A club night as an antidote: queer collective Klauw is back

The club night of queer collective Klauw, originally founded as a student initiative, is back. Students find something they often lack at university: a place where they belong. And music that makes you want to shake your hips.

The MCs are welcomed by an ecstatic crowd. One wears a vinyl dress, the other a thong and fluffy nipple covers. “Tonight we celebrate the return of Klauw”, proclaims the latter. They are members of the Klauw club collective, established in 2018 by a group of students. The collective’s parties attracted students who wanted to explore and celebrate parts of themselves that were not always welcomed at university. In 2023, the collective took a break. On Saturday 3 May, Klauw returned with a party at Worm.

With a large and a smaller dance floor and nine DJs, Klauw goes all out for its audience, which comprises people who question the norm. The collective is queer in its organisation, music, volunteers, and visitors, with trans people of colour as the primary target group. Many students are present. They are relaxed and surrender to the sweet atmosphere in the sold-out club. Here they find something they don’t have at university: a place where they belong.

Shouted at in the lift

“I feel normal here, I can express myself without standing out too much”, says a 23-year-old law student. In his studies, he quickly feels ‘too unique’, but among the vibrant and non-conformist clubgoers, he feels included. He stands outside where man-high barriers have been set up to create a smoking area on the pavement. The crowd barriers obscure the view from the Witte de Withstraat. The street, with its lively atmosphere, can only be heard.

Upon entering, the floor angels remind everyone of the house rules: give each other space, look out for one another, ask for consent, no cameras. The floor angels, identifiable by their fluorescent armbands, are volunteers who monitor the safety of the evening. They enable him to dare to show a different side of himself tonight. “Here, I can express my feminine side more, especially as a Black, queer person.”

At the university, there isn’t typically space for that. “A group of boys called me a faggot in the lift at Polak”, the law student recounts. His partner a 24-year-old clinical psychology student and friend who studies MISOC recognise that feeling of insecurity. Klauw represents for them a test drive in identity and essential self-confidence. An evening where they can experiment with self-expression. The psychology student says: “Here I feel that I can take up space, and I will take that with me outside this fence.”

Techno with a little Nicki

The three friends have sat down outside on the ground with their backs against a window. One friend leans on another friend’s shoulder and closes her eyes. Behind them, the party continues, vibrant and thumping.

Where Wunderbar usually is, the tables have been pushed aside tonight to make space for the dance floor. The techno beat is fast, mixed with snippets of Nicki Minaj and Beyoncé. It is music that makes you want to shake your hips and kiss while jumping. The dancing people wear pink miniskirts and bikini tops, regardless of the expectations surrounding body and sexuality that come with such revealing clothing outside the club. “Come as you are, and let others do the same”, states one of the house rules.

Niche community

This is what organiser Nychenda (28) had hoped for: “People who are completely in the moment.” As one of the eight members of the Klauw collective, she has been involved since its inception in 2018. At that time, she was still studying at Erasmus University College. Her disappointment with the lack of diversity at university led her to the queer nightlife. There she found her community. “It’s a niche community that we cater to, and it’s okay if not everyone finds that important or understands it.”

Within this community of trans people, queers of colour, and gays, news spread like wildfire that Klauw was throwing a party again. “Over the past few years, we have received many responses from people saying, ‘When are you coming back?’ And we were excited and energised to return”, says Merano (28), a member of the collective.

Blonde culture

A 23-year-old medical student has sheltered outside in a corner with her cigarette. When going out, she values conversation and socialising more than dancing. The nightlife is an escape from the ‘blonde, conservative culture’ of her medical studies. “Teachers and patients have a traditional idea of what a doctor looks like, and I fall outside of that”, she explains. With piercings in her mouth, nose, eyebrow, and cheekbone, she stands out in the hospital; here, she is one of many.

Meanwhile, the tempo inside picks up. The DJ in the main room heralds the last hour. Flashing white lights alternate with blue and pink projections. On the dance floor, people weave through one another. On a platform against the wall, they stand swaying their hips with closed eyes. They shine with their looks and soak up the final moments.

Parties like Klauw are rare in a city where more and more clubs are closing. This moment is an antidote for people out here who are not allowed to be themselves without a backlash.
The law student says, in a hoarse voice: “That this exists brings so much joy for people who need that enjoyment badly.”