HARPIA: London’s c*ntiest dolls combine their slay for one night only

Legendary strip night Harpies teams up with fashion rave Opia in the search for a new dancer to join the Harpies. 

WORDS BY EMILY M CAMERON
PHOTOGRAPHY BY FREDDIE TALBOT
PHOTOGRAPHY EDITING BY BAUTISTA BOTTO BARILLI
WITH THANKS TO HARPIES AND OPIA

“If you were taking your clothes off more I’d be cumming everywhere,” says Bimini into the microphone from the judges balcony, like this is some kind of x-rated X Factor, which, actually, that’s exactly what it is. It’s her feedback to blonde bombshell ‘Babe of Light’ who swung her diamanté heels and ass in the air, working every inch of the circular stage in the centre of the room for the chance to be America’s Next Top — sorry, Harpies’ Next Top Harpy. The room is full, the crowd are as close to the stage as it’s possible to be without catching a Pleaser in the face, just to make sure they don’t miss a single second of sexiness. Amongst the crowd the leatherette is out in force, adorned with fishnets, graphic extravagant eyeliner, lacing, corsets, silk, satin and faux furs — no one wants to feel underdressed as the glamorous dancers swan past them. It’s a hot night and glistening skin peeks through the increasingly ornate fishnet bodysuits and dresses. Every subsection of the queer community has turned out – queers, dykes, dolls, gays, student fashion darlings – from scenes across the community, and they’re all here for the biggest nightlife collaboration of the summer: Harpia. 

Harpia is a doll-centred fashion rave (Opia) collabing with Europe’s only trans+ strip club (Harpies), and if that sounds like the hottest combination in living memory that’s because it is. It’s the east London equivalent of Britney and Madonna snogging on stage at the VMAs – young c*nty upstart meets Mother who paved the way. The Mother in question is of course, Lucia Blayke, founder of Harpies and London Trans+ Pride, the woman who for half a decade has been the voice of a generation of trans people who wanted more from life, who refused to settle for less. The c*nty upstarts, Bambi Dyboski and Bauti Barilli, or “the Opia girlies” for short, have been running their fashion-oriented response to being sidelined by mainstream fashion parties for just over a year now, first bursting onto the scene, the streets and your TikTok feed in platinum blonde wigs painted head to toe in pink. 

"The girls just want to sliv for the sake of sliving. And maybe some tipping dollars."

To be past your first birthday in London queer nightlife is a blessing and a curse – a blessing in that you made it, just like most businesses, most parties give up the ghost in their first year. And while it can be a curse to have to rise to the occasion of bigger expectations,  bigger venues, bigger fees, more pressure and bigger queues, the Opia girlies haven’t hesitated as they’ve planted their heels in each stride forward. From a launch night collaboration with Chema Diaz, to their designer showcase collaboration with Wraith, to recent Vogue coverage, these girls don’t stutter when the spotlight’s on them. 

Harpies, on the other hand, is a little longer in the stiletto. Saturday in fact marked its fifth birthday, an incredible achievement when you consider the draconian licensing laws around stripping and generalised transphobia they have to navigate. In the beginning it was about the simple reality of needing income and not being allowed to dance at a regular strip club, so Lucia made her own. “If people don’t want to put you on a stage, you build the fucking stage!” she screamed into the microphone on Saturday to riotous applause. 

And this is why these two nights are kindred spirits: they take matters into their own hands for the queer community. They take industries that commodify queer bodies and take control of the narrative, they create environments for performance without exploitation, where the agency is returned to the model and the dancer. Trans people, models, and queer people in general are so often spectacles in service of others, in a diverse marketing campaign, on a runway, or just being ogled in the street – Harpies and Opia represent efforts to reclaim that, and be spectacles for ourselves, an effort to perform without being consumed. 

But that all sounds so serious – what I mean is that the girls just want to sliv for the sake of sliving. And maybe some tipping dollars. 

So back to the night. Anyone who’s been to Harpies knows that the midnight shows are not to be missed, and this was no exception. Ever wanted to see a stripper drop ten feet into a split? This is where to see it. What’s better is that the person doing it is the very sam person you developed an instant crush on when you walked in an hour ago. Everyone’s getting a little hot under the choker, but each removed garment is met with screams and snapping fingers. It’s stripping for the queer gaze and it’s an incredible thing to see. And it’s well appreciated as is evidenced by the literal heaps of tipping dollars they scoop from the stage after each number. But now that the seasoned Harpies had raised everyone’s temperatures sufficiently, it was time for the competition. 

For the first time ever, dancers competed for a chance to become a Harpy. Having taken applications online from their combined online following, four dancers were selected for to compete on the night: Manuka Drip, giving some masculine representation to the evening in fingerless gloves and an earpiece mic purely for the 90s vibes; Babe of Light, our previously mentioned diamond diva; Louis, in the most brilliant moment of the night, performed to Lords of Acid in a blacked out motorcycle helmet and not a lot else (“We got motor mommy served to us!” cried Lucia in the feedback); and our closer, and ultimately our winner, Syren Seduction, who flipped the script performing to Framing Hanley’s Lollipop, a loud and sexy alt rock, almost screamo adjacent track, worked every strap of her intricate underwear as she disassembled it and tossed it into the crowd, their jaws collectively on the floor. Fingers in her mouth, her hands all over herself, the room was transfixed. “To strip to such a c*nt punk rock song,” said Bambi, ”you should be judging us tonight.”

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