Pittsburgh’s booming sapphic scene isn’t an accident — it’s a response

Pittsburgh’s sapphic scene grew from seemingly disparate places: a go-go dancer at a New Year’s Eve party who realized she was getting paid to do what she’d been doing for free; a record collector who finally got behind the decks; a woman who got laid off and decided that what this city actually needed was a place where queer people could just exist together without buying anything. Soon, there were sapphic club nights selling out, art installations premiering at Downtown theaters, dance parties specifically for queer moms, and a sober coffee shop with a children’s corner that has become, for some, the closest thing to home they’ve found in this city. And all of this at a moment when the risk level associated with being visibly queer has increased. The people behind this scene will tell you that’s not a coincidence. When the world outside gets smaller and meaner, you build something bigger on the inside. Something that can hold, not just a night out, but a whole life — the dancing, the art, the desire, and, yes, the kids, too. What “sapphic” actually means At its core, sapphic is a word about love and attraction — about who you want, who you see yourself in, who you reach for. “To me, it’s people who love women,” says Deanna Garcia , a local lesbian who is active in the sapphic community. “But not everyone outside of a cis, straight male identifies as lesbian, or even as a woman. So I feel like it’s just more inclusive.” Mo Marshall , a performer and founder of the multidisciplinary art project EmBody: A ReSanctification of Black & Brown Queerness , points out that love doesn’t have to look one particular way. “If you connect with someone more romantically, it can still be sapphic, and if you connect with someone more sexually, it can still be sapphic.” Danielle Maggio , an academic, writer, and DJ under the name DJ Sauce Queen , takes it even further: “I think sapphic goes beyond a sexual identity and preference — it’s intim