Would You Go to London’s Sexy, No-Phones Queer Rave?

It’s 1:10 a.m. on a Friday night, and I’m stepping out of Tottenham station alongside swathes of similarly-dressed queers—all of us in the sacred uniform of a tank top and shorts. “Follow him, he looks like he’s going to Sextou!,” someone shouts. I’m glad to know I look the part. Google Maps is failing me though. I’m just following the sound of techno.

The follow-up to their apparently sweat soaked first birthday party during Pride, the ninth edition of Sextou (translation: “Happy Friday!”) sees London’s freshest collective of sexy raving curators link up with the likeminded LGBTQ+ Latin party community of Bulto (translation: “bulge”). Tonight, the queer fetish techno lovers of London are dancing to Colombia’s best dance music at The Distillery.

As I reach The Distillery, nestled in an industrial estate, the queers that were once behind me make it to the front of the queue, with security greeting us by handing over huge Sextou stickers to cover our phone cameras—a branded form of discretion. Not only do they protect the anonymity of those attending, but they keep people present too. It speaks to Sextou’s true goal which, despite their name, isn’t all about sex. Instead, it’s about “curating culture so people focus on the music,” its founders, Umberto Borraccia and Timothy Wang tell me. When I look around, I notice it’s working. No one’s trying to capture the night, they’re just enjoying it. 

I’m introduced to a lineup of Sextou regulars, all from different backgrounds, with different body types and different experiences. It’s part of the ethos of the night that it’s not a party for just gay men, rather a collection of muscle queens, femme divas, dolls, en-bys, kinksters, and ravers of every  variety. “We want people to come together regardless of presentation,” says Wang, contrary to some scenes in London that “look down upon femmes.” I feel it too: As I enter to see I’m not the only plus-size bodied queer here—even if the muscle gay contingent is strong. The crowd inside is adorned in bulky padlock-chained necklaces, leather vests, jockstraps, and the shortest of skirts. I don’t see much sex, but it all still feels very sexy. (Sextou doesn’t strictly have a darkroom. Instead, they tell you to come for the music, and “if you get to have sex, then it’s the cherry on top.”)  

I step out for some air and run into Bulto’s founders, Luigi Porras and Jesuz X. They’re giving me a quick blow-by-blow of the motivations behind how the collective came to be. “You couldn’t be shirtless in clubs in Colombia,” they reveal. “Bulto changed that.” The thought of going to a gay night and not seeing any shirtless men is alien when you’ve spent enough time in any queer space in London. But there’s a “straightness to the whole [of Bogotá],” however, which meant that being expressive wasn’t often an option for queer clubgoers. Bulto helped them “escape” it, Porras says. It makes sense then as to why these two collectives would link up, as they’ve both managed to curate their own pockets of club culture that  tap into the sweet meeting point of self-expression and mutual respect. As Luigi remarks: “If you’re gonna teach the gays something, the party is the place to do it.”  

Inside, a techno remix of Sega Bodega’s Kepko plays, my friend Jacob and I push our way through to the middle of the dancefloor, swirling in amongst countless couples making out. It’s rammed, with  “Sextou” in red neon capital letters above the DJ booth being the only source of light. I notice everyone’s smiling, which feels rare in a type of space often filled with expressionless faces, as if in an  attempt to look cooler or sexier, but here no one’s afraid of showing they’re having fun. Techno as a genre often breeds elitism, but that’s nowhere to be found tonight.

At one point, I stop to catch my breath, and a guy puts his hand on my shoulder, asking if I’m okay.  There’s a maturity in the crowd here I haven’t quite felt in a while, which speaks to the culture the two collectives have built. Luigi had mentioned that Bulto is designed to cater to people aged 21+, focusing on “seasoned ravers” as opposed to those more fresh to the party scene, which aligns with the more ‘together’ kind of crowd that Sextou seems to have fostered. No one here seems to be younger than 28—which is why it helps that this is happening on a Friday. As Timothy puts it: “Friday nights in London are for those who need the whole weekend to recover.” 

It’s Sunday now, and as I sit here dosed up on Ibuprofen, I’ve finally shaken off my hangover. At one point, I caught more than just dance moves through the toilet door cracks—and someone even asked me to bark (I was wearing my pup tag). Maybe the Sextou and Bulto crowds are onto something after all.