I read Moby Dyke: An Obsessive Quest to Track Down the Last Remaining Lesbian Bars in America by Krista Burton (spoiler alert: there aren’t that many, and most are in the Midwest) before I reached the legal drinking age. So, I was very excited when the extremely long and nebulous creation of Dani’s Queer Bar in Back Bay first came across my Instagram targeted ads. This eagerly awaited new Boston establishment, funded in part by a grant from Mayor Michelle Wu’s administration, suddenly opened after many false starts earlier in September. After hearing cautionary tales about long lines and cliques, as well as celebrations of finally having a sapphic space in Boston, I decided to check it out.
I, two other lesbians of varying gender presentations, and three other queer quasi-femmes went to visit Dani’s on the evening of Saturday, September 28. Our pregame ran long, so we ended up arriving at around 11:15 (a very convenient ride on the 1 bus!). The line was down the block. We were worried that we had missed the memo on “brat night,” but the reality was worse. The “Sweat” show featuring Charli xcx and Troye Sivan had just let out at T.D. Garden, and hordes of brat queers were ready for the post-game. Luckily, this meant the crowd at the bar would be very young. Unluckily, this meant we were in for a long line.
Funnily enough, there is an Irish pub right next door to Dani’s, and the Alabama-Georgia game had just finished. The tide was rolled enthusiastically as Alabama broke Georgia’s streak, and several white bros of varying levels of Bostonian and British poured out of the pub. We were offered cigarettes from a guy with a cockney accent. Not a very queer experience, but a profoundly Bostonian one.
After an hour’s wait, we were allowed without a cover charge by the intimidating but clearly good-natured stud bouncers into the very purple interior of Dani’s. The ground floor was remarkably chill considering the line, and we were served drinks almost immediately. As is our tendency, we started out with a shot of “something cheap,” which turned out to be $13 tequila. It was good tequila. I cannot super afford good tequila. One friend ordered a gin and tonic of indeterminate price (very tasty, very limey) and another ordered a whiskey ginger (very whiskey, very ginger), also of indeterminate price (later we found out they were both also $13). I decided I wanted my hands free for dancing, and also that I did not want to spend thirteen more dollars immediately, so I stopped with the shot for the time being.
We entered the line for the basement dance floor, which moved quickly despite being full of post-Sweat college students. The basement was a semi-industrial rectangle with a giant four-sided bar in the middle. There were thus two dance floors: one on the side closest to the DJ, and one on the far side with little light and even less wiggle room, though this one did have a few dozen disco balls of varying sizes on the ceiling. The DJ was doing extremely well with a targeted brat-esque set, and I danced a very vertical “HOT TO GO” with a shockingly low but still generally high number of people who were familiar with the choreography. People were actually dancing, not just standing, and one group had an inflatable hobby horse hoisted up like a flag that was later left on the dance floor for the crowd to enjoy. I got a whiskey ginger that was a baffling $12 from an attractive butch bartender who was absolutely doing well with tips.
Now, for the question on everyone’s mind: can one find a girlfriend at this bar? I would say probably not. A genuinely shocking number of people there had brought a girlfriend from home, which I say should be looked on with the same disdain and begrudging respect that sneaking a flask onto the dance floor warrants. There was one probably 25-year-old woman who was going around dancing with/grinding on everyone, including a few members of my group (though not myself), and she seemed to be having the best time. But if you, like me, have slightly less confidence than this woman, it may be a bit harder for you. Unfortunately, social anxiety does not disappear in a queer bar, despite the bar’s other magical properties like not having men grope you or make fun of your masc haircut. And cliques from various other colleges seemed impenetrable, as I’m sure my group seemed. I’d say take a date there, rather than finding one there.
Yet despite my continued tragic singleness (please hit me up, you know where to find me), the vibes were good. There was a tasteful amount of Chappell Roan and Charli xcx, but also some songs I had never heard. The drinks may be expensive, but honestly not that much more expensive than other places in Back Bay. The sapphic members of Stryk9 made a surprise appearance, which is always welcome. People were all wearing deodorant. I saw, but did not say hi to, someone I went to summer camp with ten years ago. Despite my only being able to spend 90 minutes there before the bar closed, I didn’t regret my choice to go. And if you know me, you know that’s rare. I will be going back when I scrounge up another $30 to spend on drinks!
2025