Freedom Bar Soho: Dance-Floor Nights for Girls in LGBTQ+ London

On a Thursday night in Soho, the air outside Freedom Bar smells like rain, cigarette smoke, and cheap perfume. Inside, it’s hotter. The bass thumps through the floorboards. A group of girls in glitter boots and cropped jackets laugh as they push through the crowd, arms linked, no need to explain why they’re here. This isn’t just a bar. It’s a rule-breaker’s sanctuary. And for many queer girls in London, it’s the only place where they can dance without checking over their shoulder.

What Makes Freedom Bar Soho Different?

Freedom Bar opened in 2018, tucked behind a shuttered bookshop on Rupert Street. It doesn’t have a sign. No neon. Just a black door with a single brass knob. You have to know it’s there. Inside, the walls are painted deep burgundy, the ceiling low, the lighting dim but warm. No VIP sections. No cover charges on Thursday nights. No bouncers checking IDs for gender. Just a DJ spinning a mix of 90s R&B, queer punk, and UK garage, and a dance floor that fills up by 10 p.m. and doesn’t empty until the last song fades.

Unlike other LGBTQ+ venues in London that cater to gay men or drag queens, Freedom Bar was built for girls-lesbian, bi, non-binary, trans, and everyone in between. It’s not a niche. It’s a necessity. A 2023 survey by the London LGBTQ+ Community Centre found that 68% of queer women under 30 felt unsafe or unwelcome in mainstream queer spaces. Freedom Bar didn’t just fill that gap. It rewrote the script.

Thursday Nights Are for Girls

Every Thursday, the bar turns into Girls’ Night. No theme nights. No costume contests. Just music, movement, and permission to be loud. The DJ doesn’t play the usual club bangers. They drop tracks by Arca, SOPHIE, FKA twigs, and local London artists like LØVØ and Zola Jesus. The crowd doesn’t just dance-they move together. Shoulder to shoulder. Hands up. No one’s watching to judge how you move. No one’s trying to pick you up. No one’s asking if you’re "really" queer.

One regular, Maya, 26, says she came here after a bad night at a gay bar where a guy kept asking if she was "just experimenting." "I didn’t need to prove anything," she told me. "Here, I just needed to dance. And I did. For two hours straight. I left with blisters and a new family."

It’s Not Just a Dance Floor

Freedom Bar isn’t just about dancing. It’s about connection. The bar serves cheap gin and tonics with homemade lavender syrup. The bartender, Jules, remembers your name and your drink. On slow nights, they host open mic poetry slams. On Sundays, there’s a queer knitting circle in the back room. The walls are covered in handwritten notes from patrons: "I found myself here," "My first kiss was on this floor," "Thank you for existing."

The staff are all queer. Most are women or non-binary. They don’t wear uniforms. They wear their own clothes, their own identities. One night, a new visitor asked if the bar had a gender-neutral bathroom. The answer? "All of them." There’s no sign on the door. No gender labels. Just a simple lock and a sign that says, "Come as you are."

How It Feels to Be Here

There’s a moment, right after the bass drops and before the crowd screams, when everything goes quiet-even the music seems to hold its breath. That’s when you feel it. The safety. The belonging. You look around. There’s a girl in a leather jacket with a shaved head, dancing with her girlfriend in a wheelchair. A trans guy in a sequin dress, spinning under the strobe. A group of teenagers, maybe 17, holding hands, too shy to dance but smiling like they’ve just won the lottery.

This isn’t performative inclusivity. It’s lived. It’s daily. It’s the reason the bar has no online booking system. No Instagram influencer collabs. No corporate sponsors. It’s run by a collective of seven queer women who pooled their savings and rented the space themselves. They pay the rent with bar takings and occasional community fundraisers. They don’t make money. They make space.

Who Comes Here? And Who Doesn’t?

Freedom Bar doesn’t advertise. It doesn’t need to. Word spreads through WhatsApp groups, TikTok clips, and whispered recommendations. The crowd is mostly 18-35. Mostly women. Mostly people of color. Mostly people who’ve been turned away elsewhere.

But it’s not exclusive. Straight allies are welcome-if they come with the right attitude. No staring. No taking photos. No trying to "be part of the vibe" without understanding it. One man was asked to leave last month after he kept asking girls to dance and then mocking them when they said no. The staff didn’t argue. They just walked him out. No fanfare. Just quiet justice.

That’s the unspoken rule: You don’t take. You give. You hold space. You listen. You dance like no one’s watching-even when everyone is.

What to Expect on Your First Visit

• Arrive after 9 p.m. The place fills fast. Lines form outside by 9:30.
• Wear what makes you feel powerful. Boots, dresses, hoodies, suits-it doesn’t matter.
• Bring cash. Card machines go down on busy nights.
• Don’t bring a big group. Keep it small. The space is intimate.
• Don’t ask people their pronouns unless they offer them. Just use "they" until you know.
• Stay until the end. The last song is always the best.

Why This Matters Beyond Soho

Freedom Bar isn’t just a bar. It’s resistance. In a city where rent hikes are pushing out queer spaces left and right, where Pride has become a corporate sponsorship, where lesbian bars have closed by the dozens since 2010, this place is a lifeline. It’s one of the last remaining queer women’s spaces in London. And it’s still standing.

There’s no plaque on the wall. No museum exhibit. No press release. But if you’ve ever felt invisible in a crowd, if you’ve ever danced alone in your bedroom hoping someone, somewhere, felt the same way-this is your place.

And if you’re reading this and you’re not sure if you belong? You do. Come. Dance. Stay. You’re already home.