the way so that we might live and love more freely. It’s all valid, it’s all beautiful, and it’s all part of our collective mission to create a world where everyone is equal, safe, and celebrated. This explosion of sapphic creativity, community, and visibility is glorious. It benefits not just lesbians, but all women seeking liberation. So let’s not allow this cultural phenomenon to be just another passing craze. Let’s keep the party and the protest going, and, however you identify, let’s stand — and dance — together.
How you can help
Volunteer your time
From trans-focused Gendered Intelligence to Micro Rainbow, which helps LGBTQIA asylum seekers, there are so many brilliant LGBTQIA organisations to get involved with. One of my favourites is Manchester’s LGBT Foundation, where you can keep the gaybourhood clean and safe as a ‘Village Angel’ or raise awareness about sexual wellbeing as a ‘Pleasure Advocate’.
Write to your MP
If you’re concerned about trans rights in the UK, contact your MP and let your voice be heard. The charity TransActual offers really useful practical advice and a template letter to get you started on their website.
Show up at marches and Prides
As well as Prides, there are events centring queer people with different identities, like the London Dyke March, UK Black Pride on 10 August, and Bi Pride on 31 August.
Become an ambassador
Are you aged 18 to 25, queer, and based in the UK? If so, you’re eligible to join the ambassador programme run by Just Like Us, an award-winning charity for LGBT+ young people. As an ambassador, you could get exciting opportunities, such as speaking in schools to combat homophobic bullying or writing for queer publications including Diva.
Join the fertility justice campaign
Be part of the campaign that Diva supports as part of the Fertility Justice Working Group. Find more info and a template to write to your MP. Married lesbian influencers Whitney and Megan Bacon-Evans have won awards for their activism in this area. Follow them on Instagram.
Support queer creatives
Amplify the work of LGBTQIA artists by following them on social media and engaging with their work. You can also support IRL by attending queer festivals like Liverpool’s Homotopia LGBTQ+ Arts Festival (November 2025, dates TBA) and Manchester’s Scene LGBTQ+ Film and TV Festival from 15 August.
Credit: Cosmopolitan